59148	----	THE CYBER _and_ JUSTICE HOLMES BY FRANK RILEY _Old Judge Anderson feared the inevitable--he was to be replaced by a Cyber! A machine that dealt out decisions free of human errors and emotions. What would Justice Holmes think?_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Cyber justice!" That's what the District Attorney had called it in his campaign speech last night. "Cyber justice!" Oh, hell! Judge Walhfred Anderson threw the morning fax paper on top of the law books he had been researching for the past two hours, and stomped angrily across his chamber to the door of the courtroom. But it was easier to throw away the paper than the image of the words: "--and, if re-elected, I pledge to do all in my power to help replace human inefficiency with Cyber justice in the courts of this county! "We've seen what other counties have done with Cyber judges. We've witnessed the effectiveness of cybernetic units in our own Appellate Division.... And I can promise you twice as many prosecutions at half the cost to the taxpayers ... with modern, streamlined Cyber justice!" Oh, hell! Walhfred Anderson caught a glimpse of his reflection in the oval mirror behind the coat rack. He paused, fuming, and smoothed down the few lingering strands of grey hair. The District Attorney was waiting for him out there. No use giving him the satisfaction of looking upset. Only a few moments ago, the Presiding Judge had visaphoned a warning that the D.A. had obtained a change of calendar and was going to spring a surprise case this morning.... The Judge cocked his bow tie at a jaunty angle, opened the neckline of his black robe enough for the pink boutonniere to peep out, and stepped into the courtroom as sprightly as his eighty-six years would permit. The District Attorney was an ex-football player, square-shouldered and square-jawed. He propelled himself to his feet, bowed perfunctorily and remained standing for the Pledge of Allegiance. As the bailiff's voice repeated the pledge in an unbroken monotone, Walhfred Anderson allowed his eyes to wander to the gold-framed picture of his personal symbol of justice, Oliver Wendell Holmes. Judge Anderson winked at Justice Holmes. It was a morning ritual he had observed without fail for nearly fifty years. This wasn't the classic picture of Justice Holmes. Not the leonine figure Walhfred Anderson had once seen in the National Gallery. The Justice Holmes on the wall of Judge Anderson's courtroom was much warmer and more human than the official portrait. It was from an old etching that showed the Justice wearing a natty grey fedora. The Justice's fabled mustaches were long and sweeping, giving him the air of a titled playboy, but his eyes were the eyes of the man who had said: "When I am dying, my last words will be--have faith and pursue the unknown end." Those were good words to remember, when you were eighty-six. Walhfred Anderson stared wistfully at the yellowed etching, waiting for some other dearly remembered phrase to spring up between them. But Justice Holmes wasn't communicative this morning. He hadn't been for a long time. The District Attorney's voice, threaded with sarcasm, broke into his reverie: "If the Court pleases, I would like to call up the case of People vs. Professor Neustadt." Walhfred Anderson accepted the file from his aging, nearsighted clerk. He saw that the case had been assigned originally to Department 42. It was the case he had been warned about by the Presiding Judge. Walhfred Anderson struggled to focus all his attention on the complaint before him. His craggy features, once described as resembling a benign bulldog, grew rigid with concentration. The Judge had a strong sense of honor about dividing his attention in Court. A case was not just a case; it was a human being whose past, present and future were wrapped up in the charge against him. "Your Honor," the District Attorney broke in, impatiently, "if the Court will permit, I can summarize this case very quickly...." The tone of his voice implied: A Cyber judge would speed things up around here. Feed the facts into the proprioceptor, and they'd be stored and correlated instantly. Perhaps so, Walhfred Anderson thought, suddenly tired, though the morning was still young. At eighty-six you couldn't go on fighting and resisting much longer. Maybe he should resign, and listen to the speeches at a farewell luncheon, and let a Cyber take over. The Cybers were fast. They ruled swiftly and surely on points of law. They separated fact from fallacy. They were not led down side avenues of justice by human frailty. Their vision was not blurred by emotion. And yet ... Judge Anderson looked to Justice Holmes for a clarifying thought, but the Justice's eyes were opaque, inscrutable. Judge Anderson wearily settled back in his tall chair, bracing the ache in his back against the leather padding. "You may proceed," he told the District Attorney. "Thank you, your Honor." This time the edge of sarcasm was so sharp that the Clerk and Court Stenographer looked up indignantly, expecting one of the Judge's famous retorts. The crags in the Judge's face deepened, but he remained quiet. With a tight smile, the District Attorney picked up his notebook. "The defendant," he began crisply, "is charged on three counts of fraud under Section 31...." "To wit," rumbled Judge Anderson, restlessly. "To wit," snapped the D.A., "the defendant is charged with giving paid performances at a local theatre, during which he purported to demonstrate that he could take over Cyber functions and perform them more efficiently." Walhfred Anderson felt the door closing on him. So this was why the D.A. had requested a change of calendar! What a perfect tie-in with the election campaign! He swiveled to study the defendant. Professor Neustadt was an astonishingly thin little man; the bones of his shoulders seemed about to thrust through the padding of his cheap brown suit. His thinness, combined with a tuft of white hair at the peak of his forehead, gave him the look of a scrawny bird. "Our investigation of this defendant," continued the D.A., "showed that his title was assumed merely for stage purposes. He has been associated with the less creditable phases of show business for many years. In his youth, he gained considerable attention as a 'quiz kid', and later, for a time, ran his own program and syndicated column. But his novelty wore off, and he apparently created this cybernetic act to...." Rousing himself to his judicial responsibility, Judge Anderson interrupted: "Is the defendant represented by counsel?" "Your Honor," spoke up Professor Neustadt, in a resonant, bass voice that should have come from a much larger diaphragm, "I request the Court's permission to act as my own attorney." Walhfred Anderson saw the D.A. smile, and he surmised that the old legal truism was going through his mind: A man who defends himself has a fool for a client. "If it's a question of finances," the Judge rumbled gently. "It is not a question of finances. I merely wish to defend myself." Judge Anderson was annoyed, worried. Whoever he was or claimed to be, this Professor was evidently something of a crackpot. The D.A. would tear him to small pieces, and twist the whole case into an implicit argument for Cyber judges. "The defendant has a right to act as his own counsel," the D.A. reminded him. "The Court is aware of that," retorted the Judge. Only the restraining eye of Oliver Wendell Holmes kept him from cutting loose on the D.A. But one more remark like that, and he'd turn his back on the Justice. After all, what right had Holmes to get stuffy at a time like this? He'd never had to contend with Cyber justice! He motioned to the D.A. to continue with the People's case, but the Professor spoke up first: "Your Honor, I stipulate to the prosecution evidence." The D.A. squinted warily. "Is the defendant pleading guilty?" "I am merely stipulating to the evidence. Surely the prosecution knows the difference between a stipulation and a plea! I am only trying to save the time of the Court by stipulating to the material facts in the complaint against me!" The D.A. was obviously disappointed in not being able to present his case. Walhfred Anderson repressed an urge to chuckle. He wondered how a Cyber judge would handle a stipulation. "Do you have a defense to present?" he asked the Professor. "Indeed I do, your Honor! I propose to bring a Cyber into the courtroom and prove that I can perform its functions more efficiently!" The D.A. flushed. "What kind of a farce is this? We've watched the defendant's performance for several days, and it's perfectly clear that he is merely competing against his own special Cyber unit, one with very limited memory storage capacity...." "I propose further," continued Professor Neustadt, ignoring the D.A., "that the prosecution bring any Cyber unit of its choice into Court. I am quite willing to compete against any Cyber yet devised!" This man was not only a crackpot, he was a lunatic, thought Walhfred Anderson with an inward groan. No one but a lunatic would claim he could compete with the memory storage capacity of a Cyber. As always when troubled, he looked toward Oliver Wendell Holmes for help, but the Justice was still inscrutable. He certainly was being difficult this morning! The Judge sighed, and began a ruling: "The procedure suggested by the defendant would fail to answer to the material counts of the complaint...." But, as he had expected, the D.A. did not intend to let this opportunity pass. "May it please the Court," said the District Attorney, with a wide grin for the fax reporter, "the people will stipulate to the defense, and will not press for trial of the complaint if the defendant can indeed compete with a Cyber unit of our choice." Walhfred Anderson glowered at the unsympathetic Justice Holmes. Dammit, man, he thought, don't be so calm about this whole thing. What if you were sitting here, and I was up there in a gold frame? Aloud, he hedged: "The Court does not believe such a test could be properly and fairly conducted." "I am not concerned with being fairly treated," orated the wispy Professor. "I propose that five questions or problems be posed to the Cyber and myself, and that we be judged on both the speed and accuracy of our replies. I am quite willing for the prosecution to select the questions." Go to hell, Holmes, thought Judge Anderson. I don't need you anyway. I've got the answer. The Professor is stark, raving mad. Before he could develop a ruling along this line, the grinning D.A. had accepted the Professor's terms. "I have but one condition," interposed the defendant, "if I win this test, I would like to submit a question of my own to the Cyber." The D.A. hesitated, conferred in a whisper with his assistant, then shrugged. "We so stipulate." Firmly, Walhfred Anderson turned his back on Oliver Wendell Holmes. "In the opinion of the Court," he thundered, "the proposed demonstration would be irrelevant, immaterial and without substantive basis in law. Unless the People proceed with their case in the proper manner, the Court will dismiss this complaint!" "Objection!" "Objection!" The word was spoken simultaneously by both the D.A. and the Professor. Then the defendant bowed toward the District Attorney, and asked him to continue. * * * * * For one of the few times in his life, Walhfred Anderson found himself faced with the same objection, at the same time, from both prosecution and defense. What a morning! He felt like turning the court over to a Cyber judge right here and now, and stomping back to his chambers. Let Holmes try getting along with a Cyber! The D.A.'s voice slashed into his thoughts. "The People object on the grounds that there is ample precedent in law for the type of court demonstration to which we have agreed...." "For example," spoke up the Professor, "People vs. Borth, 201 N.Y., Supp. 47--" The District Attorney blinked, and looked wary again. "The People are not familiar with the citation," he said, "but there is no reason to be in doubt. The revised Judicial Code of Procedure provides for automatic and immediate review of disputed points of law by the Cyber Appellate Division." CAD! Walhfred Anderson customarily used every legal stratagem to avoid the indignity of appearing before CAD. But now he was neatly trapped. Grumbling, he visaphoned the Presiding Judge, and was immediately assigned to Cyber V, CAD, fourth floor. Cyber V presided over a sunlit, pleasantly carpeted courtroom in the south wing of the Justice Building. Square, bulky, with mat black finish, the Cyber reposed in the center of a raised mahogany stand. Its screen and vocader grill looked austerely down on the long tables provided for opposing counsel. As Walhfred Anderson belligerently led the Professor and the D.A. into the courtroom, Cyber V hummed softly. A dozen colored lights on its front grid began to blink. Judge Anderson angrily repressed an instinct to bow, as he had done in his younger years when appearing to plead a case before a human Appellate Court. The Cyber's soft, pleasantly modulated voice said: "Please proceed." Curbing his roiled feelings of rage and indignity, the Judge stepped to the stand in front of the vocader grill and tersely presented the facts of the case, the reasons for his ruling. Cyber V blinked and hummed steadily, assimilating and filing the facts. The D.A. followed the Judge to the stand, and, from long habit, addressed Cyber V with the same emotion and voice tricks he would have used in speaking to a human judge. Walhfred Anderson grimaced with disgust. When the D.A. finished, Cyber V hummed briefly, two amber lights flickered, and the soft voice said: "Defense counsel will please take the stand." Professor Neustadt smiled his ironic, exasperating smile. "The defense stipulates to the facts as stated." The frontal grid lights on Cyber V flashed furiously; the hum rose to a whine, like a motor accelerating for a steep climb. Suddenly, all was quiet, and Cyber V spoke in the same soft, pleasant voice: "There are three cases in modern jurisprudence that have direct bearing on the matter of People vs. Neustadt. "Best known is the case of People vs. Borth, 201 N.Y., Supp. 47...." Walhfred Anderson saw the D.A. stiffen to attention as the Cyber repeated the citation given by Professor Neustadt. He felt his own pulse surge with the stir of a faint, indefinable hope. "There are also the cases of Forsythe vs. State, 6 Ohio, 19, and Murphy vs. U.S., 2d, 85 C.C.A. "These cases establish precedence for a courtroom demonstration to determine points of material fact. "Thank you, Gentlemen." The voice stopped. All lights went dark. Cyber V, CAD, had rendered its decision. Whatever misgivings the D.A. may have generated over the Professor's display of legal knowledge were overshadowed now by his satisfaction at this display of Cyber efficiency. "Eight minutes!" he announced triumphantly. "Eight minutes to present the facts of the case and obtain a ruling. There's efficiency for you! There's modern courtroom procedure!" Walhfred Anderson felt the weight of eighty-six years as he cocked the angle of his bow tie, squared his shoulders and led the way back to his own courtroom. Maybe the new way was right. Maybe he was just an old man, burdened with dreams, memories, the impedimentia of human emotions. It would have taken him many long, weary hours to dig out those cases. Maybe the old way had died with Holmes and the other giants of that era. Details of the demonstration were quickly concluded. The D.A. selected a Cyber IX for the test. Evidently he had acquired a new respect for Professor Neustadt and was taking no chances. Cyber IX was a massive new model, used as an intergrator by the sciences. Judge Anderson had heard that its memory storage units were the greatest yet devised. If Professor Neustadt had also heard this, he gave no sign of it. He made only a slight, contemptuous nod of assent to the D.A.'s choice. For an instant, the Judge found himself hoping that the Professor would be beaten into humility by Cyber IX. The man's attitude was maddening. Walhfred Anderson banged his gavel harder than necessary, and recessed the hearing for three days. In the meantime, a Cyber IX was to be moved into the courtroom and placed under guard. Professor Neustadt was freed on bail, which he had already posted. Court fax-sheet reporters picked up the story and ballooned it. The D.A.'s office released publicity stories almost hourly. Cartoonists created "Battle of the Century" illustrations, with Cyber IX and Professor Neustadt posed like fighters in opposite corners of the ring. "Man challenges machine" was the caption, indicating that the Professor was a definite underdog and thus the sentimental favorite. One court reporter confided to Judge Anderson that bookmakers were offering odds of ten to one on Cyber IX. To the Judge's continuing disgust, Professor Neustadt seemed as avid as the Prosecutor's office for publicity. He allowed himself to be guest-interviewed on every available television show; one program dug up an ancient film of the Professor as a quiz kid, extracting cube roots in a piping, confident voice. Public interest boiled. TV coverage of the court test was demanded, and eagerly agreed to by both the Prosecutor and Professor Neustadt. Walhfred Anderson ached to cry out against bringing a carnival atmosphere into his courtroom; the fax photographers were bad enough. But he knew that any attempt to interfere would bring him back before that infernal CAD. * * * * * When he entered his courtroom on the morning of the trial, the Judge wore a new bow tie, a flippant green, but he felt like many a defendant he had watched step up before his bench to receive sentence. After this morning, there'd be no stopping the D.A.'s campaign for Cyber judges. He glared unhappily at the battery of television cameras. He noted that one of them was pointed at Oliver Wendell Holmes. The Justice didn't seem to mind; but who would--all safe and snug in a nice gold frame? Easy enough for Holmes to look so cocky. The bright lights hurt his eyes, and he had to steel himself in order to present the picture of dignified equanimity that was expected of a judge. People would be looking at him from every part of the world. Five hundred million viewers, one of the columnists had estimated. Professor Neustadt appeared in the same shiny brown suit. As he passed the huge Cyber IX unit, metallic gray and mounted on a table of reinforced steel, the Professor paused and bowed, in the manner of a courtly gladiator saluting a respected foe. Spectators clapped and whistled their approval. Television cameras zoomed in on the scene. With easy showmanship, Professor Neustadt maintained the pose for closeups, his owlish eyes wide and unblinking. Judge Anderson banged his gavel for order. What a poseur! What a fraud! This charlatan would get a million dollars worth of publicity out of the case. At a nod from the D.A., the bailiff gave Professor Neustadt a pad of paper on which to note his answers. It had been previously been agreed that Cyber IX would answer visually, on the screen, instead of by vocader. The Professor was seated at the far end of the counsel table, where he could not see the screen. Clerks with stopwatches were stationed behind the Professor and Cyber IX. "Is the defendant ready?" inquired Judge Anderson, feeling like an idiot. "Of course." The Judge turned to Cyber IX, then caught himself. He flushed. The courtroom tittered. The District Attorney had five questions, each in a sealed envelope, which also contained an answer certified by an eminent authority in the field. With a flourish, keeping his profile to the cameras, the D.A. handed the first envelope to Judge Anderson. "We'll begin with a simple problem in mathematics," he announced to the TV audience. From the smirk in his voice, Judge Anderson was prepared for the worst. But he read the question with a perverse sense of satisfaction. This Professor was in for a very rough morning. He cleared his throat, read aloud: "In analyzing the economics of atomic power plant operation, calculate the gross heat input for a power generating plant of 400 x 10^6 watts electrical output." Cyber IX hummed into instantaneous activity; its lights flashed in sweeping curves and spirals across the frontal grid. Professor Neustadt sat perfectly still, eyes closed. Then he scribbled something on a pad of paper. Two stopwatches clicked about a second apart. The clerk handed the Professor's slip of paper to Judged Anderson. The Judge checked it, turned to the screen. Both answers were identical: 3,920 x 10^6 BTU/hr. Time was announced as fourteen seconds for Cyber IX; fifteen and three-tenths seconds for Professor Neustadt. The Cyber had won the first test, but by an astoundingly close margin. The courtroom burst into spontaneous applause for the Professor. Walhfred Anderson was incredulous. What a fantastic performance! No longer smirking, the D.A. handed the Judge a second envelope. "What is the percentage compressibility of caesium under 45,000 atmospheres of pressure, and how do you account for it?" Once again Cyber IX hummed and flickered into action. And once again Professor Neustadt sat utterly still, head tilted back like an inquisitive parakeet. Then he wrote swiftly. A stopwatch clicked. Walhfred Anderson took the answer with trembling fingers. He saw the D.A. rub dry lips together, try to moisten them with a dry tongue. A second stopwatch clicked. The Judge compared the correct answer with the Professor's answer and the answer on the screen. All were worded differently, but in essence were the same. Hiding his emotion in a tone gruffer than usual, Judge Anderson read the Professor's answer: "The change in volume is 17 percent. It is due to an electronic transition for a 6s zone to a 5d zone." The Professor's elapsed time was 22 seconds. Cyber IX had taken 31 seconds to answer the compound question. Professor Neustadt pursued his lips; he seemed displeased with his tremendous performance. Moving with the agility of a pallbearer, the D.A. gave Judge Anderson the third question: "In twenty-five words or less, state the Nernst Law of thermodynamics." This was clearly a trick question, designed to trap a human mind in its own verbiage. Cyber IX won, in eighteen seconds. But in just two-fifths of a second more; Professor Neustadt came through with a brilliant twenty-four word condensation: "The entropy of a substance becomes zero at the absolute zero of temperature, provided it is brought to this temperature by a reversible process." A tabulation of total elapsed time revealed that Professor Neustadt was leading by nine and three-tenths seconds. A wild excitement blended with the Judge's incredulity. The D.A. seemed to have developed a tic in his right check. On the fourth question, dealing with the structural formula similarities of dimenhydrinate and diphenhydramine hydrochloride, Professor Neustadt lost three seconds. On the fifth question, concerning the theoretical effects of humidity inversion on microwave transmission, the Professor gained back a full second. The courtroom was bedlam, and Walhfred Anderson was too excited to pound his gavel. In the glass-walled, soundproofed television booths, announcers grew apoplectic as they tried to relay the fever-pitch excitement of the courtroom to the outside world. Professor Neustadt held up his bone-thin hand for silence. "May it please the Court.... The District Attorney agreed that in the event of victory I could ask Cyber IX an optional question. I would like to do so at this time." Judge Anderson could only nod, and hope that his bulldog features were concealing his emotions. The D.A. kept his back rigidly to the television cameras. Professor Neustadt strutted up to Cyber IX, flipped on the vocader switch and turned to the cameras. "Since Cyber IX is essentially a scientific integrator and mathematical unit," he began pedantically, "I'll put my question in the Cyber's own framework. Had another Cyber been selected for this test, I would phrase my question differently." He turned challengingly back to Cyber IX, paused for dramatic effect, and asked: "What are the magnitudes of a dream?" Cyber IX hummed and twinkled. The hum rose higher and higher. The lights flickered in weird, disjointed patterns, blurring before the eye. Abruptly, the hum stopped. The lights dimmed, faded one by one. The eternally calm, eternally pleasant voice of Cyber IX spoke from the vocader grill: "Problem unsolved." * * * * * For an interminable instant there was silence in the courtroom. Complete silence. Stunned incredulity. It was followed by a collective gasp, which Walhfred Anderson could hear echoing around the world. Cyber IX had been more than beaten; it had failed to solve a problem. The gasp gave way to unrestrained cheering. But the Professor brought quiet again by raising his bony hand. Now there was a strange, incongruous air of dignity about his thin figure. "Please," he said, "please understand one thing.... The purpose of this demonstration and my question was not to discredit Cyber IX, which is truly a great machine, a wonder of science. "Cyber IX could not know the magnitudes of a dream ... because it cannot dream. "As a matter of fact, I do not know the magnitudes of a dream, but that is not important ... because I _can_ dream! "The dream is the difference.... The dream born in man, as the poet said, 'with a sudden, clamorous pain' ..." There was no movement or sound in the courtroom. Walhfred Anderson held the Professor's last written answer between his fingers, as if fearing that even the small movement to release it might shatter something delicate and precious. "The dream is the difference!" There it was. So clear and true and beautiful. He looked at Holmes, and Holmes seemed to be smiling under his gray mustache. Yes, Holmes had known the dream. In the sound-proof booths, the announcers had stopped speaking; all mike lines were open to carry Professor Neustadt's words to five hundred million people. "Perhaps there are no magnitudes of such a dream ... no coordinates! Or it may be that we are not yet wise enough to know them. The future may tell us, for the dream is the rainbow bridge from the present and the past to the future." Professor Neustadt's eyes were half-closed again, and his head was cocked back, bird-like. "Copernicus dreamed a dream.... So did da Vinci, Galileo and Newton, Darwin and Einstein ... all so long ago.... "Cyber IX has not dreamed a dream.... Nor have Cyber VIII, VII, VI, V, IV, III, II, I. "But they can free men to dream. "Remember that, if you forget all else: They can free men to dream! "Man's knowledge has grown so vast that much of it would be lost or useless without the storage and recall capacity of the Cybers--and man himself would be so immersed in what he knows that he would never have time to dream of that which he does not yet know, but must and can know. "Why should not the scientist use the past without being burdened by it? Why should not the lawyer and the judge use the hard-won laws of justice without being the slave of dusty law books?" Walhfred Anderson accepted the rebuke without wincing. The rebuke for all the hours he had wasted because he had been too stubborn to use a Cyber clerk, or consult Cyber V. The old should not resist the new, nor the new destroy the old. There was the letter of the law, and there was the spirit, and the spirit was the dream. What was old Hammurabi's dream? Holmes had quoted it once, "... to establish justice on the earth ... to hold back the strong from oppressing the feeble ... to shine like the sun-god upon the blackheaded men, and to illumine the land...." Holmes had dreamed the dream, all right. He had dreamed it grandly. But maybe there was room for small dreams, too, and still time for dreams when the years were so few and lonely. The Professor suddenly opened his eyes, and his voice took on the twang of steel under tension. "You are already wondering," he told the cameras accusingly, "whether I have not disproved my own words by defeating Cyber IX. "That is not true. "I defeated Cyber IX because I have wasted a man's life--my own! You all know that as a child I was a mnemonic freak, a prodigy, if you prefer. My mind was a filing cabinet, a fire-proof cabinet neatly filled with facts that could never kindle into dreams. All my life I have stuffed my filing cabinet. For sixty years I have filed and filed. "And then I dreamed one dream--my first, last and only dream. "I dreamed that man would mis-use another gift of science, as he has mis-used so many.... I dreamed of the Cybers replacing and enslaving man, instead of freeing man to dream.... And I dreamed that the golden hour would come when a man would have to prove that he could replace a Cyber--and thereby prove that neither man nor Cybers should ever replace each other." Professor Neustadt turned to Judge Anderson, and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Your Honor, I move that this case be dismissed." The worn handle of his old teakwood gavel felt warm and alive to the Judge's fingers. He sat up straight, and banged resoundingly on the top of his desk. "Case dismissed." Then, in full view of the cameras, Walhfred Anderson turned and winked boldly at Oliver Wendell Holmes. 
420	----	Dorothy and the Wizard in Oz A Faithful Record of Their Amazing Adventures in an Underground World; and How with the Aid of Their Friends Zeb Hugson, Eureka the Kitten, and Jim the Cab-Horse, They Finally Reached the Wonderful Land of Oz by L. Frank Baum "Royal Historian of Oz" --To My Readers-- 1. The Earthquake 2. The Glass City 3. The Arrival of the Wizard 4. The Vegetable Kingdom 5. Dorothy Picks the Princess 6. The Mangaboos Prove Dangerous 7. Into the Black Pit and Out Again 8. The Valley of Voices 9. They Fight the Invisible Bears 10. The Braided Man of Pyramid Mountain 11. They Meet the Wooden Gargoyles 12. A Wonderful Escape 13. The Den of the Dragonettes 14. Ozma Uses the Magic Belt 15. Old Friends are Reunited 16. Jim, the Cab-Horse 17. The Nine Tiny Piglets 18. The Trial of Eureka, the Kitten 19. The Wizard Performs Another Trick 20. Zeb Returns to the Ranch To My Readers It's no use; no use at all. The children won't let me stop telling tales of the Land of Oz. I know lots of other stories, and I hope to tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. They cry: "Oz--Oz! more about Oz, Mr. Baum!" and what can I do but obey their commands? This is Our Book--mine and the children's. For they have flooded me with thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and I have honestly tried to adopt as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one story. After the wonderful success of "Ozma of Oz" it is evident that Dorothy has become a firm fixture in these Oz stories. The little ones all love Dorothy, and as one of my small friends aptly states: "It isn't a real Oz story without her." So here she is again, as sweet and gentle and innocent as ever, I hope, and the heroine of another strange adventure. There were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about the Wizard." It seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in the first Oz book, in spite of the fact that he frankly acknowledged himself "a humbug." The children had heard how he mounted into the sky in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down again. So what could I do but tell "what happened to the Wizard afterward"? You will find him in these pages, just the same humbug Wizard as before. There was one thing the children demanded which I found it impossible to do in this present book: they bade me introduce Toto, Dorothy's little black dog, who has many friends among my readers. But you will see, when you begin to read the story, that Toto was in Kansas while Dorothy was in California, and so she had to start on her adventure without him. In this book Dorothy had to take her kitten with her instead of her dog; but in the next Oz book, if I am permitted to write one, I intend to tell a good deal about Toto's further history. Princess Ozma, whom I love as much as my readers do, is again introduced in this story, and so are several of our old friends of Oz. You will also become acquainted with Jim the Cab-Horse, the Nine Tiny Piglets, and Eureka, the Kitten. I am sorry the kitten was not as well behaved as she ought to have been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up properly. Dorothy found her, you see, and who her parents were nobody knows. I believe, my dears, that I am the proudest story-teller that ever lived. Many a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while I read the tender, loving, appealing letters that came to me in almost every mail from my little readers. To have pleased you, to have interested you, to have won your friendship, and perhaps your love, through my stories, is to my mind as great an achievement as to become President of the United States. Indeed, I would much rather be your story-teller, under these conditions, than to be the President. So you have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and I am more grateful to you, my dears, than I can express in words. I try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes there are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get your answer. But be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come, and by writing to me you more than repay me for the pleasant task of preparing these books. Besides, I am proud to acknowledge that the books are partly yours, for your suggestions often guide me in telling the stories, and I am sure they would not be half so good without your clever and thoughtful assistance. L. FRANK BAUM Coronado, 1908. 1. The Earthquake The train from 'Frisco was very late. It should have arrived at Hugson's Siding at midnight, but it was already five o'clock and the gray dawn was breaking in the east when the little train slowly rumbled up to the open shed that served for the station-house. As it came to a stop the conductor called out in a loud voice: "Hugson's Siding!" At once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car, carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked under her arm. The conductor helped her off the car and then the engineer started his train again, so that it puffed and groaned and moved slowly away up the track. The reason he was so late was because all through the night there were times when the solid earth shook and trembled under him, and the engineer was afraid that at any moment the rails might spread apart and an accident happen to his passengers. So he moved the cars slowly and with caution. The little girl stood still to watch until the train had disappeared around a curve; then she turned to see where she was. The shed at Hugson's Siding was bare save for an old wooden bench, and did not look very inviting. As she peered through the soft gray light not a house of any sort was visible near the station, nor was any person in sight; but after a while the child discovered a horse and buggy standing near a group of trees a short distance away. She walked toward it and found the horse tied to a tree and standing motionless, with its head hanging down almost to the ground. It was a big horse, tall and bony, with long legs and large knees and feet. She could count his ribs easily where they showed through the skin of his body, and his head was long and seemed altogether too big for him, as if it did not fit. His tail was short and scraggly, and his harness had been broken in many places and fastened together again with cords and bits of wire. The buggy seemed almost new, for it had a shiny top and side curtains. Getting around in front, so that she could look inside, the girl saw a boy curled up on the seat, fast asleep. She set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol. Presently he woke up, rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes briskly. "Hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you Dorothy Gale?" "Yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray eyes. "Have you come to take me to Hugson's Ranch?" "Of course," he answered. "Train in?" "I couldn't be here if it wasn't," she said. He laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. Jumping out of the buggy he put Dorothy's suit-case under the seat and her bird-cage on the floor in front. "Canary-birds?" he asked. "Oh no; it's just Eureka, my kitten. I thought that was the best way to carry her." The boy nodded. "Eureka's a funny name for a cat," he remarked. "I named my kitten that because I found it," she explained. "Uncle Henry says 'Eureka' means 'I have found it.'" "All right; hop in." She climbed into the buggy and he followed her. Then the boy picked up the reins, shook them, and said "Gid-dap!" The horse did not stir. Dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping ears, but that was all. "Gid-dap!" called the boy, again. The horse stood still. "Perhaps," said Dorothy, "if you untied him, he would go." The boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out. "Guess I'm half asleep yet," he said, untying the horse. "But Jim knows his business all right--don't you, Jim?" patting the long nose of the animal. Then he got into the buggy again and took the reins, and the horse at once backed away from the tree, turned slowly around, and began to trot down the sandy road which was just visible in the dim light. "Thought that train would never come," observed the boy. "I've waited at that station for five hours." "We had a lot of earthquakes," said Dorothy. "Didn't you feel the ground shake?" "Yes; but we're used to such things in California," he replied. "They don't scare us much." "The conductor said it was the worst quake he ever knew." "Did he? Then it must have happened while I was asleep," he said thoughtfully. "How is Uncle Henry?" she enquired, after a pause during which the horse continued to trot with long, regular strides. "He's pretty well. He and Uncle Hugson have been having a fine visit." "Is Mr. Hugson your uncle?" she asked. "Yes. Uncle Bill Hugson married your Uncle Henry's wife's sister; so we must be second cousins," said the boy, in an amused tone. "I work for Uncle Bill on his ranch, and he pays me six dollars a month and my board." "Isn't that a great deal?" she asked, doubtfully. "Why, it's a great deal for Uncle Hugson, but not for me. I'm a splendid worker. I work as well as I sleep," he added, with a laugh. "What is your name?" said Dorothy, thinking she liked the boy's manner and the cheery tone of his voice. "Not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed. "My whole name is Zebediah; but folks just call me 'Zeb.' You've been to Australia, haven't you?" "Yes; with Uncle Henry," she answered. "We got to San Francisco a week ago, and Uncle Henry went right on to Hugson's Ranch for a visit while I stayed a few days in the city with some friends we had met." "How long will you be with us?" he asked. "Only a day. Tomorrow Uncle Henry and I must start back for Kansas. We've been away for a long time, you know, and so we're anxious to get home again." The boy flicked the big, boney horse with his whip and looked thoughtful. Then he started to say something to his little companion, but before he could speak the buggy began to sway dangerously from side to side and the earth seemed to rise up before them. Next minute there was a roar and a sharp crash, and at her side Dorothy saw the ground open in a wide crack and then come together again. "Goodness!" she cried, grasping the iron rail of the seat. "What was that?" "That was an awful big quake," replied Zeb, with a white face. "It almost got us that time, Dorothy." The horse had stopped short, and stood firm as a rock. Zeb shook the reins and urged him to go, but Jim was stubborn. Then the boy cracked his whip and touched the animal's flanks with it, and after a low moan of protest Jim stepped slowly along the road. Neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes. There was a breath of danger in the very air, and every few moments the earth would shake violently. Jim's ears were standing erect upon his head and every muscle of his big body was tense as he trotted toward home. He was not going very fast, but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble like a leaf. The sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it swept over the valley. Suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. With a wild neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its occupants after him. Dorothy grabbed fast hold of the buggy top and the boy did the same. The sudden rush into space confused them so that they could not think. Blackness engulfed them on every side, and in breathless silence they waited for the fall to end and crush them against jagged rocks or for the earth to close in on them again and bury them forever in its dreadful depths. The horrible sensation of falling, the darkness and the terrifying noises, proved more than Dorothy could endure and for a few moments the little girl lost consciousness. Zeb, being a boy, did not faint, but he was badly frightened, and clung to the buggy seat with a tight grip, expecting every moment would be his last. 2. The Glass City When Dorothy recovered her senses they were still falling, but not so fast. The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear. The worst thing was their terror of reaching the bottom of this great crack in the earth, and the natural fear that sudden death was about to overtake them at any moment. Crash after crash echoed far above their heads, as the earth came together where it had split, and stones and chunks of clay rattled around them on every side. These they could not see, but they could feel them pelting the buggy top, and Jim screamed almost like a human being when a stone overtook him and struck his boney body. They did not really hurt the poor horse, because everything was falling together; only the stones and rubbish fell faster than the horse and buggy, which were held back by the pressure of the air, so that the terrified animal was actually more frightened than he was injured. How long this state of things continued Dorothy could not even guess, she was so greatly bewildered. But bye and bye, as she stared ahead into the black chasm with a beating heart, she began to dimly see the form of the horse Jim--his head up in the air, his ears erect and his long legs sprawling in every direction as he tumbled through space. Also, turning her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now remained as still and silent as she herself. Dorothy sighed and commenced to breathe easier. She began to realize that death was not in store for her, after all, but that she had merely started upon another adventure, which promised to be just as queer and unusual as were those she had before encountered. With this thought in mind the girl took heart and leaned her head over the side of the buggy to see where the strange light was coming from. Far below her she found six great glowing balls suspended in the air. The central and largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun. Around it were arranged, like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange. This splendid group of colored suns sent rays darting in every direction, and as the horse and buggy--with Dorothy and Zeb--sank steadily downward and came nearer to the lights, the rays began to take on all the delicate tintings of a rainbow, growing more and more distinct every moment until all the space was brilliantly illuminated. Dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of Jim's big ears turn to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra. Then she looked at Zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous. "Isn't it funny?" she said. The boy was startled and his eyes were big. Dorothy had a green streak through the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her appearance seemed to add to his fright. "I--I don't s-s-see any-thing funny--'bout it!" he stammered. Just then the buggy tipped slowly over upon its side, the body of the horse tipping also. But they continued to fall, all together, and the boy and girl had no difficulty in remaining upon the seat, just as they were before. Then they turned bottom side up, and continued to roll slowly over until they were right side up again. During this time Jim struggled frantically, all his legs kicking the air; but on finding himself in his former position the horse said, in a relieved tone of voice: "Well, that's better!" Dorothy and Zeb looked at one another in wonder. "Can your horse talk?" she asked. "Never knew him to, before," replied the boy. "Those were the first words I ever said," called out the horse, who had overheard them, "and I can't explain why I happened to speak then. This is a nice scrape you've got me into, isn't it?" "As for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves," answered Dorothy, cheerfully. "But never mind; something will happen pretty soon." "Of course," growled the horse, "and then we shall be sorry it happened." Zeb gave a shiver. All this was so terrible and unreal that he could not understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid. Swiftly they drew near to the flaming colored suns, and passed close beside them. The light was then so bright that it dazzled their eyes, and they covered their faces with their hands to escape being blinded. There was no heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl could open their eyes again. "We've got to come to the bottom some time," remarked Zeb, with a deep sigh. "We can't keep falling forever, you know." "Of course not," said Dorothy. "We are somewhere in the middle of the earth, and the chances are we'll reach the other side of it before long. But it's a big hollow, isn't it?" "Awful big!" answered the boy. "We're coming to something now," announced the horse. At this they both put their heads over the side of the buggy and looked down. Yes; there was land below them; and not so very far away, either. But they were floating very, very slowly--so slowly that it could no longer be called a fall--and the children had ample time to take heart and look about them. They saw a landscape with mountains and plains, lakes and rivers, very like those upon the earth's surface; but all the scene was splendidly colored by the variegated lights from the six suns. Here and there were groups of houses that seemed made of clear glass, because they sparkled so brightly. "I'm sure we are in no danger," said Dorothy, in a sober voice. "We are falling so slowly that we can't be dashed to pieces when we land, and this country that we are coming to seems quite pretty." "We'll never get home again, though!" declared Zeb, with a groan. "Oh, I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "But don't let us worry over such things, Zeb; we can't help ourselves just now, you know, and I've always been told it's foolish to borrow trouble." The boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them. They seemed to be falling right into the middle of a big city which had many tall buildings with glass domes and sharp-pointed spires. These spires were like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely to suffer serious injury. Jim the horse had seen these spires, also, and his ears stood straight up with fear, while Dorothy and Zeb held their breaths in suspense. But no; they floated gently down upon a broad, flat roof, and came to a stop at last. When Jim felt something firm under his feet the poor beast's legs trembled so much that he could hardly stand; but Zeb at once leaped out of the buggy to the roof, and he was so awkward and hasty that he kicked over Dorothy's bird-cage, which rolled out upon the roof so that the bottom came off. At once a pink kitten crept out of the upset cage, sat down upon the glass roof, and yawned and blinked its round eyes. "Oh," said Dorothy. "There's Eureka." "First time I ever saw a pink cat," said Zeb. "Eureka isn't pink; she's white. It's this queer light that gives her that color." "Where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into Dorothy's face. "I'm 'most starved to death." "Oh, Eureka! Can you talk?" "Talk! Am I talking? Good gracious, I believe I am. Isn't it funny?" asked the kitten. "It's all wrong," said Zeb, gravely. "Animals ought not to talk. But even old Jim has been saying things since we had our accident." "I can't see that it's wrong," remarked Jim, in his gruff tones. "At least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. What's going to become of us now?" "I don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously. The houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as through a window. Dorothy saw, underneath the roof on which she stood, several rooms used for rest chambers, and even thought she could make out a number of queer forms huddled into the corners of these rooms. The roof beside them had a great hole smashed through it, and pieces of glass were lying scattered in every direction. A nearby steeple had been broken off short and the fragments lay heaped beside it. Other buildings were cracked in places or had corners chipped off from them; but they must have been very beautiful before these accidents had happened to mar their perfection. The rainbow tints from the colored suns fell upon the glass city softly and gave to the buildings many delicate, shifting hues which were very pretty to see. But not a sound had broken the stillness since the strangers had arrived, except that of their own voices. They began to wonder if there were no people to inhabit this magnificent city of the inner world. Suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were on and stepped into plain view. He was not a very large man, but was well formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine portrait. His clothing fitted his form snugly and was gorgeously colored in brilliant shades of green, which varied as the sunbeams touched them but was not wholly influenced by the solar rays. The man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly. There was no expression of either fear or surprise upon his tranquil face, yet he must have been both astonished and afraid; for after his eyes had rested upon the ungainly form of the horse for a moment he walked rapidly to the furthest edge of the roof, his head turned back over his shoulder to gaze at the strange animal. "Look out!" cried Dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!" But he paid no attention to her warning. He reached the edge of the tall roof, stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he were on firm ground. The girl, greatly astonished, ran to lean over the edge of the roof, and saw the man walking rapidly through the air toward the ground. Soon he reached the street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass buildings. "How strange!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "Yes; but it's lots of fun, if it IS strange," remarked the small voice of the kitten, and Dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so away from the edge of the roof. "Come back, Eureka!" she called, in distress, "you'll certainly be killed." "I have nine lives," said the kitten, purring softly as it walked around in a circle and then came back to the roof; "but I can't lose even one of them by falling in this country, because I really couldn't manage to fall if I wanted to." "Does the air bear up your weight?" asked the girl. "Of course; can't you see?" and again the kitten wandered into the air and back to the edge of the roof. "It's wonderful!" said Dorothy. "Suppose we let Eureka go down to the street and get some one to help us," suggested Zeb, who had been even more amazed than Dorothy at these strange happenings. "Perhaps we can walk on the air ourselves," replied the girl. Zeb drew back with a shiver. "I wouldn't dare try," he said. "Maybe Jim will go," continued Dorothy, looking at the horse. "And maybe he won't!" answered Jim. "I've tumbled through the air long enough to make me contented on this roof." "But we didn't tumble to the roof," said the girl; "by the time we reached here we were floating very slowly, and I'm almost sure we could float down to the street without getting hurt. Eureka walks on the air all right." "Eureka weights only about half a pound," replied the horse, in a scornful tone, "while I weigh about half a ton." "You don't weigh as much as you ought to, Jim," remarked the girl, shaking her head as she looked at the animal. "You're dreadfully skinny." "Oh, well; I'm old," said the horse, hanging his head despondently, "and I've had lots of trouble in my day, little one. For a good many years I drew a public cab in Chicago, and that's enough to make anyone skinny." "He eats enough to get fat, I'm sure," said the boy, gravely. "Do I? Can you remember any breakfast that I've had today?" growled Jim, as if he resented Zeb's speech. "None of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like this it's foolish to talk about eating." "Nothing is more dangerous than being without food," declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; "and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. If there are, they are liable to be glass oats!" "Oh, no!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. But I wish we could find a way to get to the ground." "Why don't you walk down?" asked Eureka. "I'm as hungry as the horse is, and I want my milk." "Will you try it, Zeb?" asked the girl, turning to her companion. Zeb hesitated. He was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure had upset him and made him nervous and worried. But he did not wish the little girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof. Dorothy stretched out a hand to him and Zeb put one foot out and let it rest in the air a little over the edge of the roof. It seemed firm enough to walk upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. Dorothy kept hold of his hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with the kitten frisking beside them. "Come on, Jim!" called the boy. "It's all right." Jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others did. So, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. His great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so softly that he was not even jarred. "Well, well!" said Dorothy, drawing a long breath, "What a strange country this is." People began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. There were men and women, but no children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. There was not an ugly person in all the throng, yet Dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of dolls. They did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness. They simply started at the strangers, paying most attention to Jim and Eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the children bore an outward resemblance to themselves. Pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair just over his forehead. He seemed to be a person of authority, for the others pressed back to give him room. After turning his composed eyes first upon the animals and then upon the children he said to Zeb, who was a little taller than Dorothy: "Tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the Rain of Stones?" For a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question. Then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long before they had reached this place, he answered: "No, sir; we didn't cause anything. It was the earthquake." The man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. Then he asked: "What is an earthquake?" "I don't know," said Zeb, who was still confused. But Dorothy, seeing his perplexity, answered: "It's a shaking of the earth. In this quake a big crack opened and we fell through--horse and buggy, and all--and the stones got loose and came down with us." The man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes. "The Rain of Stones has done much damage to our city," he said; "and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your innocence." "How can we do that?" asked the girl. "That I am not prepared to say. It is your affair, not mine. You must go to the House of the Sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth." "Where is the House of the Sorcerer?" the girl enquired. "I will lead you to it. Come!" He turned and walked down the street, and after a moment's hesitation Dorothy caught Eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. The boy took his seat beside her and said: "Gid-dap Jim." As the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. Slowly they moved down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until they came to an open square in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four tall spires on each corner. 3. The Arrival Of The Wizard The doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy to enter, so Zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. The people at once followed and formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall. "Come to us, oh, Gwig!" called the man, in a loud voice. Instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon a glass throne just before Jim's nose. He was formed just as were the other inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being bright yellow. But he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the branches of rose-bushes. There was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and he looked so funny that Dorothy laughed when she saw him. The Sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold, cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant. "Why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded Land of the Mangaboos?" he asked, sternly. "'Cause we couldn't help it," said Dorothy. "Why did you wickedly and viciously send the Rain of Stones to crack and break our houses?" he continued. "We didn't," declared the girl. "Prove it!" cried the Sorcerer. "We don't have to prove it," answered Dorothy, indignantly. "If you had any sense at all you'd known it was the earthquake." "We only know that yesterday came a Rain of Stones upon us, which did much damage and injured some of our people. Today came another Rain of Stones, and soon after it you appeared among us." "By the way," said the man with the star, looking steadily at the Sorcerer, "you told us yesterday that there would not be a second Rain of Stones. Yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. What is your sorcery good for if it cannot tell us the truth?" "My sorcery does tell the truth!" declared the thorn-covered man. "I said there would be but one Rain of Stones. This second one was a Rain of People-and-Horse-and-Buggy. And some stones came with them." "Will there be any more Rains?" asked the man with the star. "No, my Prince." "Neither stones nor people?" "No, my Prince." "Are you sure?" "Quite sure, my Prince. My sorcery tells me so." Just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the Prince after making a low bow. "More wonders in the air, my Lord," said he. Immediately the Prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the street, that they might see what was about to happen. Dorothy and Zeb jumped out of the buggy and ran after them, but the Sorcerer remained calmly in his throne. Far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. It was not so high as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through the air--so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move. The throng stood still and waited. It was all they could do, for to go away and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in any way. The earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size of the Mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the House of the Sorcerer, with Eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy. Gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down upon the Land of the Mangaboos. Dorothy was surprised to find how patient the people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. A balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and Zeb out of their difficulties. In an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement. Then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed very gracefully to the crowd of Mangaboos around him. He was quite an old little man and his head was long and entirely bald. "Why," cried Dorothy, in amazement, "it's Oz!" The little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. But he smiled and bowed as he answered: "Yes, my dear; I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Eh? And you are little Dorothy, from Kansas. I remember you very well." "Who did you say it was?" whispered Zeb to the girl. "It's the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Haven't you heard of him?" Just then the man with the star came and stood before the Wizard. "Sir," said he, "why are you here, in the Land of the Mangaboos?" "Didn't know what land it was, my son," returned the other, with a pleasant smile; "and, to be honest, I didn't mean to visit you when I started out. I live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside it; but yesterday I went up in a balloon, and when I came down I fell into a big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. I had let so much gas out of my balloon that I could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed over my head. So I continued to descend until I reached this place, and if you will show me a way to get out of it, I'll go with pleasure. Sorry to have troubled you; but it couldn't be helped." The Prince had listened with attention. Said he: "This child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a Wizard. Is not a Wizard something like a Sorcerer?" "It's better," replied Oz, promptly. "One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers." "Ah, you shall prove that," said the Prince. "We Mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful Sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. Do you ever make mistakes?" "Never!" declared the Wizard, boldly. "Oh, Oz!" said Dorothy; "you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the marvelous Land of Oz." "Nonsense!" said the little man, turning red--although just then a ray of violet sunlight was on his round face. "Come with me," said the Prince to him. "I wish to meet our Sorcerer." The Wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it. So he followed the Prince into the great domed hall, and Dorothy and Zeb came after them, while the throng of people trooped in also. There sat the thorny Sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the Wizard saw him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles. "What an absurd creature!" he exclaimed. "He may look absurd," said the Prince, in his quiet voice; "but he is an excellent Sorcerer. The only fault I find with him is that he is so often wrong." "I am never wrong," answered the Sorcerer. "Only a short time ago you told me there would be no more Rain of Stones or of People," said the Prince. "Well, what then?" "Here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong." "One person cannot be called 'people,'" said the Sorcerer. "If two should come out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than this one appears I will hold that I was right." "Very clever," said the Wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. "I am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. Were you ever with a circus, brother?" "No," said the Sorcerer. "You ought to join one," declared the little man seriously. "I belong to Bailum & Barney's Great Consolidated Shows--three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. It's a fine aggregation, I assure you." "What do you do?" asked the Sorcerer. "I go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus. But I've just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth, and land lower down than I intended. But never mind. It isn't everybody who gets a chance to see your Land of the Gabazoos." "Mangaboos," said the Sorcerer, correcting him. "If you are a Wizard you ought to be able to call people by their right names." "Oh, I'm a Wizard; you may be sure of that. Just as good a Wizard as you are a Sorcerer." "That remains to be seen," said the other. "If you are able to prove that you are better," said the Prince to the little man, "I will make you the Chief Wizard of this domain. Otherwise--" "What will happen otherwise?" asked the Wizard. "I will stop you from living and forbid you to be planted," returned the Prince. "That does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily. "But never mind. I'll beat Old Prickly, all right." "My name is Gwig," said the Sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon his rival. "Let me see you equal the sorcery I am about to perform." He waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing sweet music. Yet, look where she would, Dorothy could discover no bells at all in the great glass hall. The Mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. It was one of the things Gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer. Now was the Wizard's turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked: "Will somebody kindly loan me a hat?" No one did, because the Mangaboos did not wear hats, and Zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air. "Ahem!" said the Wizard, "will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?" But they had no handkerchiefs, either. "Very good," remarked the Wizard. "I'll use my own hat, if you please. Now, good people, observe me carefully. You see, there is nothing up my sleeve and nothing concealed about my person. Also, my hat is quite empty." He took off his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly. "Let me see it," said the Sorcerer. He took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the Wizard. "Now," said the little man, "I will create something out of nothing." He placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse, which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny, shrill voice. The people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or little. The Wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant. He placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets. The Wizard continued this surprising performance until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and grunting in a very comical way. "Now," said the Wizard of Oz, "having created something from nothing, I will make something nothing again." With this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that the two were one. Then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the first, where it disappeared. And so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. This the Wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. When he removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely. The little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then the Prince said, in his cold, calm voice: "You are indeed a wonderful Wizard, and your powers are greater than those of my Sorcerer." "He will not be a wonderful Wizard long," remarked Gwig. "Why not?" enquired the Wizard. "Because I am going to stop your breath," was the reply. "I perceive that you are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep alive." The little man looked troubled. "How long will it take you to stop my breath?" he asked. "About five minutes. I'm going to begin now. Watch me carefully." He began making queer signs and passes toward the Wizard; but the little man did not watch him long. Instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword. By the time he had attached a handle to this sword he was having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the Sorcerer was beginning to take effect. So the Wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke that cut the body of the Sorcerer exactly in two. Dorothy screamed and expected to see a terrible sight; but as the two halves of the Sorcerer fell apart on the floor she saw that he had no bones or blood inside of him at all, and that the place where he was cut looked much like a sliced turnip or potato. "Why, he's vegetable!" cried the Wizard, astonished. "Of course," said the Prince. "We are all vegetable, in this country. Are you not vegetable, also?" "No," answered the Wizard. "People on top of the earth are all meat. Will your Sorcerer die?" "Certainly, sir. He is really dead now, and will wither very quickly. So we must plant him at once, that other Sorcerers may grow upon his bush," continued the Prince. "What do you mean by that?" asked the little Wizard, greatly puzzled. "If you will accompany me to our public gardens," replied the Prince, "I will explain to you much better than I can here the mysteries of our Vegetable Kingdom." 4. The Vegetable Kingdom After the Wizard had wiped the dampness from his sword and taken it apart and put the pieces into their leathern case again, the man with the star ordered some of his people to carry the two halves of the Sorcerer to the public gardens. Jim pricked up his ears when he heard they were going to the gardens, and wanted to join the party, thinking he might find something proper to eat; so Zeb put down the top of the buggy and invited the Wizard to ride with them. The seat was amply wide enough for the little man and the two children, and when Jim started to leave the hall the kitten jumped upon his back and sat there quite contentedly. So the procession moved through the streets, the bearers of the Sorcerer first, the Prince next, then Jim drawing the buggy with the strangers inside of it, and last the crowd of vegetable people who had no hearts and could neither smile nor frown. The glass city had several fine streets, for a good many people lived there; but when the procession had passed through these it came upon a broad plain covered with gardens and watered by many pretty brooks that flowed through it. There were paths through these gardens, and over some of the brooks were ornamental glass bridges. Dorothy and Zeb now got out of the buggy and walked beside the Prince, so that they might see and examine the flowers and plants better. "Who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl. "No one built them," answered the man with the star. "They grow." "That's queer," said she. "Did the glass houses in your city grow, too?" "Of course," he replied. "But it took a good many years for them to grow as large and fine as they are now. That is why we are so angry when a Rain of Stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs." "Can't you mend them?" she enquired. "No; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait until they do." They first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which grew nearest the city; but Dorothy could hardly tell what kind of flowers they were, because the colors were constantly changing under the shifting lights of the six suns. A flower would be pink one second, white the next, then blue or yellow; and it was the same way when they came to the plants, which had broad leaves and grew close to the ground. When they passed over a field of grass Jim immediately stretched down his head and began to nibble. "A nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has to eat pink grass!" "It's violet," said the Wizard, who was in the buggy. "Now it's blue," complained the horse. "As a matter of fact, I'm eating rainbow grass." "How does it taste?" asked the Wizard. "Not bad at all," said Jim. "If they give me plenty of it I'll not complain about its color." By this time the party had reached a freshly plowed field, and the Prince said to Dorothy: "This is our planting-ground." Several Mangaboos came forward with glass spades and dug a hole in the ground. Then they put the two halves of the Sorcerer into it and covered him up. After that other people brought water from a brook and sprinkled the earth. "He will sprout very soon," said the Prince, "and grow into a large bush, from which we shall in time be able to pick several very good sorcerers." "Do all your people grow on bushes?" asked the boy. "Certainly," was the reply. "Do not all people grow upon bushes where you came from, on the outside of the earth?" "Not that I ever hear of." "How strange! But if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens I will show you the way we grow in the Land of the Mangaboos." It appeared that these odd people, while they were able to walk through the air with ease, usually moved upon the ground in the ordinary way. There were no stairs in their houses, because they did not need them, but on a level surface they generally walked just as we do. The little party of strangers now followed the Prince across a few more of the glass bridges and along several paths until they came to a garden enclosed by a high hedge. Jim had refused to leave the field of grass, where he was engaged in busily eating; so the Wizard got out of the buggy and joined Zeb and Dorothy, and the kitten followed demurely at their heels. Inside the hedge they came upon row after row of large and handsome plants with broad leaves gracefully curving until their points nearly reached the ground. In the center of each plant grew a daintily dressed Mangaboo, for the clothing of all these creatures grew upon them and was attached to their bodies. The growing Mangaboos were of all sizes, from the blossom that had just turned into a wee baby to the full-grown and almost ripe man or woman. On some of the bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of life. This sight explained to Dorothy why she had seen no children among the Mangaboos, a thing she had until now been unable to account for. "Our people do not acquire their real life until they leave their bushes," said the Prince. "You will notice they are all attached to the plants by the soles of their feet, and when they are quite ripe they are easily separated from the stems and at once attain the powers of motion and speech. So while they grow they cannot be said to really live, and they must be picked before they can become good citizens." "How long do you live, after you are picked?" asked Dorothy. "That depends upon the care we take of ourselves," he replied. "If we keep cool and moist, and meet with no accidents, we often live for five years. I've been picked over six years, but our family is known to be especially long lived." "Do you eat?" asked the boy. "Eat! No, indeed. We are quite solid inside our bodies, and have no need to eat, any more than does a potato." "But the potatoes sometimes sprout," said Zeb. "And sometimes we do," answered the Prince; "but that is considered a great misfortune, for then we must be planted at once." "Where did you grow?" asked the Wizard. "I will show you," was the reply. "Step this way, please." He led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large and beautiful bush. "This," said he, "is the Royal Bush of the Mangaboos. All of our Princes and Rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial." They stood before it in silent admiration. On the central stalk stood poised the figure of a girl so exquisitely formed and colored and so lovely in the expression of her delicate features that Dorothy thought she had never seen so sweet and adorable a creature in all her life. The maiden's gown was soft as satin and fell about her in ample folds, while dainty lace-like traceries trimmed the bodice and sleeves. Her flesh was fine and smooth as polished ivory, and her poise expressed both dignity and grace. "Who is this?" asked the Wizard, curiously. The Prince had been staring hard at the girl on the bush. Now he answered, with a touch of uneasiness in his cold tones: "She is the Ruler destined to be my successor, for she is a Royal Princess. When she becomes fully ripe I must abandon the sovereignty of the Mangaboos to her." "Isn't she ripe now?" asked Dorothy. He hesitated. "Not quite," said he, finally. "It will be several days before she needs to be picked, or at least that is my judgment. I am in no hurry to resign my office and be planted, you may be sure." "Probably not," declared the Wizard, nodding. "This is one of the most unpleasant things about our vegetable lives," continued the Prince, with a sigh, "that while we are in our full prime we must give way to another, and be covered up in the ground to sprout and grow and give birth to other people." "I'm sure the Princess is ready to be picked," asserted Dorothy, gazing hard at the beautiful girl on the bush. "She's as perfect as she can be." "Never mind," answered the Prince, hastily, "she will be all right for a few days longer, and it is best for me to rule until I can dispose of you strangers, who have come to our land uninvited and must be attended to at once." "What are you going to do with us?" asked Zeb. "That is a matter I have not quite decided upon," was the reply. "I think I shall keep this Wizard until a new Sorcerer is ready to pick, for he seems quite skillful and may be of use to us. But the rest of you must be destroyed in some way, and you cannot be planted, because I do not wish horses and cats and meat people growing all over our country." "You needn't worry," said Dorothy. "We wouldn't grow under ground, I'm sure." "But why destroy my friends?" asked the little Wizard. "Why not let them live?" "They do not belong here," returned the Prince. "They have no right to be inside the earth at all." "We didn't ask to come down here; we fell," said Dorothy. "That is no excuse," declared the Prince, coldly. The children looked at each other in perplexity, and the Wizard sighed. Eureka rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice: "He won't need to destroy ME, for if I don't get something to eat pretty soon I shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble." "If he planted you, he might grow some cat-tails," suggested the Wizard. "Oh, Eureka! perhaps we can find you some milk-weeds to eat," said the boy. "Phoo!" snarled the kitten; "I wouldn't touch the nasty things!" "You don't need milk, Eureka," remarked Dorothy; "you are big enough now to eat any kind of food." "If I can get it," added Eureka. "I'm hungry myself," said Zeb. "But I noticed some strawberries growing in one of the gardens, and some melons in another place. These people don't eat such things, so perhaps on our way back they will let us get them." "Never mind your hunger," interrupted the Prince. "I shall order you destroyed in a few minutes, so you will have no need to ruin our pretty melon vines and berry bushes. Follow me, please, to meet your doom." 5. Dorothy Picks the Princess The words of the cold and moist vegetable Prince were not very comforting, and as he spoke them he turned away and left the enclosure. The children, feeling sad and despondent, were about to follow him when the Wizard touched Dorothy softly on her shoulder. "Wait!" he whispered. "What for?" asked the girl. "Suppose we pick the Royal Princess," said the Wizard. "I'm quite sure she's ripe, and as soon as she comes to life she will be the Ruler, and may treat us better than that heartless Prince intends to." "All right!" exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly. "Let's pick her while we have the chance, before the man with the star comes back." So together they leaned over the great bush and each of them seized one hand of the lovely Princess. "Pull!" cried Dorothy, and as they did so the royal lady leaned toward them and the stems snapped and separated from her feet. She was not at all heavy, so the Wizard and Dorothy managed to lift her gently to the ground. The beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice: "I thank you very much." "We salute your Royal Highness!" cried the Wizard, kneeling and kissing her hand. Just then the voice of the Prince was heard calling upon them to hasten, and a moment later he returned to the enclosure, followed by a number of his people. Instantly the Princess turned and faced him, and when he saw that she was picked the Prince stood still and began to tremble. "Sir," said the Royal Lady, with much dignity, "you have wronged me greatly, and would have wronged me still more had not these strangers come to my rescue. I have been ready for picking all the past week, but because you were selfish and desired to continue your unlawful rule, you left me to stand silent upon my bush." "I did not know that you were ripe," answered the Prince, in a low voice. "Give me the Star of Royalty!" she commanded. Slowly he took the shining star from his own brow and placed it upon that of the Princess. Then all the people bowed low to her, and the Prince turned and walked away alone. What became of him afterward our friends never knew. The people of Mangaboo now formed themselves into a procession and marched toward the glass city to escort their new ruler to her palace and to perform those ceremonies proper to the occasion. But while the people in the procession walked upon the ground the Princess walked in the air just above their heads, to show that she was a superior being and more exalted than her subjects. No one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so Dorothy and Zeb and the Wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the vegetable gardens. They did not bother to cross the bridges over the brooks, but when they came to a stream they stepped high and walked in the air to the other side. This was a very interesting experience to them, and Dorothy said: "I wonder why it is that we can walk so easily in the air." "Perhaps," answered the Wizard, "it is because we are close to the center of the earth, where the attraction of gravitation is very slight. But I've noticed that many queer things happen in fairy countries." "Is this a fairy country?" asked the boy. "Of course it is," returned Dorothy promptly. "Only a fairy country could have veg'table people; and only in a fairy country could Eureka and Jim talk as we do." "That's true," said Zeb, thoughtfully. In the vegetable gardens they found the strawberries and melons, and several other unknown but delicious fruits, of which they ate heartily. But the kitten bothered them constantly by demanding milk or meat, and called the Wizard names because he could not bring her a dish of milk by means of his magical arts. As they sat upon the grass watching Jim, who was still busily eating, Eureka said: "I don't believe you are a Wizard at all!" "No," answered the little man, "you are quite right. In the strict sense of the word I am not a Wizard, but only a humbug." "The Wizard of Oz has always been a humbug," agreed Dorothy. "I've known him for a long time." "If that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the nine tiny piglets?" "Don't know," said Dorothy, "but it must have been humbug." "Very true," declared the Wizard, nodding at her. "It was necessary to deceive that ugly Sorcerer and the Prince, as well as their stupid people; but I don't mind telling you, who are my friends, that the thing was only a trick." "But I saw the little pigs with my own eyes!" exclaimed Zeb. "So did I," purred the kitten. "To be sure," answered the Wizard. "You saw them because they were there. They are in my inside pocket now. But the pulling of them apart and pushing them together again was only a sleight-of-hand trick." "Let's see the pigs," said Eureka, eagerly. The little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets, setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the tender blades. "They're hungry, too," he said. "Oh, what cunning things!" cried Dorothy, catching up one and petting it. "Be careful!" said the piglet, with a squeal, "you're squeezing me!" "Dear me!" murmured the Wizard, looking at his pets in astonishment. "They can actually talk!" "May I eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice. "I'm awfully hungry." "Why, Eureka," said Dorothy, reproachfully, "what a cruel question! It would be dreadful to eat these dear little things." "I should say so!" grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the kitten; "cats are cruel things." "I'm not cruel," replied the kitten, yawning. "I'm just hungry." "You cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving," declared the little man, in a stern voice. "They are the only things I have to prove I'm a wizard." "How did they happen to be so little?" asked Dorothy. "I never saw such small pigs before." "They are from the Island of Teenty-Weent," said the Wizard, "where everything is small because it's a small island. A sailor brought them to Los Angeles and I gave him nine tickets to the circus for them." "But what am I going to eat?" wailed the kitten, sitting in front of Dorothy and looking pleadingly into her face. "There are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers. And if I can't eat the piglets you may as well plant me at once and raise catsup." "I have an idea," said the Wizard, "that there are fishes in these brooks. Do you like fish?" "Fish!" cried the kitten. "Do I like fish? Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!" "Then I'll try to catch you some," said he. "But won't they be veg'table, like everything else here?" asked the kitten. "I think not. Fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the vegetables themselves. There is no reason, that I can see, why they may not exist in the waters of this strange country." Then the Wizard bent a pin for a hook and took a long piece of string from his pocket for a fish-line. The only bait he could find was a bright red blossom from a flower; but he knew fishes are easy to fool if anything bright attracts their attention, so he decided to try the blossom. Having thrown the end of his line in the water of a nearby brook he soon felt a sharp tug that told him a fish had bitten and was caught on the bent pin; so the little man drew in the string and, sure enough, the fish came with it and was landed safely on the shore, where it began to flop around in great excitement. The fish was fat and round, and its scales glistened like beautifully cut jewels set close together; but there was no time to examine it closely, for Eureka made a jump and caught it between her claws, and in a few moments it had entirely disappeared. "Oh, Eureka!" cried Dorothy, "did you eat the bones?" "If it had any bones, I ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it washed its face after the meal. "But I don't think that fish had any bones, because I didn't feel them scratch my throat." "You were very greedy," said the girl. "I was very hungry," replied the kitten. The little pigs had stood huddled in a group, watching this scene with frightened eyes. "Cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them. "I'm glad we are not fishes!" said another. "Don't worry," Dorothy murmured, soothingly, "I'll not let the kitten hurt you." Then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went to the buggy and brought them. Eureka stuck up her nose at such food, but the tiny piglets squealed delightedly at the sight of the crackers and ate them up in a jiffy. "Now let us go back to the city," suggested the Wizard. "That is, if Jim has had enough of the pink grass." The cab-horse, who was browsing near, lifted his head with a sigh. "I've tried to eat a lot while I had the chance," said he, "for it's likely to be a long while between meals in this strange country. But I'm ready to go, now, at any time you wish." So, after the Wizard had put the piglets back into his inside pocket, where they cuddled up and went to sleep, the three climbed into the buggy and Jim started back to the town. "Where shall we stay?" asked the girl. "I think I shall take possession of the House of the Sorcerer," replied the Wizard; "for the Prince said in the presence of his people that he would keep me until they picked another Sorcerer, and the new Princess won't know but that we belong there." They agreed to this plan, and when they reached the great square Jim drew the buggy into the big door of the domed hall. "It doesn't look very homelike," said Dorothy, gazing around at the bare room. "But it's a place to stay, anyhow." "What are those holes up there?" enquired the boy, pointing to some openings that appeared near the top of the dome. "They look like doorways," said Dorothy; "only there are no stairs to get to them." "You forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the Wizard. "Let us walk up, and see where the doors lead to." With this he began walking in the air toward the high openings, and Dorothy and Zeb followed him. It was the same sort of climb one experiences when walking up a hill, and they were nearly out of breath when they came to the row of openings, which they perceived to be doorways leading into halls in the upper part of the house. Following these halls they discovered many small rooms opening from them, and some were furnished with glass benches, tables and chairs. But there were no beds at all. "I wonder if these people never sleep," said the girl. "Why, there seems to be no night at all in this country," Zeb replied. "Those colored suns are exactly in the same place they were when we came, and if there is no sunset there can be no night." "Very true," agreed the Wizard. "But it is a long time since I have had any sleep, and I'm tired. So I think I shall lie down upon one of these hard glass benches and take a nap." "I will, too," said Dorothy, and chose a little room at the end of the hall. Zeb walked down again to unharness Jim, who, when he found himself free, rolled over a few times and then settled down to sleep, with Eureka nestling comfortably beside his big, boney body. Then the boy returned to one of the upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in slumberland. 6. The Mangaboos Prove Dangerous When the Wizard awoke the six colored suns were shining down upon the Land of the Mangaboos just as they had done ever since his arrival. The little man, having had a good sleep, felt rested and refreshed, and looking through the glass partition of the room he saw Zeb sitting up on his bench and yawning. So the Wizard went in to him. "Zeb," said he, "my balloon is of no further use in this strange country, so I may as well leave it on the square where it fell. But in the basket-car are some things I would like to keep with me. I wish you would go and fetch my satchel, two lanterns, and a can of kerosene oil that is under the seat. There is nothing else that I care about." So the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned Dorothy was awake. Then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do next, but could think of no way to better their condition. "I don't like these veg'table people," said the little girl. "They're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness." "I agree with you. It is because there is no warm blood in them," remarked the Wizard. "And they have no hearts; so they can't love anyone--not even themselves," declared the boy. "The Princess is lovely to look at," continued Dorothy, thoughtfully; "but I don't care much for her, after all. If there was any other place to go, I'd like to go there." "But IS there any other place?" asked the Wizard. "I don't know," she answered. Just then they heard the big voice of Jim the cab-horse calling to them, and going to the doorway leading to the dome they found the Princess and a throng of her people had entered the House of the Sorcerer. So they went down to greet the beautiful vegetable lady, who said to them: "I have been talking with my advisors about you meat people, and we have decided that you do not belong in the Land of the Mangaboos and must not remain here." "How can we go away?" asked Dorothy. "Oh, you cannot go away, of course; so you must be destroyed," was the answer. "In what way?" enquired the Wizard. "We shall throw you three people into the Garden of the Twining Vines," said the Princess, "and they will soon crush you and devour your bodies to make themselves grow bigger. The animals you have with you we will drive to the mountains and put into the Black Pit. Then our country will be rid of all its unwelcome visitors." "But you are in need of a Sorcerer," said the Wizard, "and not one of those growing is yet ripe enough to pick. I am greater than any thorn-covered sorcerer that every grew in your garden. Why destroy me?" "It is true we need a Sorcerer," acknowledged the Princess, "but I am informed that one of our own will be ready to pick in a few days, to take the place of Gwig, whom you cut in two before it was time for him to be planted. Let us see your arts, and the sorceries you are able to perform. Then I will decide whether to destroy you with the others or not." At this the Wizard made a bow to the people and repeated his trick of producing the nine tiny piglets and making them disappear again. He did it very cleverly, indeed, and the Princess looked at the strange piglets as if she were as truly astonished as any vegetable person could be. But afterward she said: "I have heard of this wonderful magic. But it accomplishes nothing of value. What else can you do?" The Wizard tried to think. Then he jointed together the blades of his sword and balanced it very skillfully upon the end of his nose. But even that did not satisfy the Princess. Just then his eye fell upon the lanterns and the can of kerosene oil which Zeb had brought from the car of his balloon, and he got a clever idea from those commonplace things. "Your Highness," said he, "I will now proceed to prove my magic by creating two suns that you have never seen before; also I will exhibit a Destroyer much more dreadful that your Clinging Vines." So he placed Dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a lantern upon each of their heads. "Don't laugh," he whispered to them, "or you will spoil the effect of my magic." Then, with much dignity and a look of vast importance upon his wrinkled face, the Wizard got out his match-box and lighted the two lanterns. The glare they made was very small when compared with the radiance of the six great colored suns; but still they gleamed steadily and clearly. The Mangaboos were much impressed because they had never before seen any light that did not come directly from their suns. Next the Wizard poured a pool of oil from the can upon the glass floor, where it covered quite a broad surface. When he lighted the oil a hundred tongues of flame shot up, and the effect was really imposing. "Now, Princess," exclaimed the Wizard, "those of your advisors who wished to throw us into the Garden of Clinging Vines must step within this circle of light. If they advised you well, and were in the right, they will not be injured in any way. But if any advised you wrongly, the light will wither him." The advisors of the Princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes. Some of the Mangaboos fell down and had to be dragged from the fire, and all were so withered that it would be necessary to plant them at once. "Sir," said the Princess to the Wizard, "you are greater than any Sorcerer we have ever known. As it is evident that my people have advised me wrongly, I will not cast you three people into the dreadful Garden of the Clinging Vines; but your animals must be driven into the Black Pit in the mountain, for my subjects cannot bear to have them around." The Wizard was so pleased to have saved the two children and himself that he said nothing against this decree; but when the Princess had gone both Jim and Eureka protested they did not want to go to the Black Pit, and Dorothy promised she would do all that she could to save them from such a fate. For two or three days after this--if we call days the periods between sleep, there being no night to divide the hours into days--our friends were not disturbed in any way. They were even permitted to occupy the House of the Sorcerer in peace, as if it had been their own, and to wander in the gardens in search of food. Once they came near to the enclosed Garden of the Clinging Vines, and walking high into the air looked down upon it with much interest. They saw a mass of tough green vines all matted together and writhing and twisting around like a nest of great snakes. Everything the vines touched they crushed, and our adventurers were indeed thankful to have escaped being cast among them. Whenever the Wizard went to sleep he would take the nine tiny piglets from his pocket and let them run around on the floor of his room to amuse themselves and get some exercise; and one time they found his glass door ajar and wandered into the hall and then into the bottom part of the great dome, walking through the air as easily as Eureka could. They knew the kitten, by this time, so they scampered over to where she lay beside Jim and commenced to frisk and play with her. The cab-horse, who never slept long at a time, sat upon his haunches and watched the tiny piglets and the kitten with much approval. "Don't be rough!" he would call out, if Eureka knocked over one of the round, fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport very greatly. Suddenly they looked up to find the room filled with the silent, solemn-eyed Mangaboos. Each of the vegetable folks bore a branch covered with sharp thorns, which was thrust defiantly toward the horse, the kitten and the piglets. "Here--stop this foolishness!" Jim roared, angrily; but after being pricked once or twice he got upon his four legs and kept out of the way of the thorns. The Mangaboos surrounded them in solid ranks, but left an opening to the doorway of the hall; so the animals slowly retreated until they were driven from the room and out upon the street. Here were more of the vegetable people with thorns, and silently they urged the now frightened creatures down the street. Jim had to be careful not to step upon the tiny piglets, who scampered under his feet grunting and squealing, while Eureka, snarling and biting at the thorns pushed toward her, also tried to protect the pretty little things from injury. Slowly but steadily the heartless Mangaboos drove them on, until they had passed through the city and the gardens and come to the broad plains leading to the mountain. "What does all this mean, anyhow?" asked the horse, jumping to escape a thorn. "Why, they are driving us toward the Black Pit, into which they threatened to cast us," replied the kitten. "If I were as big as you are, Jim, I'd fight these miserable turnip-roots!" "What would you do?" enquired Jim. "I'd kick out with those long legs and iron-shod hoofs." "All right," said the horse; "I'll do it." An instant later he suddenly backed toward the crowd of Mangaboos and kicked out his hind legs as hard as he could. A dozen of them smashed together and tumbled to the ground, and seeing his success Jim kicked again and again, charging into the vegetable crowd, knocking them in all directions and sending the others scattering to escape his iron heels. Eureka helped him by flying into the faces of the enemy and scratching and biting furiously, and the kitten ruined so many vegetable complexions that the Mangaboos feared her as much as they did the horse. But the foes were too many to be repulsed for long. They tired Jim and Eureka out, and although the field of battle was thickly covered with mashed and disabled Mangaboos, our animal friends had to give up at last and allow themselves to be driven to the mountain. 7. Into the Black Pit and Out Again When they came to the mountain it proved to be a rugged, towering chunk of deep green glass, and looked dismal and forbidding in the extreme. Half way up the steep was a yawning cave, black as night beyond the point where the rainbow rays of the colored suns reached into it. The Mangaboos drove the horse and the kitten and the piglets into this dark hole and then, having pushed the buggy in after them--for it seemed some of them had dragged it all the way from the domed hall--they began to pile big glass rocks within the entrance, so that the prisoners could not get out again. "This is dreadful!" groaned Jim. "It will be about the end of our adventures, I guess." "If the Wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would not see us suffer so." "We ought to have called him and Dorothy when we were first attacked," added Eureka. "But never mind; be brave, my friends, and I will go and tell our masters where you are, and get them to come to your rescue." The mouth of the hole was nearly filled up now, but the kitten gave a leap through the remaining opening and at once scampered up into the air. The Mangaboos saw her escape, and several of them caught up their thorns and gave chase, mounting through the air after her. Eureka, however, was lighter than the Mangaboos, and while they could mount only about a hundred feet above the earth the kitten found she could go nearly two hundred feet. So she ran along over their heads until she had left them far behind and below and had come to the city and the House of the Sorcerer. There she entered in at Dorothy's window in the dome and aroused her from her sleep. As soon as the little girl knew what had happened she awakened the Wizard and Zeb, and at once preparations were made to go to the rescue of Jim and the piglets. The Wizard carried his satchel, which was quite heavy, and Zeb carried the two lanterns and the oil can. Dorothy's wicker suit-case was still under the seat of the buggy, and by good fortune the boy had also placed the harness in the buggy when he had taken it off from Jim to let the horse lie down and rest. So there was nothing for the girl to carry but the kitten, which she held close to her bosom and tried to comfort, for its little heart was still beating rapidly. Some of the Mangaboos discovered them as soon as they left the House of the Sorcerer; but when they started toward the mountain the vegetable people allowed them to proceed without interference, yet followed in a crowd behind them so that they could not go back again. Before long they neared the Black Pit, where a busy swarm of Mangaboos, headed by their Princess, was engaged in piling up glass rocks before the entrance. "Stop, I command you!" cried the Wizard, in an angry tone, and at once began pulling down the rocks to liberate Jim and the piglets. Instead of opposing him in this they stood back in silence until he had made a good-sized hole in the barrier, when by order of the Princess they all sprang forward and thrust out their sharp thorns. Dorothy hopped inside the opening to escape being pricked, and Zeb and the Wizard, after enduring a few stabs from the thorns, were glad to follow her. At once the Mangaboos began piling up the rocks of glass again, and as the little man realized that they were all about to be entombed in the mountain he said to the children: "My dears, what shall we do? Jump out and fight?" "What's the use?" replied Dorothy. "I'd as soon die here as live much longer among these cruel and heartless people." "That's the way I feel about it," remarked Zeb, rubbing his wounds. "I've had enough of the Mangaboos." "All right," said the Wizard; "I'm with you, whatever you decide. But we can't live long in this cavern, that's certain." Noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his inside pocket. Zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns. The rays of the colored suns were now shut out from them forever, for the last chinks had been filled up in the wall that separated their prison from the Land of the Mangaboos. "How big is this hole?" asked Dorothy. "I'll explore it and see," replied the boy. So he carried the lantern back for quite a distance, while Dorothy and the Wizard followed at his side. The cavern did not come to an end, as they had expected it would, but slanted upward through the great glass mountain, running in a direction that promised to lead them to the side opposite the Mangaboo country. "It isn't a bad road," observed the Wizard, "and if we followed it it might lead us to some place that is more comfortable than this black pocket we are now in. I suppose the vegetable folk were always afraid to enter this cavern because it is dark; but we have our lanterns to light the way, so I propose that we start out and discover where this tunnel in the mountain leads to." The others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy began to harness Jim to the buggy. When all was in readiness the three took their seats in the buggy and Jim started cautiously along the way, Zeb driving while the Wizard and Dorothy each held a lighted lantern so the horse could see where to go. Sometimes the tunnel was so narrow that the wheels of the buggy grazed the sides; then it would broaden out as wide as a street; but the floor was usually smooth, and for a long time they travelled on without any accident. Jim stopped sometimes to rest, for the climb was rather steep and tiresome. "We must be nearly as high as the six colored suns, by this time," said Dorothy. "I didn't know this mountain was so tall." "We are certainly a good distance away from the Land of the Mangaboos," added Zeb; "for we have slanted away from it ever since we started." But they kept steadily moving, and just as Jim was about tired out with his long journey the way suddenly grew lighter, and Zeb put out the lanterns to save the oil. To their joy they found it was a white light that now greeted them, for all were weary of the colored rainbow lights which, after a time, had made their eyes ache with their constantly shifting rays. The sides of the tunnel showed before them like the inside of a long spy-glass, and the floor became more level. Jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the dark passage, and in a few moments more they had emerged from the mountain and found themselves face to face with a new and charming country. 8. The Valley of Voices By journeying through the glass mountain they had reached a delightful valley that was shaped like the hollow of a great cup, with another rugged mountain showing on the other side of it, and soft and pretty green hills at the ends. It was all laid out into lovely lawns and gardens, with pebble paths leading through them and groves of beautiful and stately trees dotting the landscape here and there. There were orchards, too, bearing luscious fruits that are all unknown in our world. Alluring brooks of crystal water flowed sparkling between their flower-strewn banks, while scattered over the valley were dozens of the quaintest and most picturesque cottages our travelers had ever beheld. None of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it. As the new arrivals gazed upon this exquisite scene they were enraptured by its beauties and the fragrance that permeated the soft air, which they breathed so gratefully after the confined atmosphere of the tunnel. Several minutes were consumed in silent admiration before they noticed two very singular and unusual facts about this valley. One was that it was lighted from some unseen source; for no sun or moon was in the arched blue sky, although every object was flooded with a clear and perfect light. The second and even more singular fact was the absence of any inhabitant of this splendid place. From their elevated position they could overlook the entire valley, but not a single moving object could they see. All appeared mysteriously deserted. The mountain on this side was not glass, but made of a stone similar to granite. With some difficulty and danger Jim drew the buggy over the loose rocks until he reached the green lawns below, where the paths and orchards and gardens began. The nearest cottage was still some distance away. "Isn't it fine?" cried Dorothy, in a joyous voice, as she sprang out of the buggy and let Eureka run frolicking over the velvety grass. "Yes, indeed!" answered Zeb. "We were lucky to get away from those dreadful vegetable people." "It wouldn't be so bad," remarked the Wizard, gazing around him, "if we were obliged to live here always. We couldn't find a prettier place, I'm sure." He took the piglets from his pocket and let them run on the grass, and Jim tasted a mouthful of the green blades and declared he was very contented in his new surroundings. "We can't walk in the air here, though," called Eureka, who had tried it and failed; but the others were satisfied to walk on the ground, and the Wizard said they must be nearer the surface of the earth then they had been in the Mangaboo country, for everything was more homelike and natural. "But where are the people?" asked Dorothy. The little man shook his bald head. "Can't imagine, my dear," he replied. They heard the sudden twittering of a bird, but could not find the creature anywhere. Slowly they walked along the path toward the nearest cottage, the piglets racing and gambolling beside them and Jim pausing at every step for another mouthful of grass. Presently they came to a low plant which had broad, spreading leaves, in the center of which grew a single fruit about as large as a peach. The fruit was so daintily colored and so fragrant, and looked so appetizing and delicious that Dorothy stopped and exclaimed: "What is it, do you s'pose?" The piglets had smelled the fruit quickly, and before the girl could reach out her hand to pluck it every one of the nine tiny ones had rushed in and commenced to devour it with great eagerness. "It's good, anyway," said Zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled it up so greedily." "Where are they?" asked Dorothy, in astonishment. They all looked around, but the piglets had disappeared. "Dear me!" cried the Wizard; "they must have run away. But I didn't see them go; did you?" "No!" replied the boy and the girl, together. "Here,--piggy, piggy, piggy!" called their master, anxiously. Several squeals and grunts were instantly heard at his feet, but the Wizard could not discover a single piglet. "Where are you?" he asked. "Why, right beside you," spoke a tiny voice. "Can't you see us?" "No," answered the little man, in a puzzled tone. "We can see you," said another of the piglets. The Wizard stooped down and put out his hand, and at once felt the small fat body of one of his pets. He picked it up, but could not see what he held. "It is very strange," said he, soberly. "The piglets have become invisible, in some curious way." "I'll bet it's because they ate that peach!" cried the kitten. "It wasn't a peach, Eureka," said Dorothy. "I only hope it wasn't poison." "It was fine, Dorothy," called one of the piglets. "We'll eat all we can find of them," said another. "But WE mus'n't eat them," the Wizard warned the children, "or we too may become invisible, and lose each other. If we come across another of the strange fruit we must avoid it." Calling the piglets to him he picked them all up, one by one, and put them away in his pocket; for although he could not see them he could feel them, and when he had buttoned his coat he knew they were safe for the present. The travellers now resumed their walk toward the cottage, which they presently reached. It was a pretty place, with vines growing thickly over the broad front porch. The door stood open and a table was set in the front room, with four chairs drawn up to it. On the table were plates, knives and forks, and dishes of bread, meat and fruits. The meat was smoking hot and the knives and forks were performing strange antics and jumping here and there in quite a puzzling way. But not a single person appeared to be in the room. "How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy, who with Zeb and the Wizard now stood in the doorway. A peal of merry laughter answered her, and the knives and forks fell to the plates with a clatter. One of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this was so astonishing and mysterious that Dorothy was almost tempted to run away in fright. "Here are strangers, mama!" cried the shrill and childish voice of some unseen person. "So I see, my dear," answered another voice, soft and womanly. "What do you want?" demanded a third voice, in a stern, gruff accent. "Well, well!" said the Wizard; "are there really people in this room?" "Of course," replied the man's voice. "And--pardon me for the foolish question--but, are you all invisible?" "Surely," the woman answered, repeating her low, rippling laughter. "Are you surprised that you are unable to see the people of Voe?" "Why, yes," stammered the Wizard. "All the people I have ever met before were very plain to see." "Where do you come from, then?" asked the woman, in a curious tone. "We belong upon the face of the earth," explained the Wizard, "but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the Country of the Mangaboos." "Dreadful creatures!" exclaimed the woman's voice. "I've heard of them." "They walled us up in a mountain," continued the Wizard; "but we found there was a tunnel through to this side, so we came here. It is a beautiful place. What do you call it?" "It is the Valley of Voe." "Thank you. We have seen no people since we arrived, so we came to this house to enquire our way." "Are you hungry?" asked the woman's voice. "I could eat something," said Dorothy. "So could I," added Zeb. "But we do not wish to intrude, I assure you," the Wizard hastened to say. "That's all right," returned the man's voice, more pleasantly than before. "You are welcome to what we have." As he spoke the voice came so near to Zeb that he jumped back in alarm. Two childish voices laughed merrily at this action, and Dorothy was sure they were in no danger among such light-hearted folks, even if those folks couldn't be seen. "What curious animal is that which is eating the grass on my lawn?" enquired the man's voice. "That's Jim," said the girl. "He's a horse." "What is he good for?" was the next question. "He draws the buggy you see fastened to him, and we ride in the buggy instead of walking," she explained. "Can he fight?" asked the man's voice. "No! he can kick pretty hard with his heels, and bite a little; but Jim can't 'zactly fight," she replied. "Then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices. "Bears!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Are these bears here?" "That is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man. "Many large and fierce bears roam in the Valley of Voe, and when they can catch any of us they eat us up; but as they cannot see us, we seldom get caught." "Are the bears invis'ble, too?" asked the girl. "Yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from being seen by any eye, whether human or animal." "Does the dama-fruit grow on a low bush, and look something like a peach?" asked the Wizard. "Yes," was the reply. "If it makes you invis'ble, why do you eat it?" Dorothy enquired. "For two reasons, my dear," the woman's voice answered. "The dama-fruit is the most delicious thing that grows, and when it makes us invisible the bears cannot find us to eat us up. But now, good wanderers, your luncheon is on the table, so please sit down and eat as much as you like." 9. They Fight the Invisible Bears The strangers took their seats at the table willingly enough, for they were all hungry and the platters were now heaped with good things to eat. In front of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely tempted to eat of them and become invisible. But Dorothy satisfied her hunger with other things, and her companions did likewise, resisting the temptation. "Why do you not eat the damas?" asked the woman's voice. "We don't want to get invis'ble," answered the girl. "But if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children. "We who live here much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and are quite safe from the bears." "And we do not have to be so particular about our dress," remarked the man. "And mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully. "But I make you wash it, every time I think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not." Dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands. "Come here, please--Ianu and your sister--and let me feel of you," she requested. They came to her willingly, and Dorothy passed her hands over their faces and forms and decided one was a girl of about her own age and the other a boy somewhat smaller. The girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth as satin. When Dorothy gently touched her nose and ears and lips they seemed to be well and delicately formed. "If I could see you I am sure you would be beautiful," she declared. The girl laughed, and her mother said: "We are not vain in the Valley of Voe, because we can not display our beauty, and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions. Yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky." "How about the birds and beasts and fishes?" asked Zeb. "The birds we cannot see, because they love to eat of the damas as much as we do; yet we hear their sweet songs and enjoy them. Neither can we see the cruel bears, for they also eat the fruit. But the fishes that swim in our brooks we can see, and often we catch them to eat." "It occurs to me you have a great deal to make you happy, even while invisible," remarked the Wizard. "Nevertheless, we prefer to remain visible while we are in your valley." Just then Eureka came in, for she had been until now wandering outside with Jim; and when the kitten saw the table set with food she cried out: "Now you must feed me, Dorothy, for I'm half starved." The children were inclined to be frightened by the sight of the small animal, which reminded them of the bears; but Dorothy reassured them by explaining that Eureka was a pet and could do no harm even if she wished to. Then, as the others had by this time moved away from the table, the kitten sprang upon the chair and put her paws upon the cloth to see what there was to eat. To her surprise an unseen hand clutched her and held her suspended in the air. Eureka was frantic with terror, and tried to scratch and bite, so the next moment she was dropped to the floor. "Did you see that, Dorothy?" she gasped. "Yes, dear," her mistress replied; "there are people living in this house, although we cannot see them. And you must have better manners, Eureka, or something worse will happen to you." She placed a plate of food upon the floor and the kitten ate greedily. "Give me that nice-smelling fruit I saw on the table," she begged, when she had cleaned the plate. "Those are damas," said Dorothy, "and you must never even taste them, Eureka, or you'll get invis'ble, and then we can't see you at all." The kitten gazed wistfully at the forbidden fruit. "Does it hurt to be invis'ble?" she asked. "I don't know," Dorothy answered; "but it would hurt me dre'fully to lose you." "Very well, I won't touch it," decided the kitten; "but you must keep it away from me, for the smell is very tempting." "Can you tell us, sir or ma'am," said the Wizard, addressing the air because he did not quite know where the unseen people stood, "if there is any way we can get out of your beautiful Valley, and on top of the Earth again." "Oh, one can leave the Valley easily enough," answered the man's voice; "but to do so you must enter a far less pleasant country. As for reaching the top of the earth, I have never heard that it is possible to do that, and if you succeeded in getting there you would probably fall off." "Oh, no," said Dorothy, "we've been there, and we know." "The Valley of Voe is certainly a charming place," resumed the Wizard; "but we cannot be contented in any other land than our own, for long. Even if we should come to unpleasant places on our way it is necessary, in order to reach the earth's surface, to keep moving on toward it." "In that case," said the man, "it will be best for you to cross our Valley and mount the spiral staircase inside the Pyramid Mountain. The top of that mountain is lost in the clouds, and when you reach it you will be in the awful Land of Naught, where the Gargoyles live." "What are Gargoyles?" asked Zeb. "I do not know, young sir. Our greatest Champion, Overman-Anu, once climbed the spiral stairway and fought nine days with the Gargoyles before he could escape them and come back; but he could never be induced to describe the dreadful creatures, and soon afterward a bear caught him and ate him up." The wanders were rather discouraged by this gloomy report, but Dorothy said with a sigh: "If the only way to get home is to meet the Gurgles, then we've got to meet 'em. They can't be worse than the Wicked Witch or the Nome King." "But you must remember you had the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman to help you conquer those enemies," suggested the Wizard. "Just now, my dear, there is not a single warrior in your company." "Oh, I guess Zeb could fight if he had to. Couldn't you, Zeb?" asked the little girl. "Perhaps; if I had to," answered Zeb, doubtfully. "And you have the jointed sword that you chopped the veg'table Sorcerer in two with," the girl said to the little man. "True," he replied; "and in my satchel are other useful things to fight with." "What the Gargoyles most dread is a noise," said the man's voice. "Our Champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. But they were in great numbers, and the Champion could not shout much because he had to save his breath for fighting." "Very good," said the Wizard; "we can all yell better than we can fight, so we ought to defeat the Gargoyles." "But tell me," said Dorothy, "how did such a brave Champion happen to let the bears eat him? And if he was invis'ble, and the bears invis'ble, who knows that they really ate him up?" "The Champion had killed eleven bears in his time," returned the unseen man; "and we know this is true because when any creature is dead the invisible charm of the dama-fruit ceases to be active, and the slain one can be plainly seen by all eyes. When the Champion killed a bear everyone could see it; and when the bears killed the Champion we all saw several pieces of him scattered about, which of course disappeared again when the bears devoured them." They now bade farewell to the kind but unseen people of the cottage, and after the man had called their attention to a high, pyramid-shaped mountain on the opposite side of the Valley, and told them how to travel in order to reach it, they again started upon their journey. They followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them. Fruits and flowers grew plentifully all about, and there were many of the delicious damas that the people of Voe were so fond of. About noon they stopped to allow Jim to rest in the shade of a pretty orchard, and while they plucked and ate some of the cherries and plums that grew there a soft voice suddenly said to them: "There are bears near by. Be careful." The Wizard got out his sword at once, and Zeb grabbed the horse-whip. Dorothy climbed into the buggy, although Jim had been unharnessed from it and was grazing some distance away. The owner of the unseen voice laughed lightly and said: "You cannot escape the bears that way." "How CAN we 'scape?" asked Dorothy, nervously, for an unseen danger is always the hardest to face. "You must take to the river," was the reply. "The bears will not venture upon the water." "But we would be drowned!" exclaimed the girl. "Oh, there is no need of that," said the voice, which from its gentle tones seemed to belong to a young girl. "You are strangers in the Valley of Voe, and do not seem to know our ways; so I will try to save you." The next moment a broad-leaved plant was jerked from the ground where it grew and held suspended in the air before the Wizard. "Sir," said the voice, "you must rub these leaves upon the soles of all your feet, and then you will be able to walk upon the water without sinking below the surface. It is a secret the bears do not know, and we people of Voe usually walk upon the water when we travel, and so escape our enemies." "Thank you!" cried the Wizard, joyfully, and at once rubbed a leaf upon the soles of Dorothy's shoes and then upon his own. The girl took a leaf and rubbed it upon the kitten's paws, and the rest of the plant was handed to Zeb, who, after applying it to his own feet, carefully rubbed it upon all four of Jim's hoofs and then upon the tires of the buggy-wheels. He had nearly finished this last task when a low growling was suddenly heard and the horse began to jump around and kick viciously with his heels. "Quick! To the water or you are lost!" cried their unseen friend, and without hesitation the Wizard drew the buggy down the bank and out upon the broad river, for Dorothy was still seated in it with Eureka in her arms. They did not sink at all, owing to the virtues of the strange plant they had used, and when the buggy was in the middle of the stream the Wizard returned to the bank to assist Zeb and Jim. The horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely. "Run for the river!" shouted the Wizard, and Jim quickly freed himself from his unseen tormenters by a few vicious kicks and then obeyed. As soon as he trotted out upon the surface of the river he found himself safe from pursuit, and Zeb was already running across the water toward Dorothy. As the little Wizard turned to follow them he felt a hot breath against his cheek and heard a low, fierce growl. At once he began stabbing at the air with his sword, and he knew that he had struck some substance because when he drew back the blade it was dripping with blood. The third time that he thrust out the weapon there was a loud roar and a fall, and suddenly at his feet appeared the form of a great red bear, which was nearly as big as the horse and much stronger and fiercer. The beast was quite dead from the sword thrusts, and after a glance at its terrible claws and sharp teeth the little man turned in a panic and rushed out upon the water, for other menacing growls told him more bears were near. On the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. Dorothy and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water, and the others made haste to join her. The Wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he mended the cuts Jim had received from the claws of the bears. "I think we'd better stick to the river, after this," said Dorothy. "If our unknown friend hadn't warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead by this time." "That is true," agreed the Wizard, "and as the river seems to be flowing in the direction of the Pyramid Mountain it will be the easiest way for us to travel." Zeb hitched Jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them rapidly over the smooth water. The kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of getting wet, but Dorothy let her down and soon Eureka was frisking along beside the buggy without being scared a bit. Once a little fish swam too near the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as a wink; but Dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach. After a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved, and they found they must cross a mile or so of the Valley before they came to the Pyramid Mountain. There were few houses in this part, and few orchards or flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears, which they had learned to dread with all their hearts. "You'll have to make a dash, Jim," said the Wizard, "and run as fast as you can go." "All right," answered the horse; "I'll do my best. But you must remember I'm old, and my dashing days are past and gone." All three got into the buggy and Zeb picked up the reins, though Jim needed no guidance of any sort. The horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made Dorothy catch her breath. Then Zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and Jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. His boney legs moved so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the Wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled "Whoa!" at the top of his voice. "I--I'm 'fraid he's--he's running away!" gasped Dorothy. "I KNOW he is," said Zeb; "but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait--and the harness or the buggy don't break." Jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the Wizard and Zeb both sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass--where they rolled over several times before they stopped. Dorothy nearly went with them, but she was holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. She squeezed the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at them all. 10. The Braided Man of Pyramid Mountain The mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point was lost in the clouds. Directly facing the place where Jim had stopped was an arched opening leading to a broad stairway. The stairs were cut in the rock inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight began the circle was quite big. At the foot of the stairs was a sign reading: WARNING. These steps lead to the Land of the Gargoyles. DANGER! KEEP OUT. "I wonder how Jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs," said Dorothy, gravely. "No trouble at all," declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. "Still, I don't care to drag any passengers. You'll all have to walk." "Suppose the stairs get steeper?" suggested Zeb, doubtfully. "Then you'll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that's all," answered Jim. "We'll try it, anyway," said the Wizard. "It's the only way to get out of the Valley of Voe." So they began to ascend the stairs, Dorothy and the Wizard first, Jim next, drawing the buggy, and then Zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness. The light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the Wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. But this enabled them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. Looking through this opening they could see the Valley of Voe lying far below them, the cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance. After resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs were broad and low enough for Jim to draw the buggy easily after him. The old horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. At such times they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure to make one's legs ache. They wound about, always going upward, for some time. The lights from the lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a second landing. Here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge. The opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the Valley of Voe, and our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. Below them was a vast space, at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which little tongues of flame constantly shot up. Just above them, and almost on a level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly shifted position and changed color. The blues and greys were very beautiful, and Dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy forms of beautiful beings who must have been the Cloud Fairies. Mortals who stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the dainty fairies very clearly. "Are they real?" asked Zeb, in an awed voice. "Of course," replied Dorothy, softly. "They are the Cloud Fairies." "They seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently. "If I should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it." In the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath, could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the air. These birds were of enormous size, and reminded Zeb of the rocs he had read about in the Arabian Nights. They had fierce eyes and sharp talons and beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern. "Well, I declare!" suddenly exclaimed the little Wizard. "What in the world is this?" They turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. He was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard. These were so long that they reached to his feet, and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon. "Where did you come from?" asked Dorothy, wonderingly. "No place at all," answered the man with the braids; "that is, not recently. Once I lived on top the earth, but for many years I have had my factory in this spot--half way up Pyramid Mountain." "Are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone. "I believe so, my lad," replied the braided man. "But as I have never been in either direction, down or up, since I arrived, I cannot be positive whether it is exactly half way or not." "Have you a factory in this place?" asked the Wizard, who had been examining the strange personage carefully. "To be sure," said the other. "I am a great inventor, you must know, and I manufacture my products in this lonely spot." "What are your products?" enquired the Wizard. "Well, I make Assorted Flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of Rustles for ladies' silk gowns." "I thought so," said the Wizard, with a sigh. "May we examine some of these articles?" "Yes, indeed; come into my shop, please," and the braided man turned and led the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. Here, on a broad shelf, were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord. "This," said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently, "contains twelve dozen rustles--enough to last any lady a year. Will you buy it, my dear?" he asked, addressing Dorothy. "My gown isn't silk," she said, smiling. "Never mind. When you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are wearing a silk dress or not," said the man, seriously. Then he picked up another box. "In this," he continued, "are many assorted flutters. They are invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. You, sir," turning to the Wizard, "ought to have this assortment. Once you have tried my goods I am sure you will never be without them." "I have no money with me," said the Wizard, evasively. "I do not want money," returned the braided man, "for I could not spend it in this deserted place if I had it. But I would like very much a blue hair-ribbon. You will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red, green, white and black; but I have no blue ribbons." "I'll get you one!" cried Dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. It did her good to see how the braided man's eyes sparkled when he received this treasure. "You have made me very, very happy, my dear!" he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the Wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles. "You may need them, some time," he said, "and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them." "Why did you leave the surface of the earth?" enquired the Wizard. "I could not help it. It is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears I will tell you about it. On earth I was a manufacturer of Imported Holes for American Swiss Cheese, and I will acknowledge that I supplied a superior article, which was in great demand. Also I made pores for porous plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. Finally I invented a new Adjustable Post-hole, which I thought would make my fortune. I manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which to store them I set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground. That made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down into the earth; and, as I leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, I lost my balance and tumbled in. Unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast space you see outside this mountain; but I managed to catch a point of rock that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would certainly have consumed me. Here, then, I made my home; and although it is a lonely place I amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very nicely." When the braided man had completed this strange tale Dorothy nearly laughed, because it was all so absurd; but the Wizard tapped his forehead significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. So they politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their journey. 11. They Meet the Wooden Gargoyles Another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where there was a rift in the mountain. On peering out all they could see was rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else. But the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the rocky floor the Wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny piglets. To his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they had passed beyond the influence of the magical Valley of Voe. "Why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully. "Yes," sighed Eureka; "and I also can see you again, and the sight makes me dreadfully hungry. Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little piglets? You'd never miss ONE of them, I'm sure!" "What a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such good friends, too, and played with one another!" "When I'm not hungry, I love to play with you all," said the kitten, demurely; "but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as a fat piglet." "And we trusted you so!" said another of the nine, reproachfully. "And thought you were respectable!" said another. "It seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, I'm sure." "You see, Eureka," remarked Dorothy, reprovingly, "you are making yourself disliked. There are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but I never heard of a kitten eating a pig, under ANY cir'stances." "Did you ever see such little pigs before?" asked the kitten. "They are no bigger than mice, and I'm sure mice are proper for me to eat." "It isn't the bigness, dear; its the variety," replied the girl. "These are Mr. Wizard's pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn't be any more proper for you to eat them than it would be for Jim to eat you." "And that's just what I shall do if you don't let those little balls of pork alone," said Jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. "If you injure any one of them I'll chew you up instantly." The kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not. "In that case," she said, "I'll leave them alone. You haven't many teeth left, Jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. So the piglets will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as I am concerned." "That is right, Eureka," remarked the Wizard, earnestly. "Let us all be a happy family and love one another." Eureka yawned and stretched herself. "I've always loved the piglets," she said; "but they don't love me." "No one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted Dorothy. "If you behave, and don't scare the little pigs, I'm sure they'll grow very fond of you." The Wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed. "We must be pretty near the top, now," said the boy, as they climbed wearily up the dark, winding stairway. "The Country of the Gurgles can't be far from the top of the earth," remarked Dorothy. "It isn't very nice down here. I'd like to get home again, I'm sure." No one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb. The stairs had become narrower and Zeb and the Wizard often had to help Jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls. At last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and stronger as they advanced. "Thank goodness we're nearly there!" panted the little Wizard. Jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head above the rocky sides of the stairway. Then he halted, ducked down and began to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others. "Let's go down again!" he said, in his hoarse voice. "Nonsense!" snapped the tired Wizard. "What's the matter with you, old man?" "Everything," grumbled the horse. "I've taken a look at this place, and it's no fit country for real creatures to go to. Everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere." "Never mind; we can't turn back," said Dorothy; "and we don't intend to stay there, anyhow." "It's dangerous," growled Jim, in a stubborn tone. "See here, my good steed," broke in the Wizard, "little Dorothy and I have been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm. We've even been to the marvelous Land of Oz--haven't we, Dorothy?--so we don't much care what the Country of the Gargoyles is like. Go ahead, Jim, and whatever happens we'll make the best of it." "All right," answered the horse; "this is your excursion, and not mine; so if you get into trouble don't blame me." With this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps. The others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld. "The Country of the Gargoyles is all wooden!" exclaimed Zeb; and so it was. The ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from trees, worn smooth in course of time. There were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards. The tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were shavings. The patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. Wooden birds fluttered among the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most amazing things of all were the wooden people--the creatures known as Gargoyles. These were very numerous, for the place was thickly inhabited, and a large group of the queer people clustered near, gazing sharply upon the strangers who had emerged from the long spiral stairway. The Gargoyles were very small of stature, being less than three feet in height. Their bodies were round, their legs short and thick and their arms extraordinarily long and stout. Their heads were too big for their bodies and their faces were decidedly ugly to look upon. Some had long, curved noses and chins, small eyes and wide, grinning mouths. Others had flat noses, protruding eyes, and ears that were shaped like those of an elephant. There were many types, indeed, scarcely two being alike; but all were equally disagreeable in appearance. The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, others designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads. They all wore short wooden wings which were fastened to their wooden bodies by means of wooden hinges with wooden screws, and with these wings they flew swiftly and noiselessly here and there, their legs being of little use to them. This noiseless motion was one of the most peculiar things about the Gargoyles. They made no sounds at all, either in flying or trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with their wooden fingers or lips. Neither was there any sound to be heard anywhere throughout the wooden country. The birds did not sing, nor did the cows moo; yet there was more than ordinary activity everywhere. The group of these queer creatures which was discovered clustered near the stairs at first remained staring and motionless, glaring with evil eyes at the intruders who had so suddenly appeared in their land. In turn the Wizard and the children, the horse and the kitten, examined the Gargoyles with the same silent attention. "There's going to be trouble, I'm sure," remarked the horse. "Unhitch those tugs, Zeb, and set me free from the buggy, so I can fight comfortably." "Jim's right," sighed the Wizard. "There's going to be trouble, and my sword isn't stout enough to cut up those wooden bodies--so I shall have to get out my revolvers." He got his satchel from the buggy and, opening it, took out two deadly looking revolvers that made the children shrink back in alarm just to look at. "What harm can the Gurgles do?" asked Dorothy. "They have no weapons to hurt us with." "Each of their arms is a wooden club," answered the little man, "and I'm sure the creatures mean mischief, by the looks of their eyes. Even these revolvers can merely succeed in damaging a few of their wooden bodies, and after that we will be at their mercy." "But why fight at all, in that case?" asked the girl. "So I may die with a clear conscience," returned the Wizard, gravely. "It's every man's duty to do the best he knows how; and I'm going to do it." "Wish I had an axe," said Zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse. "If we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other useful things," responded the Wizard. "But we dropped into this adventure rather unexpectedly." The Gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking, for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in the silence surrounding them. But as soon as the conversation ceased, the grinning, ugly creatures arose in a flock and flew swiftly toward the strangers, their long arms stretched out before them like the bowsprits of a fleet of sail-boats. The horse had especially attracted their notice, because it was the biggest and strangest creature they had ever seen; so it became the center of their first attack. But Jim was ready for them, and when he saw them coming he turned his heels toward them and began kicking out as hard as he could. Crack! crash! bang! went his iron-shod hoofs against the wooden bodies of the Gargoyles, and they were battered right and left with such force that they scattered like straws in the wind. But the noise and clatter seemed as dreadful to them as Jim's heels, for all who were able swiftly turned and flew away to a great distance. The others picked themselves up from the ground one by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought he had won the fight with ease. But the Wizard was not so confident. "Those wooden things are impossible to hurt," he said, "and all the damage Jim has done to them is to knock a few splinters from their noses and ears. That cannot make them look any uglier, I'm sure, and it is my opinion they will soon renew the attack." "What made them fly away?" asked Dorothy. "The noise, of course. Don't you remember how the Champion escaped them by shouting his battle-cry?" "Suppose we escape down the stairs, too," suggested the boy. "We have time, just now, and I'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps." "No," returned Dorothy, stoutly, "it won't do to go back, for then we would never get home. Let's fight it out." "That is what I advise," said the Wizard. "They haven't defeated us yet, and Jim is worth a whole army." But the Gargoyles were clever enough not to attack the horse the next time. They advanced in a great swarm, having been joined by many more of their kind, and they flew straight over Jim's head to where the others were standing. The Wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place. Some of the wooden beings fell flat upon the ground, where they quivered and trembled in every limb; but most of them managed to wheel and escape again to a distance. Zeb ran and picked up one of the Gargoyles that lay nearest to him. The top of its head was carved into a crown and the Wizard's bullet had struck it exactly in the left eye, which was a hard wooden knot. Half of the bullet stuck in the wood and half stuck out, so it had been the jar and the sudden noise that had knocked the creature down, more than the fact that it was really hurt. Before this crowned Gargoyle had recovered himself Zeb had wound a strap several times around its body, confining its wings and arms so that it could not move. Then, having tied the wooden creature securely, the boy buckled the strap and tossed his prisoner into the buggy. By that time the others had all retired. 12. A Wonderful Escape For a while the enemy hesitated to renew the attack. Then a few of them advanced until another shot from the Wizard's revolver made them retreat. "That's fine," said Zeb. "We've got 'em on the run now, sure enough." "But only for a time," replied the Wizard, shaking his head gloomily. "These revolvers are good for six shots each, but when those are gone we shall be helpless." The Gargoyles seemed to realize this, for they sent a few of their band time after time to attack the strangers and draw the fire from the little man's revolvers. In this way none of them was shocked by the dreadful report more than once, for the main band kept far away and each time a new company was sent into the battle. When the Wizard had fired all of his twelve bullets he had caused no damage to the enemy except to stun a few by the noise, and so be as no nearer to victory than in the beginning of the fray. "What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy, anxiously. "Let's yell--all together," said Zeb. "And fight at the same time," added the Wizard. "We will get near Jim, so that he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can. I'll use my sword, although it isn't much account in this affair. Dorothy must take her parasol and open it suddenly when the wooden folks attack her. I haven't anything for you, Zeb." "I'll use the king," said the boy, and pulled his prisoner out of the buggy. The bound Gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its wrists Zeb found the king made a very good club. The boy was strong for one of his years, having always worked upon a farm; so he was likely to prove more dangerous to the enemy than the Wizard. When the next company of Gargoyles advanced, our adventurers began yelling as if they had gone mad. Even the kitten gave a dreadfully shrill scream and at the same time Jim the cab-horse neighed loudly. This daunted the enemy for a time, but the defenders were soon out of breath. Perceiving this, as well as the fact that there were no more of the awful "bangs" to come from the revolvers, the Gargoyles advanced in a swarm as thick as bees, so that the air was filled with them. Dorothy squatted upon the ground and put up her parasol, which nearly covered her and proved a great protection. The Wizard's sword-blade snapped into a dozen pieces at the first blow he struck against the wooden people. Zeb pounded away with the Gargoyle he was using as a club until he had knocked down dozens of foes; but at the last they clustered so thickly about him that he no longer had room in which to swing his arms. The horse performed some wonderful kicking and even Eureka assisted when she leaped bodily upon the Gargoyles and scratched and bit at them like a wild-cat. But all this bravery amounted to nothing at all. The wooden things wound their long arms around Zeb and the Wizard and held them fast. Dorothy was captured in the same way, and numbers of the Gargoyles clung to Jim's legs, so weighting him down that the poor beast was helpless. Eureka made a desperate dash to escape and scampered along the ground like a streak; but a grinning Gargoyle flew after her and grabbed her before she had gone very far. All of them expected nothing less than instant death; but to their surprise the wooden creatures flew into the air with them and bore them far away, over miles and miles of wooden country, until they came to a wooden city. The houses of this city had many corners, being square and six-sided and eight-sided. They were tower-like in shape and the best of them seemed old and weather-worn; yet all were strong and substantial. To one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their captors. The Gargoyles roughly pushed them into the opening, where there was a platform, and then flew away and left them. As they had no wings the strangers could not fly away, and if they jumped down from such a height they would surely be killed. The creatures had sense enough to reason that way, and the only mistake they made was in supposing the earth people were unable to overcome such ordinary difficulties. Jim was brought with the others, although it took a good many Gargoyles to carry the big beast through the air and land him on the high platform, and the buggy was thrust in after him because it belonged to the party and the wooden folks had no idea what it was used for or whether it was alive or not. When Eureka's captor had thrown the kitten after the others the last Gargoyle silently disappeared, leaving our friends to breathe freely once more. "What an awful fight!" said Dorothy, catching her breath in little gasps. "Oh, I don't know," purred Eureka, smoothing her ruffled fur with her paw; "we didn't manage to hurt anybody, and nobody managed to hurt us." "Thank goodness we are together again, even if we are prisoners," sighed the little girl. "I wonder why they didn't kill us on the spot," remarked Zeb, who had lost his king in the struggle. "They are probably keeping us for some ceremony," the Wizard answered, reflectively; "but there is no doubt they intend to kill us as dead as possible in a short time." "As dead as poss'ble would be pretty dead, wouldn't it?" asked Dorothy. "Yes, my dear. But we have no need to worry about that just now. Let us examine our prison and see what it is like." The space underneath the roof, where they stood, permitted them to see on all sides of the tall building, and they looked with much curiosity at the city spread out beneath them. Everything visible was made of wood, and the scene seemed stiff and extremely unnatural. From their platform a stair descended into the house, and the children and the Wizard explored it after lighting a lantern to show them the way. Several stories of empty rooms rewarded their search, but nothing more; so after a time they came back to the platform again. Had there been any doors or windows in the lower rooms, or had not the boards of the house been so thick and stout, escape could have been easy; but to remain down below was like being in a cellar or the hold of a ship, and they did not like the darkness or the damp smell. In this country, as in all others they had visited underneath the earth's surface, there was no night, a constant and strong light coming from some unknown source. Looking out, they could see into some of the houses near them, where there were open windows in abundance, and were able to mark the forms of the wooden Gargoyles moving about in their dwellings. "This seems to be their time of rest," observed the Wizard. "All people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze." "I feel sleepy myself," remarked Zeb, yawning. "Why, where's Eureka?" cried Dorothy, suddenly. They all looked around, but the kitten was no place to be seen. "She's gone out for a walk," said Jim, gruffly. "Where? On the roof?" asked the girl. "No; she just dug her claws into the wood and climbed down the sides of this house to the ground." "She couldn't climb DOWN, Jim," said Dorothy. "To climb means to go up." "Who said so?" demanded the horse. "My school-teacher said so; and she knows a lot, Jim." "To 'climb down' is sometimes used as a figure of speech," remarked the Wizard. "Well, this was a figure of a cat," said Jim, "and she WENT down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept." "Dear me! how careless Eureka is," exclaimed the girl, much distressed. "The Gurgles will get her, sure!" "Ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'Gurgles,' little maid; they're Gargoyles." "Never mind; they'll get Eureka, whatever they're called." "No they won't," said the voice of the kitten, and Eureka herself crawled over the edge of the platform and sat down quietly upon the floor. "Wherever have you been, Eureka?" asked Dorothy, sternly. "Watching the wooden folks. They're too funny for anything, Dorothy. Just now they are all going to bed, and--what do you think?--they unhook the hinges of their wings and put them in a corner until they wake up again." "What, the hinges?" "No; the wings." "That," said Zeb, "explains why this house is used by them for a prison. If any of the Gargoyles act badly, and have to be put in jail, they are brought here and their wings unhooked and taken away from them until they promise to be good." The Wizard had listened intently to what Eureka had said. "I wish we had some of those loose wings," he said. "Could we fly with them?" asked Dorothy. "I think so. If the Gargoyles can unhook the wings then the power to fly lies in the wings themselves, and not in the wooden bodies of the people who wear them. So, if we had the wings, we could probably fly as well as they do--as least while we are in their country and under the spell of its magic." "But how would it help us to be able to fly?" questioned the girl. "Come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the building. "Do you see that big rock standing on the hillside yonder?" he continued, pointing with his finger. "Yes; it's a good way off, but I can see it," she replied. "Well, inside that rock, which reaches up into the clouds, is an archway very much like the one we entered when we climbed the spiral stairway from the Valley of Voe. I'll get my spy-glass, and then you can see it more plainly." He fetched a small but powerful telescope, which had been in his satchel, and by its aid the little girl clearly saw the opening. "Where does it lead to?" she asked. "That I cannot tell," said the Wizard; "but we cannot now be far below the earth's surface, and that entrance may lead to another stairway that will bring us on top of our world again, where we belong. So, if we had the wings, and could escape the Gargoyles, we might fly to that rock and be saved." "I'll get you the wings," said Zeb, who had thoughtfully listened to all this. "That is, if the kitten will show me where they are." "But how can you get down?" enquired the girl, wonderingly. For answer Zeb began to unfasten Jim's harness, strap by strap, and to buckle one piece to another until he had made a long leather strip that would reach to the ground. "I can climb down that, all right," he said. "No you can't," remarked Jim, with a twinkle in his round eyes. "You may GO down, but you can only CLIMB up." "Well, I'll climb up when I get back, then," said the boy, with a laugh. "Now, Eureka, you'll have to show me the way to those wings." "You must be very quiet," warned the kitten; "for if you make the least noise the Gargoyles will wake up. They can hear a pin drop." "I'm not going to drop a pin," said Zeb. He had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house. "Be careful," cautioned Dorothy, earnestly. "I will," said the boy, and let himself slide over the edge. The girl and the Wizard leaned over and watched Zeb work his way carefully downward, hand over hand, until he stood upon the ground below. Eureka clung with her claws to the wooden side of the house and let herself down easily. Then together they crept away to enter the low doorway of a neighboring dwelling. The watchers waited in breathless suspense until the boy again appeared, his arms now full of the wooden wings. When he came to where the strap was hanging he tied the wings all in a bunch to the end of the line, and the Wizard drew them up. Then the line was let down again for Zeb to climb up by. Eureka quickly followed him, and soon they were all standing together upon the platform, with eight of the much prized wooden wings beside them. The boy was no longer sleepy, but full of energy and excitement. He put the harness together again and hitched Jim to the buggy. Then, with the Wizard's help, he tried to fasten some of the wings to the old cab-horse. This was no easy task, because half of each one of the hinges of the wings was missing, it being still fastened to the body of the Gargoyle who had used it. However, the Wizard went once more to his satchel--which seemed to contain a surprising variety of odds and ends--and brought out a spool of strong wire, by means of which they managed to fasten four of the wings to Jim's harness, two near his head and two near his tail. They were a bit wiggley, but secure enough if only the harness held together. The other four wings were then fastened to the buggy, two on each side, for the buggy must bear the weight of the children and the Wizard as it flew through the air. These preparations had not consumed a great deal of time, but the sleeping Gargoyles were beginning to wake up and move around, and soon some of them would be hunting for their missing wings. So the prisoners resolved to leave their prison at once. They mounted into the buggy, Dorothy holding Eureka safe in her lap. The girl sat in the middle of the seat, with Zeb and the Wizard on each side of her. When all was ready the boy shook the reins and said: "Fly away, Jim!" "Which wings must I flop first?" asked the cab-horse, undecidedly. "Flop them all together," suggested the Wizard. "Some of them are crooked," objected the horse. "Never mind; we will steer with the wings on the buggy," said Zeb. "Just you light out and make for that rock, Jim; and don't waste any time about it, either." So the horse gave a groan, flopped its four wings all together, and flew away from the platform. Dorothy was a little anxious about the success of their trip, for the way Jim arched his long neck and spread out his bony legs as he fluttered and floundered through the air was enough to make anybody nervous. He groaned, too, as if frightened, and the wings creaked dreadfully because the Wizard had forgotten to oil them; but they kept fairly good time with the wings of the buggy, so that they made excellent progress from the start. The only thing that anyone could complain of with justice was the fact that they wobbled first up and then down, as if the road were rocky instead of being as smooth as the air could make it. The main point, however, was that they flew, and flew swiftly, if a bit unevenly, toward the rock for which they had headed. Some of the Gargoyles saw them, presently, and lost no time in collecting a band to pursue the escaping prisoners; so that when Dorothy happened to look back she saw them coming in a great cloud that almost darkened the sky. 13. The Den of the Dragonettes Our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their eight wings they could go just as fast as could the Gargoyles. All the way to the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when Jim finally alighted at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away. "But, I'm afraid they'll catch us yet," said Dorothy, greatly excited. "No; we must stop them," declared the Wizard. "Quick Zeb, help me pull off these wooden wings!" They tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the Wizard piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. Then he poured over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oil-can, and lighting a match set fire to the pile. The flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and crackle just as the great army of wooden Gargoyles arrived. The creatures drew back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such as dreadful thing as a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land. Inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into the mountain, and Zeb and the Wizard lifted these wooden doors from their hinges and tossed them all on the flames. "That will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem. "Perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the Gargoyles never will be missed. But come, my children; let us explore the mountain and discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven." To their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of steps by means of which they could mount to the earth's surface. A sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. Then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. This delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them. It carried their baggage and was useful to ride in wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. So Zeb and the Wizard set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. In this position they managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through the narrow part of the passage. It was not a great distance, fortunately, and when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded more comfortably. But the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of the earth than when they had started, hours before. "Anyhow," said Dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful Gurgles, and that's ONE comfort!" "Probably the Gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire," returned the Wizard. "But even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so I am sure we need fear them no longer." Once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump over them. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where Jim could scarcely drag the buggy. At such times Dorothy, Zeb and the Wizard all pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. But the little party was both weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a smooth, level floor. The cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground, appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side. These were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to sway slowly from side to side and then up and down. "What sort of place is this?" asked the boy, trying to see more clearly through the gloom. "I cannot imagine, I'm sure," answered the Wizard, also peering about. "Woogh!" snarled Eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on end; "it's den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures! Don't you see their terrible eyes?" "Eureka sees better in the dark than we can," whispered Dorothy. "Tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?" she asked, addressing her pet. "I simply can't describe 'em," answered the kitten, shuddering. "Their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. But their bodies don't seem very big." "Where are they?" enquired the girl. "They are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. Oh, Dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are! They're uglier than the Gargoyles." "Tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping voice near by. "As a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures yourselves, and I'm sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and prettiest things in all the world." Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock. "Why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed. "No," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so steadily; "you are wrong about that. We hope to grow to be dragons some day, but just now we're only dragonettes." "What's that?" asked Dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head, the yawning mouth and the big eyes. "Young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "The big dragons are very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says that some day we will all be very powerful and important." "Where is your mother?" asked the Wizard, anxiously looking around. "She has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. If she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger." "Oh; are you hungry?" enquired Dorothy, drawing back. "Very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws. "And--and--do you eat people?" "To be sure, when we can get them. But they've been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes," answered the creature, in a regretful tone. "How old are you?" enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated. "Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday." "But that isn't young!" cried Dorothy, in amazement. "No?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish." "How old is your mother?" asked the girl. "Mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. She's a little fussy, you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime." "I should think she would be," agreed Dorothy. Then, after a moment's thought, she asked: "Are we friends or enemies? I mean, will you be good to us, or do you intend to eat us?" "As for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. If you choose to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you will remain quite safe." There was a regretful accent in the creature's voice, and at the words all the other dragonettes sighed dismally. Dorothy felt relieved. Presently she asked: "Why did your mother tie your tails?" "Oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other and get into a lot of mischief. Mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably won't do that." "No, indeed!" said the little girl. "We don't wish to be eaten by such awful beasts." "Permit me to say," returned the dragonette, "that you are rather impolite to call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. We consider ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she knows. And we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that I challenge any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the time of the famous Green Dragon of Atlantis, who lived in a time when humans had not yet been created. Can you match that pedigree, little girl?" "Well," said Dorothy, "I was born on a farm in Kansas, and I guess that's being just as 'spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. If it isn't I'll have to stand it, that's all." "Tastes differ," murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons. Being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their rock-pockets, the children and the Wizard now took time to examine them more closely. The heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns. Their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. Dorothy thought, if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons, and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up. "It occurs to me," said the Wizard, "that we ought to get out of this place before the mother dragon comes back." "Don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet you, I'm sure." "You may be right," replied the Wizard, "but we're a little particular about associating with strangers. Will you kindly tell us which way your mother went to get on top the earth?" "That is not a fair question to ask us," declared another dragonette. "For, if we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished." "Then," decided Dorothy, "we must find our way out the best we can." They circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had entered. They selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance. 14. Ozma Uses the Magic Belt For a considerable distance the way led straight upward in a gentle incline, and the wanderers made such good progress that they grew hopeful and eager, thinking they might see sunshine at any minute. But at length they came unexpectedly upon a huge rock that shut off the passage and blocked them from proceeding a single step farther. This rock was separate from the rest of the mountain and was in motion, turning slowly around and around as if upon a pivot. When first they came to it there was a solid wall before them; but presently it revolved until there was exposed a wide, smooth path across it to the other side. This appeared so unexpectedly that they were unprepared to take advantage of it at first, and allowed the rocky wall to swing around again before they had decided to pass over. But they knew now that there was a means of escape and so waited patiently until the path appeared for the second time. The children and the Wizard rushed across the moving rock and sprang into the passage beyond, landing safely though a little out of breath. Jim the cab-horse came last, and the rocky wall almost caught him; for just as he leaped to the floor of the further passage the wall swung across it and a loose stone that the buggy wheels knocked against fell into the narrow crack where the rock turned, and became wedged there. They heard a crunching, grinding sound, a loud snap, and the turn-table came to a stop with its broadest surface shutting off the path from which they had come. "Never mind," said Zeb, "we don't want to get back, anyhow." "I'm not so sure of that," returned Dorothy. "The mother dragon may come down and catch us here." "It is possible," agreed the Wizard, "if this proves to be the path she usually takes. But I have been examining this tunnel, and I do not see any signs of so large a beast having passed through it." "Then we're all right," said the girl, "for if the dragon went the other way she can't poss'bly get to us now." "Of course not, my dear. But there is another thing to consider. The mother dragon probably knows the road to the earth's surface, and if she went the other way then we have come the wrong way," said the Wizard, thoughtfully. "Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "That would be unlucky, wouldn't it?" "Very. Unless this passage also leads to the top of the earth," said Zeb. "For my part, if we manage to get out of here I'll be glad it isn't the way the dragon goes." "So will I," returned Dorothy. "It's enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes. No one knows what the mother might do." They now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. The lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the Wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer. But their journey was almost over, for in a short time they reached a small cave from which there was no further outlet. They did not realize their ill fortune at first, for their hearts were gladdened by the sight of a ray of sunshine coming through a small crack in the roof of the cave, far overhead. That meant that their world--the real world--was not very far away, and that the succession of perilous adventures they had encountered had at last brought them near the earth's surface, which meant home to them. But when the adventurers looked more carefully around them they discovered that there were in a strong prison from which there was no hope of escape. "But we're ALMOST on earth again," cried Dorothy, "for there is the sun--the most BEAU'FUL sun that shines!" and she pointed eagerly at the crack in the distant roof. "Almost on earth isn't being there," said the kitten, in a discontented tone. "It wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if I got there." "It appears that the path ends here," announced the Wizard, gloomily. "And there is no way to go back," added Zeb, with a low whistle of perplexity. "I was sure it would come to this, in the end," remarked the old cab-horse. "Folks don't fall into the middle of the earth and then get back again to tell of their adventures--not in real life. And the whole thing has been unnatural because that cat and I are both able to talk your language, and to understand the words you say." "And so can the nine tiny piglets," added Eureka. "Don't forget them, for I may have to eat them, after all." "I've heard animals talk before," said Dorothy, "and no harm came of it." "Were you ever before shut up in a cave, far under the earth, with no way of getting out?" enquired the horse, seriously. "No," answered Dorothy. "But don't you lose heart, Jim, for I'm sure this isn't the end of our story, by any means." The reference to the piglets reminded the Wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket. So he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased. "My dears," he said to them, "I'm afraid I've got you into a lot of trouble, and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave." "What's wrong?" asked a piglet. "We've been in the dark quite a while, and you may as well explain what has happened." The Wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers. "Well," said another piglet, "you are a wizard, are you not?" "I am," replied the little man. "Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole," declared the tiny one, with much confidence. "I could if I happened to be a real wizard," returned the master sadly. "But I'm not, my piggy-wees; I'm a humbug wizard." "Nonsense!" cried several of the piglets, together. "You can ask Dorothy," said the little man, in an injured tone. "It's true enough," returned the girl, earnestly. "Our friend Oz is merely a humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me. He can do several very wonderful things--if he knows how. But he can't wiz a single thing if he hasn't the tools and machinery to work with." "Thank you, my dear, for doing me justice," responded the Wizard, gratefully. "To be accused of being a real wizard, when I'm not, is a slander I will not tamely submit to. But I am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave." "I don't believe we'll realize anything, when it comes to that," remarked Dorothy, who had been deep in thought. "But I'm not going to scatter my bones just yet, because I need them, and you prob'ly need yours, too." "We are helpless to escape," sighed the Wizard. "WE may be helpless," answered Dorothy, smiling at him, "but there are others who can do more than we can. Cheer up, friends. I'm sure Ozma will help us." "Ozma!" exclaimed the Wizard. "Who is Ozma?" "The girl that rules the marvelous Land of Oz," was the reply. "She's a friend of mine, for I met her in the Land of Ev, not long ago, and went to Oz with her." "For the second time?" asked the Wizard, with great interest. "Yes. The first time I went to Oz I found you there, ruling the Emerald City. After you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, I got back to Kansas by means of a pair of magical silver shoes." "I remember those shoes," said the little man, nodding. "They once belonged to the Wicked Witch. Have you them here with you?" "No; I lost them somewhere in the air," explained the child. "But the second time I went to the Land of Oz I owned the Nome King's Magic Belt, which is much more powerful than were the Silver Shoes." "Where is that Magic Belt?" enquired the Wizard, who had listened with great interest. "Ozma has it; for its powers won't work in a common, ordinary country like the United States. Anyone in a fairy country like the Land of Oz can do anything with it; so I left it with my friend the Princess Ozma, who used it to wish me in Australia with Uncle Henry." "And were you?" asked Zeb, astonished at what he heard. "Of course; in just a jiffy. And Ozma has an enchanted picture hanging in her room that shows her the exact scene where any of her friends may be, at any time she chooses. All she has to do is to say: 'I wonder what So-and-so is doing,' and at once the picture shows where her friend is and what the friend is doing. That's REAL magic, Mr. Wizard; isn't it? Well, every day at four o'clock Ozma has promised to look at me in that picture, and if I am in need of help I am to make her a certain sign and she will put on the Nome King's Magic Belt and wish me to be with her in Oz." "Do you mean that Princess Ozma will see this cave in her enchanted picture, and see all of us here, and what we are doing?" demanded Zeb. "Of course; when it is four o'clock," she replied, with a laugh at his startled expression. "And when you make a sign she will bring you to her in the Land of Oz?" continued the boy. "That's it, exactly; by means of the Magic Belt." "Then," said the Wizard, "you will be saved, little Dorothy; and I am very glad of it. The rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have escaped our sad fate." "I won't die cheerfully!" protested the kitten. "There's nothing cheerful about dying that I could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and so must die nine times." "Have you ever died yet?" enquired the boy. "No, and I'm not anxious to begin," said Eureka. "Don't worry, dear," Dorothy exclaimed, "I'll hold you in my arms, and take you with me." "Take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath. "Perhaps I can," answered Dorothy. "I'll try." "Couldn't you manage to hold me in your arms?" asked the cab-horse. Dorothy laughed. "I'll do better than that," she promised, "for I can easily save you all, once I am myself in the Land of Oz." "How?" they asked. "By using the Magic Belt. All I need do is to wish you with me, and there you'll be--safe in the royal palace!" "Good!" cried Zeb. "I built that palace, and the Emerald City, too," remarked the Wizard, in a thoughtful tone, "and I'd like to see them again, for I was very happy among the Munchkins and Winkies and Quadlings and Gillikins." "Who are they?" asked the boy. "The four nations that inhabit the Land of Oz," was the reply. "I wonder if they would treat me nicely if I went there again." "Of course they would!" declared Dorothy. "They are still proud of their former Wizard, and often speak of you kindly." "Do you happen to know whatever became of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow?" he enquired. "They live in Oz yet," said the girl, "and are very important people." "And the Cowardly Lion?" "Oh, he lives there too, with his friend the Hungry Tiger; and Billina is there, because she liked the place better than Kansas, and wouldn't go with me to Australia." "I'm afraid I don't know the Hungry Tiger and Billina," said the Wizard, shaking his head. "Is Billina a girl?" "No; she's a yellow hen, and a great friend of mine. You're sure to like Billina, when you know her," asserted Dorothy. "Your friends sound like a menagerie," remarked Zeb, uneasily. "Couldn't you wish me in some safer place than Oz." "Don't worry," replied the girl. "You'll just love the folks in Oz, when you get acquainted. What time is it, Mr. Wizard?" The little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his vest pocket. "Half-past three," he said. "Then we must wait for half an hour," she continued; "but it won't take long, after that, to carry us all to the Emerald City." They sat silently thinking for a time. Then Jim suddenly asked: "Are there any horses in Oz?" "Only one," replied Dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse." "A what?" "A sawhorse. Princess Ozma once brought him to life with a witch-powder, when she was a boy." "Was Ozma once a boy?" asked Zeb, wonderingly. "Yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. But she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world." "A sawhorse is a thing they saw boards on," remarked Jim, with a sniff. "It is when it's not alive," acknowledged the girl. "But this sawhorse can trot as fast as you can, Jim; and he's very wise, too." "Pah! I'll race the miserable wooden donkey any day in the week!" cried the cab-horse. Dorothy did not reply to that. She felt that Jim would know more about the Saw-Horse later on. The time dragged wearily enough to the eager watchers, but finally the Wizard announced that four o'clock had arrived, and Dorothy caught up the kitten and began to make the signal that had been agreed upon to the far-away invisible Ozma. "Nothing seems to happen," said Zeb, doubtfully. "Oh, we must give Ozma time to put on the Magic Belt," replied the girl. She had scarcely spoken the words then she suddenly disappeared from the cave, and with her went the kitten. There had been no sound of any kind and no warning. One moment Dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the Wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison. "I believe we will soon follow her," announced the Wizard, in a tone of great relief; "for I know something about the magic of the fairyland that is called the Land of Oz. Let us be ready, for we may be sent for any minute." He put the piglets safely away in his pocket again and then he and Zeb got into the buggy and sat expectantly upon the seat. "Will it hurt?" asked the boy, in a voice that trembled a little. "Not at all," replied the Wizard. "It will all happen as quick as a wink." And that was the way it did happen. The cab-horse gave a nervous start and Zeb began to rub his eyes to make sure he was not asleep. For they were in the streets of a beautiful emerald-green city, bathed in a grateful green light that was especially pleasing to their eyes, and surrounded by merry faced people in gorgeous green-and-gold costumes of many extraordinary designs. Before them were the jewel-studded gates of a magnificent palace, and now the gates opened slowly as if inviting them to enter the courtyard, where splendid flowers were blooming and pretty fountains shot their silvery sprays into the air. Zeb shook the reins to rouse the cab-horse from his stupor of amazement, for the people were beginning to gather around and stare at the strangers. "Gid-dap!" cried the boy, and at the word Jim slowly trotted into the courtyard and drew the buggy along the jewelled driveway to the great entrance of the royal palace. 15. Old Friends are Reunited Many servants dressed in handsome uniforms stood ready to welcome the new arrivals, and when the Wizard got out of the buggy a pretty girl in a green gown cried out in surprise: "Why, it's Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, come back again!" The little man looked at her closely and then took both the maiden's hands in his and shook them cordially. "On my word," he exclaimed, "it's little Jellia Jamb--as pert and pretty as ever!" "Why not, Mr. Wizard?" asked Jellia, bowing low. "But I'm afraid you cannot rule the Emerald City, as you used to, because we now have a beautiful Princess whom everyone loves dearly." "And the people will not willingly part with her," added a tall soldier in a Captain-General's uniform. The Wizard turned to look at him. "Did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked. "Yes," said the soldier; "but I shaved them off long ago, and since then I have risen from a private to be the Chief General of the Royal Armies." "That's nice," said the little man. "But I assure you, my good people, that I do not wish to rule the Emerald City," he added, earnestly. "In that case you are very welcome!" cried all the servants, and it pleased the Wizard to note the respect with which the royal retainers bowed before him. His fame had not been forgotten in the Land of Oz, by any means. "Where is Dorothy?" enquired Zeb, anxiously, as he left the buggy and stood beside his friend the little Wizard. "She is with the Princess Ozma, in the private rooms of the palace," replied Jellia Jamb. "But she has ordered me to make you welcome and to show you to your apartments." The boy looked around him with wondering eyes. Such magnificence and wealth as was displayed in this palace was more than he had ever dreamed of, and he could scarcely believe that all the gorgeous glitter was real and not tinsel. "What's to become of me?" asked the horse, uneasily. He had seen considerable of life in the cities in his younger days, and knew that this regal palace was no place for him. It perplexed even Jellia Jamb, for a time, to know what to do with the animal. The green maiden was much astonished at the sight of so unusual a creature, for horses were unknown in this Land; but those who lived in the Emerald City were apt to be astonished by queer sights, so after inspecting the cab-horse and noting the mild look in his big eyes the girl decided not to be afraid of him. "There are no stables here," said the Wizard, "unless some have been built since I went away." "We have never needed them before," answered Jellia; "for the Sawhorse lives in a room of the palace, being much smaller and more natural in appearance than this great beast you have brought with you." "Do you mean that I'm a freak?" asked Jim, angrily. "Oh, no," she hastened to say, "there may be many more like you in the place you came from, but in Oz any horse but a Sawhorse is unusual." This mollified Jim a little, and after some thought the green maiden decided to give the cab-horse a room in the palace, such a big building having many rooms that were seldom in use. So Zeb unharnessed Jim, and several of the servants then led the horse around to the rear, where they selected a nice large apartment that he could have all to himself. Then Jellia said to the Wizard: "Your own room--which was back of the great Throne Room--has been vacant ever since you left us. Would you like it again?" "Yes, indeed!" returned the little man. "It will seem like being at home again, for I lived in that room for many, many years." He knew the way to it, and a servant followed him, carrying his satchel. Zeb was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor. In the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades, and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the Princess and Dorothy in an hour's time. Opening from the chamber was a fine bathroom having a marble tub with perfumed water; so the boy, still dazed by the novelty of his surroundings, indulged in a good bath and then selected a maroon velvet costume with silver buttons to replace his own soiled and much worn clothing. There were silk stockings and soft leather slippers with diamond buckles to accompany his new costume, and when he was fully dressed Zeb looked much more dignified and imposing than ever before in his life. He was all ready when an attendant came to escort him to the presence of the Princess; he followed bashfully and was ushered into a room more dainty and attractive than it was splendid. Here he found Dorothy seated beside a young girl so marvelously beautiful that the boy stopped suddenly with a gasp of admiration. But Dorothy sprang up and ran to seize her friend's hand drawing him impulsively toward the lovely Princess, who smiled most graciously upon her guest. Then the Wizard entered, and his presence relieved the boy's embarrassment. The little man was clothed in black velvet, with many sparkling emerald ornaments decorating his breast; but his bald head and wrinkled features made him appear more amusing than impressive. Ozma had been quite curious to meet the famous man who had built the Emerald City and united the Munchkins, Gillikins, Quadlings and Winkies into one people; so when they were all four seated at the dinner table the Princess said: "Please tell me, Mr. Wizard, whether you called yourself Oz after this great country, or whether you believe my country is called Oz after you. It is a matter that I have long wished to enquire about, because you are of a strange race and my own name is Ozma. No, one, I am sure, is better able to explain this mystery than you." "That is true," answered the little Wizard; "therefore it will give me pleasure to explain my connection with your country. In the first place, I must tell you that I was born in Omaha, and my father, who was a politician, named me Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, Diggs being the last name because he could think of no more to go before it. Taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent child, and one of the hardest lessons I ever learned was to remember my own name. When I grew up I just called myself O. Z., because the other initials were P-I-N-H-E-A-D; and that spelled 'pinhead,' which was a reflection on my intelligence." "Surely no one could blame you for cutting your name short," said Ozma, sympathetically. "But didn't you cut it almost too short?" "Perhaps so," replied the Wizard. "When a young man I ran away from home and joined a circus. I used to call myself a Wizard, and do tricks of ventriloquism." "What does that mean?" asked the Princess. "Throwing my voice into any object I pleased, to make it appear that the object was speaking instead of me. Also I began to make balloon ascensions. On my balloon and on all the other articles I used in the circus I painted the two initials: 'O. Z.', to show that those things belonged to me. "One day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this beautiful country. When the people saw me come from the sky they naturally thought me some superior creature, and bowed down before me. I told them I was a Wizard, and showed them some easy tricks that amazed them; and when they saw the initials painted on the balloon they called me Oz." "Now I begin to understand," said the Princess, smiling. "At that time," continued the Wizard, busily eating his soup while talking, "there were four separate countries in this Land, each one of the four being ruled by a Witch. But the people thought my power was greater than that of the Witches; and perhaps the Witches thought so too, for they never dared oppose me. I ordered the Emerald City to be built just where the four countries cornered together, and when it was completed I announced myself the Ruler of the Land of Oz, which included all the four countries of the Munchkins, the Gillikins, the Winkies and the Quadlings. Over this Land I ruled in peace for many years, until I grew old and longed to see my native city once again. So when Dorothy was first blown to this place by a cyclone I arranged to go away with her in a balloon; but the balloon escaped too soon and carried me back alone. After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away. So, having nothing else to do, I joined a circus again, and made my balloon ascensions until the earthquake caught me." "That is quite a history," said Ozma; "but there is a little more history about the Land of Oz that you do not seem to understand--perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you. Many years before you came here this Land was united under one Ruler, as it is now, and the Ruler's name was always 'Oz,' which means in our language 'Great and Good'; or, if the Ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'Ozma.' But once upon a time four Witches leagued together to depose the king and rule the four parts of the kingdom themselves; so when the Ruler, my grandfather, was hunting one day, one Wicked Witch named Mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him a close prisoner. Then the Witches divided up the kingdom, and ruled the four parts of it until you came here. That was why the people were so glad to see you, and why they thought from your initials that you were their rightful ruler." "But, at that time," said the Wizard, thoughtfully, "there were two Good Witches and two Wicked Witches ruling in the land." "Yes," replied Ozma, "because a good Witch had conquered Mombi in the North and Glinda the Good had conquered the evil Witch in the South. But Mombi was still my grandfather's jailor, and afterward my father's jailor. When I was born she transformed me into a boy, hoping that no one would ever recognize me and know that I was the rightful Princess of the Land of Oz. But I escaped from her and am now the Ruler of my people." "I am very glad of that," said the Wizard, "and hope you will consider me one of your most faithful and devoted subjects." "We owe a great deal to the Wonderful Wizard," continued the Princess, "for it was you who built this splendid Emerald City." "Your people built it," he answered. "I only bossed the job, as we say in Omaha." "But you ruled it wisely and well for many years," said she, "and made the people proud of your magical art. So, as you are now too old to wander abroad and work in a circus, I offer you a home here as long as you live. You shall be the Official Wizard of my kingdom, and be treated with every respect and consideration." "I accept your kind offer with gratitude, gracious Princess," the little man said, in a soft voice, and they could all see that tear-drops were standing in his keen old eyes. It meant a good deal to him to secure a home like this. "He's only a humbug Wizard, though," said Dorothy, smiling at him. "And that is the safest kind of a Wizard to have," replied Ozma, promptly. "Oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced Zeb, who was now feeling more at ease. "He shall amuse us with his tricks tomorrow," said the Princess. "I have sent messengers to summon all of Dorothy's old friends to meet her and give her welcome, and they ought to arrive very soon, now." Indeed, the dinner was no sooner finished than in rushed the Scarecrow, to hug Dorothy in his padded arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again. The Wizard was also most heartily welcomed by the straw man, who was an important personage in the Land of Oz. "How are your brains?" enquired the little humbug, as he grasped the soft, stuffed hands of his old friend. "Working finely," answered the Scarecrow. "I'm very certain, Oz, that you gave me the best brains in the world, for I can think with them day and night, when all other brains are fast asleep." "How long did you rule the Emerald City, after I left here?" was the next question. "Quite awhile, until I was conquered by a girl named General Jinjur. But Ozma soon conquered her, with the help of Glinda the Good, and after that I went to live with Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman." Just then a loud cackling was heard outside; and, when a servant threw open the door with a low bow, a yellow hen strutted in. Dorothy sprang forward and caught the fluffy fowl in her arms, uttering at the same time a glad cry. "Oh, Billina!" she said; "how fat and sleek you've grown." "Why shouldn't I?" asked the hen, in a sharp, clear voice. "I live on the fat of the land--don't I, Ozma?" "You have everything you wish for," said the Princess. Around Billina's neck was a string of beautiful pearls, and on her legs were bracelets of emeralds. She nestled herself comfortably in Dorothy's lap until the kitten gave a snarl of jealous anger and leaped up with a sharp claw fiercely bared to strike Billina a blow. But the little girl gave the angry kitten such a severe cuff that it jumped down again without daring to scratch. "How horrid of you, Eureka!" cried Dorothy. "Is that the way to treat my friends?" "You have queer friends, seems to me," replied the kitten, in a surly tone. "Seems to me the same way," said Billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is one of them." "Look here!" said Dorothy, sternly. "I won't have any quarrelling in the Land of Oz, I can tell you! Everybody lives in peace here, and loves everybody else; and unless you two, Billina and Eureka, make up and be friends, I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you both home again, IMMEJITLY. So, there!" They were both much frightened at the threat, and promised meekly to be good. But it was never noticed that they became very warm friends, for all of that. And now the Tin Woodman arrived, his body most beautifully nickle-plated, so that it shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the room. The Tin Woodman loved Dorothy most tenderly, and welcomed with joy the return of the little old Wizard. "Sir," said he to the latter, "I never can thank you enough for the excellent heart you once gave me. It has made me many friends, I assure you, and it beats as kindly and lovingly today as it every did." "I'm glad to hear that," said the Wizard. "I was afraid it would get moldy in that tin body of yours." "Not at all," returned Nick Chopper. "It keeps finely, being preserved in my air-tight chest." Zeb was a little shy when first introduced to these queer people; but they were so friendly and sincere that he soon grew to admire them very much, even finding some good qualities in the yellow hen. But he became nervous again when the next visitor was announced. "This," said Princess Ozma, "is my friend Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., who assisted me one time when I was in great distress, and is now the Dean of the Royal College of Athletic Science." "Ah," said the Wizard; "I'm pleased to meet so distinguished a personage." "H. M.," said the Woggle-Bug, pompously, "means Highly Magnified; and T. E. means Thoroughly Educated. I am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the most intelligent being in all this broad domain." "How well you disguise it," said the Wizard. "But I don't doubt your word in the least." "Nobody doubts it, sir," replied the Woggle-Bug, and drawing a book from its pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a corner to read. Nobody minded this rudeness, which might have seemed more impolite in one less thoroughly educated; so they straightway forgot him and joined in a merry conversation that kept them well amused until bed-time arrived. 16. Jim, The Cab-Horse Jim the Cab-horse found himself in possession of a large room with a green marble floor and carved marble wainscoting, which was so stately in its appearance that it would have awed anyone else. Jim accepted it as a mere detail, and at his command the attendants gave his coat a good rubbing, combed his mane and tail, and washed his hoofs and fetlocks. Then they told him dinner would be served directly and he replied that they could not serve it too quickly to suit his convenience. First they brought him a steaming bowl of soup, which the horse eyed in dismay. "Take that stuff away!" he commanded. "Do you take me for a salamander?" They obeyed at once, and next served a fine large turbot on a silver platter, with drawn gravy poured over it. "Fish!" cried Jim, with a sniff. "Do you take me for a tom-cat? Away with it!" The servants were a little discouraged, but soon they brought in a great tray containing two dozen nicely roasted quail on toast. "Well, well!" said the horse, now thoroughly provoked. "Do you take me for a weasel? How stupid and ignorant you are, in the Land of Oz, and what dreadful things you feed upon! Is there nothing that is decent to eat in this palace?" The trembling servants sent for the Royal Steward, who came in haste and said: "What would your Highness like for dinner?" "Highness!" repeated Jim, who was unused to such titles. "You are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in this country," said the Steward. "Well, my Highness would like some oats," declared the horse. "Oats? We have no whole oats," the Steward replied, with much deference. "But there is any quantity of oatmeal, which we often cook for breakfast. Oatmeal is a breakfast dish," added the Steward, humbly. "I'll make it a dinner dish," said Jim. "Fetch it on, but don't cook it, as you value your life." You see, the respect shown the worn-out old cab-horse made him a little arrogant, and he forgot he was a guest, never having been treated otherwise than as a servant since the day he was born, until his arrival in the Land of Oz. But the royal attendants did not heed the animal's ill temper. They soon mixed a tub of oatmeal with a little water, and Jim ate it with much relish. Then the servants heaped a lot of rugs upon the floor and the old horse slept on the softest bed he had ever known in his life. In the morning, as soon as it was daylight, he resolved to take a walk and try to find some grass for breakfast; so he ambled calmly through the handsome arch of the doorway, turned the corner of the palace, wherein all seemed asleep, and came face to face with the Sawhorse. Jim stopped abruptly, being startled and amazed. The Sawhorse stopped at the same time and stared at the other with its queer protruding eyes, which were mere knots in the log that formed its body. The legs of the Sawhorse were four sticks driving into holes bored in the log; its tail was a small branch that had been left by accident and its mouth a place chopped in one end of the body which projected a little and served as a head. The ends of the wooden legs were shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle of the Princess Ozma, which was of red leather set with sparkling diamonds, was strapped to the clumsy body. Jim's eyes stuck out as much as those of the Sawhorse, and he stared at the creature with his ears erect and his long head drawn back until it rested against his arched neck. In this comical position the two horses circled slowly around each other for a while, each being unable to realize what the singular thing might be which it now beheld for the first time. Then Jim exclaimed: "For goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?" "I'm a Sawhorse," replied the other. "Oh; I believe I've heard of you," said the cab-horse; "but you are unlike anything that I expected to see." "I do not doubt it," the Sawhorse observed, with a tone of pride. "I am considered quite unusual." "You are, indeed. But a rickety wooden thing like you has no right to be alive." "I couldn't help it," returned the other, rather crestfallen. "Ozma sprinkled me with a magic powder, and I just had to live. I know I'm not much account; but I'm the only horse in all the Land of Oz, so they treat me with great respect." "You, a horse!" "Oh, not a real one, of course. There are no real horses here at all. But I'm a splendid imitation of one." Jim gave an indignant neigh. "Look at me!" he cried. "Behold a real horse!" The wooden animal gave a start, and then examined the other intently. "Is it possible that you are a Real Horse?" he murmured. "Not only possible, but true," replied Jim, who was gratified by the impression he had created. "It is proved by my fine points. For example, look at the long hairs on my tail, with which I can whisk away the flies." "The flies never trouble me," said the Saw-Horse. "And notice my great strong teeth, with which I nibble the grass." "It is not necessary for me to eat," observed the Sawhorse. "Also examine my broad chest, which enables me to draw deep, full breaths," said Jim, proudly. "I have no need to breathe," returned the other. "No; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse, pityingly. "You do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air. You may be an imitation of a horse, but you're a mighty poor one." "Oh, I cannot hope ever to be like you," sighed the Sawhorse. "But I am glad to meet a last a Real Horse. You are certainly the most beautiful creature I ever beheld." This praise won Jim completely. To be called beautiful was a novelty in his experience. Said he: "Your chief fault, my friend, is in being made of wood, and that I suppose you cannot help. Real horses, like myself, are made of flesh and blood and bones." "I can see the bones all right," replied the Sawhorse, "and they are admirable and distinct. Also I can see the flesh. But the blood, I suppose is tucked away inside." "Exactly," said Jim. "What good is it?" asked the Sawhorse. Jim did not know, but he would not tell the Sawhorse that. "If anything cuts me," he replied, "the blood runs out to show where I am cut. You, poor thing! cannot even bleed when you are hurt." "But I am never hurt," said the Sawhorse. "Once in a while I get broken up some, but I am easily repaired and put in good order again. And I never feel a break or a splinter in the least." Jim was almost tempted to envy the wooden horse for being unable to feel pain; but the creature was so absurdly unnatural that he decided he would not change places with it under any circumstances. "How did you happen to be shod with gold?" he asked. "Princess Ozma did that," was the reply; "and it saves my legs from wearing out. We've had a good many adventures together, Ozma and I, and she likes me." The cab-horse was about to reply when suddenly he gave a start and a neigh of terror and stood trembling like a leaf. For around the corner had come two enormous savage beasts, treading so lightly that they were upon him before he was aware of their presence. Jim was in the act of plunging down the path to escape when the Sawhorse cried out: "Stop, my brother! Stop, Real Horse! These are friends, and will do you no harm." Jim hesitated, eyeing the beasts fearfully. One was an enormous Lion with clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like yellow plush. The other was a great Tiger with purple stripes around his lithe body, powerful limbs, and eyes that showed through the half closed lids like coals of fire. The huge forms of these monarchs of the forest and jungle were enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart, and it is no wonder Jim was afraid to face them. But the Sawhorse introduced the stranger in a calm tone, saying: "This, noble Horse, is my friend the Cowardly Lion, who is the valiant King of the Forest, but at the same time a faithful vassal of Princess Ozma. And this is the Hungry Tiger, the terror of the jungle, who longs to devour fat babies but is prevented by his conscience from doing so. These royal beasts are both warm friends of little Dorothy and have come to the Emerald City this morning to welcome her to our fairyland." Hearing these words Jim resolved to conquer his alarm. He bowed his head with as much dignity as he could muster toward the savage looking beasts, who in return nodded in a friendly way. "Is not the Real Horse a beautiful animal?" asked the Sawhorse admiringly. "That is doubtless a matter of taste," returned the Lion. "In the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long. His joints, I notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks flesh and is old in years." "And dreadfully tough," added the Hungry Tiger, in a sad voice. "My conscience would never permit me to eat so tough a morsel as the Real Horse." "I'm glad of that," said Jim; "for I, also, have a conscience, and it tells me not to crush in your skull with a blow of my powerful hoof." If he thought to frighten the striped beast by such language he was mistaken. The Tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly. "You have a good conscience, friend Horse," it said, "and if you attend to its teachings it will do much to protect you from harm. Some day I will let you try to crush in my skull, and afterward you will know more about tigers than you do now." "Any friend of Dorothy," remarked the Cowardly Lion, "must be our friend, as well. So let us cease this talk of skull crushing and converse upon more pleasant subjects. Have you breakfasted, Sir Horse?" "Not yet," replied Jim. "But here is plenty of excellent clover, so if you will excuse me I will eat now." "He's a vegetarian," remarked the Tiger, as the horse began to munch the clover. "If I could eat grass I would not need a conscience, for nothing could then tempt me to devour babies and lambs." Just then Dorothy, who had risen early and heard the voices of the animals, ran out to greet her old friends. She hugged both the Lion and the Tiger with eager delight, but seemed to love the King of Beasts a little better than she did his hungry friend, having known him longer. By this time they had indulged in a good talk and Dorothy had told them all about the awful earthquake and her recent adventures, the breakfast bell rang from the palace and the little girl went inside to join her human comrades. As she entered the great hall a voice called out, in a rather harsh tone: "What! are YOU here again?" "Yes, I am," she answered, looking all around to see where the voice came from. "What brought you back?" was the next question, and Dorothy's eye rested on an antlered head hanging on the wall just over the fireplace, and caught its lips in the act of moving. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were stuffed." "So I am," replied the head. "But once on a time I was part of the Gump, which Ozma sprinkled with the Powder of Life. I was then for a time the Head of the finest Flying Machine that was ever known to exist, and we did many wonderful things. Afterward the Gump was taken apart and I was put back on this wall; but I can still talk when I feel in the mood, which is not often." "It's very strange," said the girl. "What were you when you were first alive?" "That I have forgotten," replied the Gump's Head, "and I do not think it is of much importance. But here comes Ozma; so I'd better hush up, for the Princess doesn't like me to chatter since she changed her name from Tip to Ozma." Just then the girlish Ruler of Oz opened the door and greeted Dorothy with a good-morning kiss. The little Princess seemed fresh and rosy and in good spirits. "Breakfast is served, dear," she said, "and I am hungry. So don't let us keep it waiting a single minute." 17. The Nine Tiny Piglets After breakfast Ozma announced that she had ordered a holiday to be observed throughout the Emerald City, in honor of her visitors. The people had learned that their old Wizard had returned to them and all were anxious to see him again, for he had always been a rare favorite. So first there was to be a grand procession through the streets, after which the little old man was requested to perform some of his wizardries in the great Throne Room of the palace. In the afternoon there were to be games and races. The procession was very imposing. First came the Imperial Cornet Band of Oz, dressed in emerald velvet uniforms with slashes of pea-green satin and buttons of immense cut emeralds. They played the National air called "The Oz Spangled Banner," and behind them were the standard bearers with the Royal flag. This flag was divided into four quarters, one being colored sky-blue, another pink, a third lavender and a fourth white. In the center was a large emerald-green star, and all over the four quarters were sewn spangles that glittered beautifully in the sunshine. The colors represented the four countries of Oz, and the green star the Emerald City. Just behind the royal standard-bearers came the Princess Ozma in her royal chariot, which was of gold encrusted with emeralds and diamonds set in exquisite designs. The chariot was drawn on this occasion by the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, who were decorated with immense pink and blue bows. In the chariot rode Ozma and Dorothy, the former in splendid raiment and wearing her royal coronet, while the little Kansas girl wore around her waist the Magic Belt she had once captured from the Nome King. Following the chariot came the Scarecrow mounted on the Sawhorse, and the people cheered him almost as loudly as they did their lovely Ruler. Behind him stalked with regular, jerky steps, the famous machine-man called Tik-tok, who had been wound up by Dorothy for the occasion. Tik-tok moved by clockwork, and was made all of burnished copper. He really belonged to the Kansas girl, who had much respect for his thoughts after they had been properly wound and set going; but as the copper man would be useless in any place but a fairy country Dorothy had left him in charge of Ozma, who saw that he was suitably cared for. There followed another band after this, which was called the Royal Court Band, because the members all lived in the palace. They wore white uniforms with real diamond buttons and played "What is Oz without Ozma" very sweetly. Then came Professor Woggle-Bug, with a group of students from the Royal College of Scientific Athletics. The boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition. The brilliantly polished Tin Woodman marched next, at the head of the Royal Army of Oz which consisted of twenty-eight officers, from Generals down to Captains. There were no privates in the army because all were so courageous and skillful that they had been promoted one by one until there were no privates left. Jim and the buggy followed, the old cab-horse being driven by Zeb while the Wizard stood up on the seat and bowed his bald head right and left in answer to the cheers of the people, who crowded thick about him. Taken altogether the procession was a grand success, and when it had returned to the palace the citizens crowded into the great Throne Room to see the Wizard perform his tricks. The first thing the little humbug did was to produce a tiny white piglet from underneath his hat and pretend to pull it apart, making two. This act he repeated until all of the nine tiny piglets were visible, and they were so glad to get out of his pocket that they ran around in a very lively manner. The pretty little creatures would have been a novelty anywhere, so the people were as amazed and delighted at their appearance as even the Wizard could have desired. When he had made them all disappear again Ozma declared she was sorry they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with. So the Wizard pretended to take one of the piglets out of the hair of the Princess (while really he slyly took it from his inside pocket) and Ozma smiled joyously as the creature nestled in her arms, and she promised to have an emerald collar made for its fat neck and to keep the little squealer always at hand to amuse her. Afterward it was noticed that the Wizard always performed his famous trick with eight piglets, but it seemed to please the people just as well as if there had been nine of them. In his little room back of the Throne Room the Wizard had found a lot of things he had left behind him when he went away in the balloon, for no one had occupied the apartment in his absence. There was enough material there to enable him to prepare several new tricks which he had learned from some of the jugglers in the circus, and he had passed part of the night in getting them ready. So he followed the trick of the nine tiny piglets with several other wonderful feats that greatly delighted his audience and the people did not seem to care a bit whether the little man was a humbug Wizard or not, so long as he succeeded in amusing them. They applauded all his tricks and at the end of the performance begged him earnestly not to go away again and leave them. "In that case," said the little man, gravely, "I will cancel all of my engagements before the crowned heads of Europe and America and devote myself to the people of Oz, for I love you all so well that I can deny you nothing." After the people had been dismissed with this promise our friends joined Princess Ozma at an elaborate luncheon in the palace, where even the Tiger and the Lion were sumptuously fed and Jim the Cab-horse ate his oatmeal out of a golden bowl with seven rows of rubies, sapphires and diamonds set around the rim of it. In the afternoon they all went to a great field outside the city gates where the games were to be held. There was a beautiful canopy for Ozma and her guests to sit under and watch the people run races and jump and wrestle. You may be sure the folks of Oz did their best with such a distinguished company watching them, and finally Zeb offered to wrestle with a little Munchkin who seemed to be the champion. In appearance he was twice as old as Zeb, for he had long pointed whiskers and wore a peaked hat with little bells all around the brim of it, which tinkled gaily as he moved. But although the Munchkin was hardly tall enough to come to Zeb's shoulder he was so strong and clever that he laid the boy three times on his back with apparent ease. Zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty Princess joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the Munchkin, to which the little Ozite readily agreed. But the first time that Zeb managed to give him a sharp box on the ears the Munchkin sat down upon the ground and cried until the tears ran down his whiskers, because he had been hurt. This made Zeb laugh, in turn, and the boy felt comforted to find that Ozma laughed as merrily at her weeping subject as she had at him. Just then the Scarecrow proposed a race between the Sawhorse and the Cab-horse; and although all the others were delighted at the suggestion the Sawhorse drew back, saying: "Such a race would not be fair." "Of course not," added Jim, with a touch of scorn; "those little wooden legs of yours are not half as long as my own." "It isn't that," said the Sawhorse, modestly; "but I never tire, and you do." "Bah!" cried Jim, looking with great disdain at the other; "do you imagine for an instant that such a shabby imitation of a horse as you are can run as fast as I?" "I don't know, I'm sure," replied the Sawhorse. "That is what we are trying to find out," remarked the Scarecrow. "The object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my excellent brains think." "Once, when I was young," said Jim, "I was a race horse, and defeated all who dared run against me. I was born in Kentucky, you know, where all the best and most aristocratic horses come from." "But you're old, now, Jim," suggested Zeb. "Old! Why, I feel like a colt today," replied Jim. "I only wish there was a real horse here for me to race with. I'd show the people a fine sight, I can tell you." "Then why not race with the Sawhorse?" enquired the Scarecrow. "He's afraid," said Jim. "Oh, no," answered the Sawhorse. "I merely said it wasn't fair. But if my friend the Real Horse is willing to undertake the race I am quite ready." So they unharnessed Jim and took the saddle off the Sawhorse, and the two queerly matched animals were stood side by side for the start. "When I say 'Go!'" Zeb called to them, "you must dig out and race until you reach those three trees you see over yonder. Then circle 'round them and come back again. The first one that passes the place where the Princess sits shall be named the winner. Are you ready?" "I suppose I ought to give the wooden dummy a good start of me," growled Jim. "Never mind that," said the Sawhorse. "I'll do the best I can." "Go!" cried Zeb; and at the word the two horses leaped forward and the race was begun. Jim's big hoofs pounded away at a great rate, and although he did not look very graceful he ran in a way to do credit to his Kentucky breeding. But the Sawhorse was swifter than the wind. Its wooden legs moved so fast that their twinkling could scarcely be seen, and although so much smaller than the cab-horse it covered the ground much faster. Before they had reached the trees the Sawhorse was far ahead, and the wooden animal returned to the starting place as was being lustily cheered by the Ozites before Jim came panting up to the canopy where the Princess and her friends were seated. I am sorry to record the fact that Jim was not only ashamed of his defeat but for a moment lost control of his temper. As he looked at the comical face of the Sawhorse he imagined that the creature was laughing at him; so in a fit of unreasonable anger he turned around and made a vicious kick that sent his rival tumbling head over heels upon the ground, and broke off one of its legs and its left ear. An instant later the Tiger crouched and launched its huge body through the air swift and resistless as a ball from a cannon. The beast struck Jim full on his shoulder and sent the astonished cab-horse rolling over and over, amid shouts of delight from the spectators, who had been horrified by the ungracious act he had been guilty of. When Jim came to himself and sat upon his haunches he found the Cowardly Lion crouched on one side of him and the Hungry Tiger on the other, and their eyes were glowing like balls of fire. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said Jim, meekly. "I was wrong to kick the Sawhorse, and I am sorry I became angry at him. He has won the race, and won it fairly; but what can a horse of flesh do against a tireless beast of wood?" Hearing this apology the Tiger and the Lion stopped lashing their tails and retreated with dignified steps to the side of the Princess. "No one must injure one of our friends in our presence," growled the Lion; and Zeb ran to Jim and whispered that unless he controlled his temper in the future he would probably be torn to pieces. Then the Tin Woodman cut a straight and strong limb from a tree with his gleaming axe and made a new leg and a new ear for the Sawhorse; and when they had been securely fastened in place Princess Ozma took the coronet from her own head and placed it upon that of the winner of the race. Said she: "My friend, I reward you for your swiftness by proclaiming you Prince of Horses, whether of wood or of flesh; and hereafter all other horses--in the Land of Oz, at least--must be considered imitations, and you the real Champion of your race." There was more applause at this, and then Ozma had the jewelled saddle replaced upon the Sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the head of the grand procession. "I ought to be a fairy," grumbled Jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; "for to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account whatever. It's no place for us, Zeb." "It's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and Jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him. 18. The Trial of Eureka the Kitten Several days of festivity and merry-making followed, for such old friends did not often meet and there was much to be told and talked over between them, and many amusements to be enjoyed in this delightful country. Ozma was happy to have Dorothy beside her, for girls of her own age with whom it was proper for the Princess to associate were very few, and often the youthful Ruler of Oz was lonely for lack of companionship. It was the third morning after Dorothy's arrival, and she was sitting with Ozma and their friends in a reception room, talking over old times, when the Princess said to her maid: "Please go to my boudoir, Jellia, and get the white piglet I left on the dressing-table. I want to play with it." Jellia at once departed on the errand, and she was gone so long that they had almost forgotten her mission when the green robed maiden returned with a troubled face. "The piglet is not there, your Highness," said she. "Not there!" exclaimed Ozma. "Are you sure?" "I have hunted in every part of the room," the maid replied. "Was not the door closed?" asked the Princess. "Yes, your Highness; I am sure it was; for when I opened it Dorothy's white kitten crept out and ran up the stairs." Hearing this, Dorothy and the Wizard exchanged startled glances, for they remembered how often Eureka had longed to eat a piglet. The little girl jumped up at once. "Come, Ozma," she said, anxiously; "let us go ourselves to search for the piglet." So the two went to the dressing-room of the Princess and searched carefully in every corner and among the vases and baskets and ornaments that stood about the pretty boudoir. But not a trace could they find of the tiny creature they sought. Dorothy was nearly weeping, by this time, while Ozma was angry and indignant. When they returned to the others the Princess said: "There is little doubt that my pretty piglet has been eaten by that horrid kitten, and if that is true the offender must be punished." "I don't b'lieve Eureka would do such a dreadful thing!" cried Dorothy, much distressed. "Go and get my kitten, please, Jellia, and we'll hear what she has to say about it." The green maiden hastened away, but presently returned and said: "The kitten will not come. She threatened to scratch my eyes out if I touched her." "Where is she?" asked Dorothy. "Under the bed in your own room," was the reply. So Dorothy ran to her room and found the kitten under the bed. "Come here, Eureka!" she said. "I won't," answered the kitten, in a surly voice. "Oh, Eureka! Why are you so bad?" The kitten did not reply. "If you don't come to me, right away," continued Dorothy, getting provoked, "I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you in the Country of the Gurgles." "Why do you want me?" asked Eureka, disturbed by this threat. "You must go to Princess Ozma. She wants to talk to you." "All right," returned the kitten, creeping out. "I'm not afraid of Ozma--or anyone else." Dorothy carried her in her arms back to where the others sat in grieved and thoughtful silence. "Tell me, Eureka," said the Princess, gently: "did you eat my pretty piglet?" "I won't answer such a foolish question," asserted Eureka, with a snarl. "Oh, yes you will, dear," Dorothy declared. "The piglet is gone, and you ran out of the room when Jellia opened the door. So, if you are innocent, Eureka, you must tell the Princess how you came to be in her room, and what has become of the piglet." "Who accuses me?" asked the kitten, defiantly. "No one," answered Ozma. "Your actions alone accuse you. The fact is that I left my little pet in my dressing-room lying asleep upon the table; and you must have stolen in without my knowing it. When next the door was opened you ran out and hid yourself--and the piglet was gone." "That's none of my business," growled the kitten. "Don't be impudent, Eureka," admonished Dorothy. "It is you who are impudent," said Eureka, "for accusing me of such a crime when you can't prove it except by guessing." Ozma was now greatly incensed by the kitten's conduct. She summoned her Captain-General, and when the long, lean officer appeared she said: "Carry this cat away to prison, and keep her in safe confinement until she is tried by law for the crime of murder." So the Captain-General took Eureka from the arms of the now weeping Dorothy and in spite of the kitten's snarls and scratches carried it away to prison. "What shall we do now?" asked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, for such a crime had cast a gloom over all the company. "I will summon the Court to meet in the Throne Room at three o'clock," replied Ozma. "I myself will be the judge, and the kitten shall have a fair trial." "What will happen if she is guilty?" asked Dorothy. "She must die," answered the Princess. "Nine times?" enquired the Scarecrow. "As many times as is necessary," was the reply. "I will ask the Tin Woodman to defend the prisoner, because he has such a kind heart I am sure he will do his best to save her. And the Woggle-Bug shall be the Public Accuser, because he is so learned that no one can deceive him." "Who will be the jury?" asked the Tin Woodman. "There ought to be several animals on the jury," said Ozma, "because animals understand each other better than we people understand them. So the jury shall consist of the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, Jim the Cab-horse, the Yellow Hen, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, Tik-tok the Machine Man, the Sawhorse and Zeb of Hugson's Ranch. That makes the nine which the law requires, and all my people shall be admitted to hear the testimony." They now separated to prepare for the sad ceremony; for whenever an appeal is made to law sorrow is almost certain to follow--even in a fairyland like Oz. But is must be stated that the people of that Land were generally so well-behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years since any Ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law. The crime of murder being the most dreadful crime of all, tremendous excitement prevailed in the Emerald City when the news of Eureka's arrest and trial became known. The Wizard, when he returned to his own room, was exceedingly thoughtful. He had no doubt Eureka had eaten his piglet, but he realized that a kitten cannot be depended upon at all times to act properly, since its nature is to destroy small animals and even birds for food, and the tame cat that we keep in our houses today is descended from the wild cat of the jungle--a very ferocious creature, indeed. The Wizard knew that if Dorothy's pet was found guilty and condemned to death the little girl would be made very unhappy; so, although he grieved over the piglet's sad fate as much as any of them, he resolved to save Eureka's life. Sending for the Tin Woodman the Wizard took him into a corner and whispered: "My friend, it is your duty to defend the white kitten and try to save her, but I fear you will fail because Eureka has long wished to eat a piglet, to my certain knowledge, and my opinion is that she has been unable to resist the temptation. Yet her disgrace and death would not bring back the piglet, but only serve to make Dorothy unhappy. So I intend to prove the kitten's innocence by a trick." He drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were remaining and continued: "This creature you must hide in some safe place, and if the jury decides that Eureka is guilty you may then produce this piglet and claim it is the one that was lost. All the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word. This deception will save Eureka's life, and then we may all be happy again." "I do not like to deceive my friends," replied the Tin Woodman; "still, my kind heart urges me to save Eureka's life, and I can usually trust my heart to do the right thing. So I will do as you say, friend Wizard." After some thought he placed the little pig inside his funnel-shaped hat, and then put the hat upon his head and went back to his room to think over his speech to the jury. 19. The Wizard Performs Another Trick At three o'clock the Throne Room was crowded with citizens, men, women and children being eager to witness the great trial. Princess Ozma, dressed in her most splendid robes of state, sat in the magnificent emerald throne, with her jewelled sceptre in her hand and her sparkling coronet upon her fair brow. Behind her throne stood the twenty-eight officers of her army and many officials of the royal household. At her right sat the queerly assorted Jury--animals, animated dummies and people--all gravely prepared to listen to what was said. The kitten had been placed in a large cage just before the throne, where she sat upon her haunches and gazed through the bars at the crowds around her, with seeming unconcern. And now, at a signal from Ozma, the Woggle-Bug arose and addressed the jury. His tone was pompous and he strutted up and down in an absurd attempt to appear dignified. "Your Royal Highness and Fellow Citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed Ruler's fat piglet--or else first eating and then murdering it. In either case a grave crime has been committed which deserves a grave punishment." "Do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?" asked Dorothy. "Don't interrupt, little girl," said the Woggle-Bug. "When I get my thoughts arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion." "If your thoughts were any good they wouldn't become confused," remarked the Scarecrow, earnestly. "My thoughts are always--" "Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the Woggle-Bug. "It's a trial of one kitten," replied the Scarecrow; "but your manner is a trial to us all." "Let the Public Accuser continue," called Ozma from her throne, "and I pray you do not interrupt him." "The criminal who now sits before the court licking her paws," resumed the Woggle-Bug, "has long desired to unlawfully eat the fat piglet, which was no bigger than a mouse. And finally she made a wicked plan to satisfy her depraved appetite for pork. I can see her, in my mind's eye--" "What's that?" asked the Scarecrow. "I say I can see her in my mind's eye--" "The mind has no eye," declared the Scarecrow. "It's blind." "Your Highness," cried the Woggle-Bug, appealing to Ozma, "have I a mind's eye, or haven't I?" "If you have, it is invisible," said the Princess. "Very true," returned the Woggle-Bug, bowing. "I say I see the criminal, in my mind's eye, creeping stealthily into the room of our Ozma and secreting herself, when no one was looking, until the Princess had gone away and the door was closed. Then the murderer was alone with her helpless victim, the fat piglet, and I see her pounce upon the innocent creature and eat it up--" "Are you still seeing with your mind's eye?" enquired the Scarecrow. "Of course; how else could I see it? And we know the thing is true, because since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere." "I suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind's eye would see the piglet eating the cat," suggested the Scarecrow. "Very likely," acknowledged the Woggle-Bug. "And now, Fellow Citizens and Creatures of the Jury, I assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in the case of the ferocious criminal before you--who is now washing her face--the death penalty should be inflicted nine times." There was great applause when the speaker sat down. Then the Princess spoke in a stern voice: "Prisoner, what have you to say for yourself? Are you guilty, or not guilty?" "Why, that's for you to find out," replied Eureka. "If you can prove I'm guilty, I'll be willing to die nine times, but a mind's eye is no proof, because the Woggle-Bug has no mind to see with." "Never mind, dear," said Dorothy. Then the Tin Woodman arose and said: "Respected Jury and dearly beloved Ozma, I pray you not to judge this feline prisoner unfeelingly. I do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder. Eureka is the sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and innocence are her chief virtues. Look at the kitten's intelligent eyes;" (here Eureka closed her eyes sleepily) "gaze at her smiling countenance!" (here Eureka snarled and showed her teeth) "mark the tender pose of her soft, padded little hands!" (Here Eureka bared her sharp claws and scratched at the bars of the cage.) "Would such a gentle animal be guilty of eating a fellow creature? No; a thousand times, no!" "Oh, cut it short," said Eureka; "you've talked long enough." "I'm trying to defend you," remonstrated the Tin Woodman. "Then say something sensible," retorted the kitten. "Tell them it would be foolish for me to eat the piglet, because I had sense enough to know it would raise a row if I did. But don't try to make out I'm too innocent to eat a fat piglet if I could do it and not be found out. I imagine it would taste mighty good." "Perhaps it would, to those who eat," remarked the Tin Woodman. "I myself, not being built to eat, have no personal experience in such matters. But I remember that our great poet once said: 'To eat is sweet When hunger's seat Demands a treat Of savory meat.'" "Take this into consideration, friends of the Jury, and you will readily decide that the kitten is wrongfully accused and should be set at liberty." When the Tin Woodman sat down no one applauded him, for his arguments had not been very convincing and few believed that he had proved Eureka's innocence. As for the Jury, the members whispered to each other for a few minutes and then they appointed the Hungry Tiger their spokesman. The huge beast slowly arose and said: "Kittens have no consciences, so they eat whatever pleases them. The jury believes the white kitten known as Eureka is guilty of having eaten the piglet owned by Princess Ozma, and recommends that she be put to death in punishment of the crime." The judgment of the jury was received with great applause, although Dorothy was sobbing miserably at the fate of her pet. The Princess was just about to order Eureka's head chopped off with the Tin Woodman's axe when that brilliant personage once more arose and addressed her. "Your Highness," said he, "see how easy it is for a jury to be mistaken. The kitten could not have eaten your piglet--for here it is!" He took off his funnel hat and from beneath it produced a tiny white piglet, which he held aloft that all might see it clearly. Ozma was delighted and exclaimed, eagerly: "Give me my pet, Nick Chopper!" And all the people cheered and clapped their hands, rejoicing that the prisoner had escaped death and been proved to be innocent. As the Princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: "Let Eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend. Where did you find my missing pet, Nick Chopper?" "In a room of the palace," he answered. "Justice," remarked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, "is a dangerous thing to meddle with. If you hadn't happened to find the piglet, Eureka would surely have been executed." "But justice prevailed at the last," said Ozma, "for here is my pet, and Eureka is once more free." "I refuse to be free," cried the kitten, in a sharp voice, "unless the Wizard can do his trick with eight piglets. If he can produce but seven, then this is not the piglet that was lost, but another one." "Hush, Eureka!" warned the Wizard. "Don't be foolish," advised the Tin Woodman, "or you may be sorry for it." "The piglet that belonged to the Princess wore an emerald collar," said Eureka, loudly enough for all to hear. "So it did!" exclaimed Ozma. "This cannot be the one the Wizard gave me." "Of course not; he had nine of them, altogether," declared Eureka; "and I must say it was very stingy of him not to let me eat just a few. But now that this foolish trial is ended, I will tell you what really became of your pet piglet." At this everyone in the Throne Room suddenly became quiet, and the kitten continued, in a calm, mocking tone of voice: "I will confess that I intended to eat the little pig for my breakfast; so I crept into the room where it was kept while the Princess was dressing and hid myself under a chair. When Ozma went away she closed the door and left her pet on the table. At once I jumped up and told the piglet not to make a fuss, for he would be inside of me in half a second; but no one can teach one of these creatures to be reasonable. Instead of keeping still, so I could eat him comfortably, he trembled so with fear that he fell off the table into a big vase that was standing on the floor. The vase had a very small neck, and spread out at the top like a bowl. At first the piglet stuck in the neck of the vase and I thought I should get him, after all, but he wriggled himself through and fell down into the deep bottom part--and I suppose he's there yet." All were astonished at this confession, and Ozma at once sent an officer to her room to fetch the vase. When he returned the Princess looked down the narrow neck of the big ornament and discovered her lost piglet, just as Eureka had said she would. There was no way to get the creature out without breaking the vase, so the Tin Woodman smashed it with his axe and set the little prisoner free. Then the crowd cheered lustily and Dorothy hugged the kitten in her arms and told her how delighted she was to know that she was innocent. "But why didn't you tell us at first?" she asked. "It would have spoiled the fun," replied the kitten, yawning. Ozma gave the Wizard back the piglet he had so kindly allowed Nick Chopper to substitute for the lost one, and then she carried her own into the apartments of the palace where she lived. And now, the trial being over, the good citizens of the Emerald City scattered to their homes, well content with the day's amusement. 20. Zeb Returns to the Ranch Eureka was much surprised to find herself in disgrace; but she was, in spite of the fact that she had not eaten the piglet. For the folks of Oz knew the kitten had tried to commit the crime, and that only an accident had prevented her from doing so; therefore even the Hungry Tiger preferred not to associate with her. Eureka was forbidden to wander around the palace and was made to stay in confinement in Dorothy's room; so she began to beg her mistress to send her to some other place where she could enjoy herself better. Dorothy was herself anxious to get home, so she promised Eureka they would not stay in the Land of Oz much longer. The next evening after the trial the little girl begged Ozma to allow her to look in the enchanted picture, and the Princess readily consented. She took the child to her room and said: "Make your wish, dear, and the picture will show the scene you desire to behold." Then Dorothy found, with the aid of the enchanted picture, that Uncle Henry had returned to the farm in Kansas, and she also saw that both he and Aunt Em were dressed in mourning, because they thought their little niece had been killed by the earthquake. "Really," said the girl, anxiously, "I must get back as soon as poss'ble to my own folks." Zeb also wanted to see his home, and although he did not find anyone morning for him, the sight of Hugson's Ranch in the picture made him long to get back there. "This is a fine country, and I like all the people that live in it," he told Dorothy. "But the fact is, Jim and I don't seem to fit into a fairyland, and the old horse has been begging me to go home again ever since he lost the race. So, if you can find a way to fix it, we'll be much obliged to you." "Ozma can do it, easily," replied Dorothy. "Tomorrow morning I'll go to Kansas and you can go to Californy." That last evening was so delightful that the boy will never forget it as long as he lives. They were all together (except Eureka) in the pretty rooms of the Princess, and the Wizard did some new tricks, and the Scarecrow told stories, and the Tin Woodman sang a love song in a sonorous, metallic voice, and everybody laughed and had a good time. Then Dorothy wound up Tik-tok and he danced a jig to amuse the company, after which the Yellow Hen related some of her adventures with the Nome King in the Land of Ev. The Princess served delicious refreshments to those who were in the habit of eating, and when Dorothy's bed time arrived the company separated after exchanging many friendly sentiments. Next morning they all assembled for the final parting, and many of the officials and courtiers came to look upon the impressive ceremonies. Dorothy held Eureka in her arms and bade her friends a fond good-bye. "You must come again, some time," said the little Wizard; and she promised she would if she found it possible to do so. "But Uncle Henry and Aunt Em need me to help them," she added, "so I can't ever be very long away from the farm in Kansas." Ozma wore the Magic Belt; and, when she had kissed Dorothy farewell and had made her wish, the little girl and her kitten disappeared in a twinkling. "Where is she?" asked Zeb, rather bewildered by the suddenness of it. "Greeting her uncle and aunt in Kansas, by this time," returned Ozma, with a smile. Then Zeb brought out Jim, all harnessed to the buggy, and took his seat. "I'm much obliged for all your kindness," said the boy, "and very grateful to you for saving my life and sending me home again after all the good times I've had. I think this is the loveliest country in the world; but not being fairies Jim and I feel we ought to be where we belong--and that's at the ranch. Good-bye, everybody!" He gave a start and rubbed his eyes. Jim was trotting along the well-known road, shaking his ears and whisking his tail with a contented motion. Just ahead of them were the gates of Hugson's Ranch, and Uncle Hugson now came out and stood with uplifted arms and wide open mouth, staring in amazement. "Goodness gracious! It's Zeb--and Jim, too!" he exclaimed. "Where in the world have you been, my lad?" "Why, in the world, Uncle," answered Zeb, with a laugh. 
10401	----	[Illustration: _Daniel Drayton_] PERSONAL MEMOIR Of DANIEL DRAYTON, For Four Years And Four Months A PRISONER (FOR CHARITY'S SAKE) IN WASHINGTON JAIL Including A Narrative Of The VOYAGE AND CAPTURE OF THE SCHOONER PEARL. We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among these are life, _liberty_, and the pursuit of happiness. DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 1855. Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1853, by DANIEL DRAYTON, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts ADVERTISEMENT. Considering the large share of the public attention which the case of the schooner Pearl attracted at the time of its occurrence, perhaps the following narrative of its origin, and of its consequences to himself, by the principal actor in it, may not be without interest. It is proper to state that a large share of the profits of the sale are secured to Captain Drayton, the state of whose health incapacitates him from any laborious employment. MEMOIR. I was born in the year 1802, in Cumberland County, Downs Township, in the State of New Jersey, on the shores of Nantuxet Creek, not far from Delaware Bay, into which that creek flows. My father was a farmer,--not a very profitable occupation in that barren part of the country. My mother was a widow at the time of her marriage with my father, having three children by a former husband. By my father she had six more, of whom I was the youngest but one. She was a woman of strong mind and marked character, a zealous member of the Methodist church; and, although I had the misfortune to lose her at an early age, her instructions--though the effect was not apparent at the moment--made a deep impression on my youthful mind, and no doubt had a very sensible influence over my future life. Just previous to, or during the war with Great Britain, my father removed still nearer to the shore of the bay, and the sight of the vessels passing up and down inspired me with a desire to follow the life of a waterman; but it was some years before I was able to gratify this wish. I well remember the alarm created in our neighborhood by the incursions of the British vessels up the bay during the war, and that, at these times, the women of the neighborhood used to collect at our house, as if looking up to my mother for counsel and guidance. I was only twelve years old when this good mother died; but, so strong was the impression which she left upon my memory, that, amid the struggles and dangers and cares of my subsequent life, I have seldom closed my eyes to sleep without some thought or image of her. As my father soon after married another widow, with four small children, it became necessary to make room in the house for their accommodation; and, with a younger brother of mine, I was bound out an apprentice in a cotton and woollen factory at a place called Cedarville. Manufactures were just then beginning to be introduced into the country, and great hopes were entertained of them as a profitable business. My employer,--or bos, as we called him,--had formerly been a schoolmaster, and he did not wholly neglect our instructions in other things besides cotton-spinning. Of this I stood greatly in need; for there were no public schools in the neighborhood in which I was born, and my parents had too many children to feed and clothe to be able to pay much for schooling. We were required on Sundays, by our employer, to learn two lessons, one in the forenoon, the other in the afternoon; after reciting which we were left at liberty to roam at our pleasure. Winter evenings we worked in the factory till nine o'clock, after which, and before going to bed, we were required to recite over one of our lessons These advantages of education were not great, but even these I soon lost. Within five months from the time I was bound to him, my employer died. The factories were then sold out to three partners. The one who carried on the cotton-spinning took me; but he soon gave up the business, and went back to farming, which had been his original occupation. I remained with him for a year and a half, or thereabouts, when my father bound me out apprentice to a shoe-maker. My new bos was, in some respects, a remarkable man, but not a very good sort of one for a boy to be bound apprentice to. He paid very little attention to his business, which he seemed to think unworthy of his genius. He was a kind-hearted man, fond of company and frolics, in which he indulged himself freely, and much given to speeches and harangues, in which he had a good deal of fluency. In religion he professed to be a Universalist, holding to doctrines and opinions very different from those which my mother had instilled into me. He ridiculed those opinions, and argued against them, but without converting me to his way of thinking; though, as far as practice went, I was ready enough to imitate his example. My Sundays were spent principally in taverns, playing at dominos, which then was, and still is, a favorite game in that part of the country; and, as the unsuccessful party was expected to treat, I at times ran up a bill at the bar as high as four or six dollars,--no small indebtedness for a young apprentice with no more means than I had. As I grew older this method of living grew less and less satisfactory to me; and as I saw that no good of any kind, not even a knowledge of the trade he had undertaken to teach me, was to be got of my present bos, I bought my time of him, and went to work with another man to pay for it. Before I had succeeded in doing that, and while I was not yet nineteen, I took upon myself the still further responsibility of marriage. This was a step into which I was led rather by the impulse of youthful passion than by any thoughtful foresight. Yet it had at least this advantage, that it obliged me to set diligently to work to provide for the increasing family which I soon found growing up around me. I had never liked the shoe-making business, to which my father had bound me an apprentice. I had always desired to follow the water. The vessels which I had seen sailing up and down the Delaware Bay still haunted my fancy; and I engaged myself as cook on board a sloop, employed in carrying wood from Maurice river to Philadelphia. Promotion in this line is sufficiently rapid; for in four months, after commencing as cook, I rose to be captain. This wood business, in which I remained for two years, is carried on by vessels of from thirty to sixty tons, known as _bay-craft_. They are built so as to draw but little water, which is their chief distinction from the _coasters_, which are fit for the open sea. They will carry from twenty-five to fifty cords of wood, on which a profit is expected of a dollar and upwards. They have usually about three hands, the captain, or skipper, included. The men used to be hired, when I entered the business, for eight or ten dollars the month, but they now get nearly or quite twice as much. The captain usually sails the vessel on shares (unless he is himself owner in whole, or in part), victualling the vessel and hiring the men, and paying over to the owner forty dollars out of every hundred. During the winter, from December to March, the navigation is impeded by ice, and the bay-craft seldom run. The men commonly spend this long vacation in visiting, husking-frolics, rabbiting, and too often in taverns, to the exhaustion of their purses, the impoverishment of their families, and the sacrifice of their sobriety. Yet the watermen, if many of them are not able always to resist the temptations held out to them, are in general an honest and simple-hearted set, though with little education, and sometimes rather rough in their manners. The extent of my education when I took to the water--and in this respect I was not, perhaps, much inferior to the generality of my brother watermen--was to read with no great fluency, and to sign my name; nor did I ever learn much more than this till my residence in Washington jail, to be related hereafter. Having followed the wood business for two years, I aspired to something a little higher, and obtained the command of a sloop engaged in the coasting business, from Philadelphia southward and eastward. At this time a sloop of sixty tons was considered a very respectable coaster. The business is now mostly carried on by vessels of a larger class; some of them, especially the regular lines of packets, being very handsome and expensive. The terms on which these coasters were sailed were very similar to those already stated in the case of the bay-craft. The captain victualled the vessel, and paid the hands, and received for his share half the net profits, after deducting the extra expenses of loading and unloading. It was in this coasting business that the best years of my life were spent, during which time I visited most of the ports and rivers between Savannah southward, and St. John, in the British province of New Brunswick, eastward;--those two places forming the extreme limits of my voyagings. As Philadelphia was the port from and to which I sailed, I presently found it convenient to remove my family thither, and there they continued to live till after my release from the Washington prison. I was so successful in my new business, that, besides supporting my family, I was able to become half owner of the sloop Superior, at an expense of over a thousand dollars, most of which I paid down. But this proved a very unfortunate investment. On her second trip after I had bought into her, returning from Baltimore to Philadelphia by the way of the Delaware and Chesapeake canal, while off the mouth of the Susquehannah, she struck, as I suppose, a sunken tree, brought down by a heavy freshet in that river. The water flowed fast into the cabin. It was in vain that I attempted to run her ashore. She sunk in five minutes. The men saved themselves in the boat, which was on deck, and which floated as she went down. I stood by the rudder till the last, and stepped off it into the boat, loath enough to leave my vessel, on which there was no insurance. By this unfortunate accident I lost everything except the clothes I had on, and was obliged to commence anew. I accordingly obtained the command of the new sloop Sarah Henry, of seventy tons burden, and continued to sail her for several years, on shares. While in her I made a voyage to Savannah; and while under sail from that city for Charleston, I was taken with the yellow fever. I lay for a week quite unconscious of anything that was going on about me and came as near dying as a man could do and escape. The religious instructions of my mother had from time to time recurred to my mind, and had occasioned me some anxiety. I was now greatly alarmed at the idea of dying in my sins, from which I seemed to have escaped so narrowly. My mind was possessed with this fear; and, to relieve myself from it, I determined, if it were a possible thing, to get religion at any rate. The idea of religion in which I had been educated was that of a sudden, miraculous change, in which a man felt himself relieved from the burden of his sins, united to God, and made a new creature. For this experience I diligently sought, and tried every way to get it. I set up family prayers in my house, went to meetings, and conversed with experienced members of the church; but, for nine months or more, all to no purpose. At length I got into an awful state, beginning to think that I had been so desperate a sinner that there was no forgiveness for me. While I was in this miserable condition, I heard of a camp-meeting about to be held on Cape May, and I immediately resolved to attend it, and to leave no stone unturned to accomplish the object which I had so much at heart. I went accordingly, and yielded myself entirely up to the dictation of those who had the control of the meeting. I did in everything as I was told; went into the altar, prayed, and let them pray over me. This went on for several days without any result. One evening, as I approached the altar, and was looking into it, I met a captain of my acquaintance, and asked him what he thought of these proceedings; and, as he seemed to approve them, I invited him to go into the altar with me. We both went in accordingly, and knelt down. Pretty soon my friend got up and walked away, saying he had got religion. I did not find it so easily. I remained at the altar, praying, till after the meeting broke up, and even till one o'clock,--a few acquaintances and others remaining with me, and praying round me, and over me, and for me;--till, at last, thinking that I had done everything I could, I told them pray no more, as evidently there was no forgiveness for me. So I withdrew to a distance, and sat down upon an old tree, lamenting my hard case very seriously. I was sure I had committed the unpardonable sin. A friend, who sat down beside me, and of whom I inquired what he supposed the unpardonable sin was, endeavored comfort me by suggesting that, whatever it might be, it would take more sense and learning than ever I had to commit it. But I would not enter into his merriment. All the next day, which was Sunday, I passed in a most miserable state. I went into the woods alone. I did not think myself worthy or fit to associate with those who had religion, while I was anxious to avoid the company of those who made light of it. Sometimes I would sit down, sometimes I would stand up, sometimes I would walk about. Frequently I prayed, but found no comfort in it. About sun-set I met a friend, who said to me, "Well, our camp-meeting is about ended." What a misery those few words struck to my heart! "About ended!" I said to myself; "about ended, and I not converted!" A little later, as I was passing along the camp-ground, I saw a woman before me kneeling and praying. An acquaintance of mine, who was approaching her in an opposite direction, called out to me, "Daniel, help me pray for this woman!" I had made up my mind to make one more effort, and I knelt down and commenced praying; but quite as much for myself as for her. Others gathered about us and joined in, and the interest and excitement became so great, that, after a vain effort to call us off, the regular services of the evening were dispensed with, and the ground was left to us. Things went on in this way till about nine o'clock, when, as suddenly as if I had been struck a heavy blow, I felt a remarkable change come over me. All my fears and terrors seemed to be instantaneously removed, and my whole soul to be filled with joy and peace. This was the sort of change which I had been taught to look for as the consequence of getting that religion for which I had been struggling so hard. I instantly rose up, and told those about me that I was a converted man; and from that moment I was able to sing and shout and pray with the best of them. In the midst of my exultation who should come up but my old master in the shoe-making trade, of whom I have already given some account. He had heard that I was on the camp-ground in pursuit of religion, and had come to find me out. "Daniel," he said, addressing me by my Christian name, "what are you doing here? Don't make a fool of yourself." To which I answered, that I had got to be just such a fool as I had long wanted to be; and I took him by the arm, and endeavored to prevail upon him to kneel down and allow us to pray over him, assuring him that I knew his convictions to be much better than his conduct; that he must get religion, and now was the time. But he drew back, and escaped from me, with promises to do better, which, however, he did not keep. As for myself, considering, and, as I thought, feeling that I was a converted man, I now enjoyed for some time an extraordinary satisfaction, a sort of offset to the months of agony and misery which I had previously endured. But, though regarding myself as now truly converted, I delayed some time before uniting myself with any particular church. I did not know which to join. This division into so many hostile sects seemed to me unaccountable. I thought that all good Christians should love each other, and be as one family. Yet it seemed necessary to unite myself with some body of Christians; and, as I had been educated a Methodist, I concluded to join them. I have given the account of my religious experience exactly as it seemed to me at the time, and as I now remember it. It corresponded with the common course of religious experiences in the Methodist church, except that with me the struggle was harder than commonly happens. I did not doubt at the time that it was truly a supernatural change, as much the work of the Spirit as the sudden conversions recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. Others can form their own opinion about it. I will only add that subsequent experience has led me to the belief that the reality of a man's religion is more to be judged of by what he does than by how he feels or what he says. The change which had taken place in me, however it is to be regarded, was not without a decided influence on my whole future life. I no longer considered myself as living for myself alone. I regarded myself as bound to do unto others as I would that they should do unto me; and it was in attempting to act up to this principle that I became involved in the difficulties to be hereafter related. Meanwhile I resumed my voyages in the Sarah Henry, in which I continued to sail, on shares, for several years, with tolerable success. Afterwards I followed the same business in the schooner Protection, in which I suffered another shipwreck. We sailed from Philadelphia to Washington, in the District of Columbia, laden with coal, proceeding down the Delaware, and by the open sea; but, when off the entrance of the Chesapeake, we encountered a heavy gale, which split the sails, swept the decks, and drove us off our course as far south as Ocracoke Inlet, on the coast of North Carolina. I took a pilot, intending to go in to repair damages; but, owing to the strength of the current, which defeated his calculations, the pilot ran us on the bar. As soon as the schooner's bow touched the ground, she swung round broadside to the sea, which immediately began to break over her in a fearful manner. She filled immediately,--everything on deck was swept away; and, as our only chance of safety, we took to the main-rigging. This was about seven o'clock in the evening. Towards morning, by reason of the continual thumping, the mainmast began to work through the vessel, and to settle in the sand, so that it became necessary for us to make our way to the fore-rigging; which we did, not without danger, as one of the men was twice washed off. About a quarter of a mile inside was a small, low island, on which lay five boats, each manned by five men, who had come down to our assistance; but the surf was so high that they did not venture to approach us; so we remained clinging with difficulty to the rigging till about half-past one, when the schooner went to pieces. The mast to which we were clinging fell, and we were precipitated into the raging surf, which swept us onward towards the island already mentioned. The men there, anticipating what had happened, had prepared for its occurrence; and the best swimmers, with ropes tied round their waists, the other end of which was held by those on shore, plunged in to our assistance. One of our unfortunate company was drowned,--the rest of us came safely to the shore; but we lost everything except the clothes we stood in. The fragments saved from the wreck were sold at auction for two hundred dollars. The people of that neighborhood treated us with great kindness, and we presently took the packet for Elizabeth city, whence I proceeded to Norfolk, Baltimore, and so home. I had made up my mind to go to sea no more; but, after remaining on shore for three weeks, and not finding anything else to do, as it was necessary for me to have the means of supporting my increasing family, I took the command of another vessel, belonging to the same owners, the sloop Joseph B. While in this vessel, my voyages were to the eastward. I was engaged in the flour-trade, in conjunction with the owners of the vessel. We bought flour and grain on a sixty days' credit, which I carried to the Kennebec, Portsmouth, Boston, New Bedford, and other eastern ports, calculating upon the returns of the voyage to take up our notes. I was so successful in this business as finally to become the owner of the Joseph B., which vessel I exchanged away at Portsmouth for the Sophronia, a top-sail schooner of one hundred and sixty tons, worth about fourteen hundred dollars. In this vessel I made two trips to Boston,--one with coal, and the other with timber. Having unloaded my timber, I took in a hundred tons of plaster, purchased on my own account, intending to dispose of it in the Susquehanna. But on the passage I encountered a heavy storm, which blew the masts out of the vessel, and drove her ashore on the south side of Long Island. We saved our lives; but I lost everything except one hundred and sixty dollars, for which I sold what was left of the vessel and cargo. Having returned to my family, with but little disposition to try my fortune again in the coasting-trade, one day, being in the horse-market, I purchased a horse and wagon; and, taking in my wife and some of the younger children, I went to pay a visit to the neighborhood in which I was born. Here I traded for half of a bay-craft, of about sixty tons burden, in which I engaged in the oyster-trade, and other small bay-traffic. Having met at Baltimore the owner of the other half, I bought him out also. The whole craft stood me in about seven hundred dollars. I then purchased three hundred bushels of potatoes, with which I sailed for Fredericksburg, in Virginia; but this proved a losing trip, the potatoes not selling for what they cost me. At Fredericksburg I took in flour on freight for Norfolk; but my ill-luck still pursued me. In unloading the vessel, the cargo forward being first taken out, she settled by the stern and sprang a leak, damaging fifteen barrels of flour, which were thrown upon my hands. I then sailed for the eastern shore of Virginia, and at a place called Cherrystone traded off my damaged flour for a cargo of pears, with which I sailed for New York. I proceeded safely as far as Barnegat, when I encountered a north-east storm, which drove me back into the Delaware, obliging me to seek refuge in the same Maurice river from which I had commenced my sea-faring life in the wood business. But by this time the pears were spoiled, and I was obliged to throw them overboard. At Cherrystone I had met the owner of a pilot-boat, who had seemed disposed to trade with me for my vessel; and I now returned to that place, and completed the trade; after which I loaded the pilot-boat with oysters and terrapins, and sailed for Philadelphia. This boat was an excellent sailer, but too sharp, and not of burden enough for my business; and I soon exchanged her for half a little sloop, in which I carried a load of water-melons to Baltimore. By this time I was pretty well sick of the water; and, having hired out the sloop, I set up a shop, at Philadelphia, for the purchase and sale of junk, old iron, &c. &c. But, after continuing in this business for about two years,--my health being bad, and the doctor having advised me to try the water again,--I bought half of another sloop, and engaged in trading up and down Chesapeake Bay. Returning home, towards the close of the season, with the proceeds of the summer's business, I encountered, in the upper part of Chesapeake Bay, a terrible snow-storm which proved fatal to many vessels then in the bay. In attempting to make a harbor, the vessel struck the ground, and knocked off her rudder; and, in order to get her off, we were obliged to throw over the deck-load. We drifted about all day, it still blowing and snowing, and at night let go both anchors. So we lay for a night and a day; but, having neither boat, rudder nor provisions, I was finally obliged to slip the anchors and run ashore. I sold my half of her, as she lay, for ninety dollars, which was all that remained to me of my investment and my summer's work. Not having the means to purchase a boat, my health also continuing quite infirm, the next summer I hired one, and continued the same trade up and down the bay which I had followed the previous summer. My trading up and down the bay, in the way which I have described, of course brought me a good deal into contact with the slave population. No sooner, indeed, does a vessel, known to be from the north, anchor in any of these waters--and the slaves are pretty adroit in ascertaining from what state a vessel comes--than she is boarded, if she remains any length of time, and especially over night, by more or less of them, in hopes of obtaining a passage in her to a land of freedom. During my earlier voyagings, several years before, in Chesapeake Bay, I had turned a deaf ear to all these requests. At that time, according to an idea still common enough, I had regarded the negroes as only fit to be slaves, and had not been inclined to pay much attention to the pitiful tales which they told me of ill-treatment by their masters and mistresses. But my views upon this subject had undergone a gradual change. I knew it was asserted in the Declaration of Independence that all men are born free and equal, and I had read in the Bible that God had made of one flesh all the nations of the earth. I had found out, by intercourse with the negroes, that they had the same desires, wishes and hopes, as myself. I knew very well that I should not like to be a slave even to the best of masters, and still less to such sort of masters as the greater part of the slaves seemed to have. The idea of having first one child and then another taken from me, as fast as they grew large enough, and handed over to the slave-traders, to be carried I knew not where, and sold, if they were girls, I knew not for what purposes, would have been horrible enough; and, from instances which came to my notice, I perceived that it was not less horrible and distressing to the parties concerned in the case of black people than of white ones. I had never read any abolition books, nor heard any abolition lectures. I had frequented only Methodist meetings, and nothing was heard there about slavery. But, for the life of me, I could not perceive why the golden rule of doing to others as you would wish them to do to you did not apply to this case. Had I been a slave myself,--and it is not a great while since the Algerines used to make slaves of our sailors, white as well as black,--I should have thought it very right and proper in anybody who would have ventured to assist me in escaping out of bondage; and the more dangerous it might have been to render such assistance, the more meritorious I should have thought the act to be. Why had not these black people, so anxious to escape from their masters, as good a light to their liberty as I had to mine? I know it is sometimes said, by those who defend slavery or apologize for it, that the slaves at the south are very happy and contented, if left to themselves, and that this idea of running away is only put into their heads by mischievous white people from the north. This will do very well for those who know nothing of the matter personally, and who are anxious to listen to any excuse. But there is not a waterman who ever sailed in Chesapeake Bay who will not tell you that, so far from the slaves needing any prompting to run away, the difficulty is, when they ask you to assist them, to make them take no for an answer. I have known instances where men have lain in the woods for a year or two, waiting for an opportunity to escape on board some vessel. On one of my voyages up the Potomac, an application was made to me on behalf of such a runaway; and I was so much moved by his story, that, had it been practicable for me at that time, I should certainly have helped him off. One or two attempts I did make to assist the flight of some of those who sought my assistance; but none with success, till the summer of 1847, which is the period to which I have brought down my narrative. I was employed during that summer, as I have mentioned already in trading up and down the Chesapeake, in a hired boat, a small black boy being my only assistant. Among other trips, I went to Washington with a cargo of oysters. While I was lying there, at the same wharf, as it happened, from which the Pearl afterwards took her departure, a colored man came on board, and, observing that I seemed to be from the north, he said he supposed we were pretty much all abolitionists there. I don't know where he got this piece of information, but I think it likely from some southern member of Congress. As I did not check him, but rather encouraged him to go on, he finally told me that he wanted to get passage to the north for a woman and five children. The husband of the woman, and father of the children, was a free colored man; and the woman, under an agreement with her master, had already more than paid for her liberty; but, when she had asked him for a settlement, he had only answered by threatening to sell her. He begged me to see the woman, which I did; and finally I made an arrangement to take them away. Their bedding, and other things, were sent down on board the vessel in open day, and at night the woman came on board with her five children and a niece. We were ten days in reaching Frenchtown, where the husband was in waiting for them. He took them under his charge, and I saw them no more; but, since my release from imprisonment in Washington, I have heard that the whole family are comfortably established in a free country, and doing well. Having accomplished this exploit,--and was it not something of an exploit to bestow the invaluable gift of liberty upon seven of one's fellow-creatures--the season being now far advanced, I gave up the boat to the owner, and returned to my family at Philadelphia. In the course of the following month of February, I received a note from a person whom I had never known or heard of before, desiring me to call at a certain place named in it. I did so, when it appeared that I had been heard of through the colored family which I had brought off from Washington. A letter from that city was read to me, relating the case of a family or two who expected daily and hourly to be sold, and desiring assistance to get them away. It was proposed to me to undertake this enterprise; but I declined it at this time, as I had no vessel, and because the season was too early for navigation through the canal. I saw the same person again about a fortnight later, and finally arranged to go on to Washington, to see what could be done. There I agreed to return again so soon as I could find a vessel fit for the enterprise. I spoke with several persons of my acquaintance, who had vessels under their control; but they declined, on account of the danger. They did not appear to have any other objection, and seemed to wish me success. Passing along the street, I met Captain Sayres, and knowing that he was sailing a small bay-craft, called the Pearl, and learning from him that business was dull with him, I proposed the enterprise to him, offering him one hundred dollars for the charter of his vessel to Washington and back to Frenchtown where, according to the arrangement with the friends of the passengers, they were to be met and carried to Philadelphia. This was considerably more than the vessel could earn in any ordinary trip of the like duration, and Sayres closed with the offer. He fully understood the nature of the enterprise. By our bargain, I was to have, as supercargo, the control of the vessel so far as related to her freight, and was to bring away from Washington such passengers as I chose to receive on board; but the control of the vessel in other respects remained with him. Captain Sayres engaged in this enterprise merely as a matter of business. I, too, was to be paid for my time and trouble,--an offer which the low state of my pecuniary affairs, and the necessity of supporting my family, did not allow me to decline. But this was not, by any means, my sole or principal motive. I undertook it out of sympathy for the enslaved, and from my desire to do something to further the cause of universal liberty. Such being the different ground upon which Sayres and myself stood, I did not think it necessary or expedient to communicate to him the names of the persons with whom the expedition had originated; and, at my suggestion, those persons abstained from any direct communication with him, either at Philadelphia or Washington. Sayres had, as cook and sailor, on board the Pearl, a young man named Chester English. He was married, and had a child or two, but was himself as inexperienced as a child, having never been more than thirty miles from the place where he was born. I remonstrated with Sayres against taking this young man with us. But English, pleased with the idea of seeing Washington, desired to go; and Sayres, who had engaged him for the season, did not like to part with him. He went with us, but was kept in total ignorance of the real object of the voyage. He had the idea that we were going to Washington for a load of ship-timber. We proceeded down the Delaware, and by the canal into the Chesapeake, making for the mouth of the Potomac. As we ascended that river we stopped at a place called Machudock, where I purchased, by way of cargo and cover to the voyage, twenty cords of wood; and with that freight on board we proceeded to Washington, where we arrived on the evening of Thursday, the 13th of April, 1848. As it happened, we found that city in a great state of excitement on the subject of emancipation, liberty and the rights of man. A grand torch-light procession was on foot, in honor of the new French revolution, the expulsion of Louis-Philippe, and the establishment of a republic in France. Bonfires were blazing in the public squares, and a great out-door meeting was being held in front of the _Union_ newspaper office, at which very enthusiastic and exciting speeches were delivered, principally by southern democratic members of Congress, which body was at that time in session. A full account of these proceedings, with reports of the speeches, was given in the _Union_ of the next day. According to this report, Mr. Foote, the senator from Mississippi, extolled the French revolution as holding out "to the whole family of man a bright promise of the universal establishment of civil and religious liberty." He declared, in the same speech, "that the age of tyrants and of slavery was rapidly drawing to a close, and that the happy period to be signalized by the _universal emancipation_ of man from the fetters of civic oppression, and the recognition in all countries of the great principles of popular sovereignty, equality and brotherhood, was at this moment visibly commencing." Mr. Stanton, of Tennessee, and others, spoke in a strain equally fervid and philanthropic. I am obliged to refer to the _Union_ newspaper for an account of these speeches, as I did not hear them myself. I came to Washington, not to preach, nor to hear preached, emancipation, equality and brotherhood, but to put them into practice. Sayres and English went up to see the procession and hear the speeches. I had other things to attend to. The news of my arrival soon spread among those who had been expecting it, though I neither saw nor had any direct communication with any of those who were to be my passengers. I had some difficulty in disposing of my wood, which was not a very first-rate article, but finally sold it, taking in payment the purchaser's note on sixty days, which I changed off for half cash and half provisions. As the trader to whom I passed the note had no hard bread, Sayres and myself went in the steamer to Alexandria to purchase a barrel,--a circumstance of which it was afterwards attempted to take advantage against us. It was arranged that the passengers should come on board after dark on Saturday evening, and that we should sail about midnight. I had understood that the expedition, had principally originated in the desire to help off a certain family, consisting of a woman, nine children and two grand-children, who were believed to be legally entitled to their liberty. Their case had been in litigation for some time; but, although they had a very good case,--the lawyer whom they employed (Mr. Bradley, one of the most distinguished members of the bar of the district) testified, in the course of one of my trials, that he believed them to be legally free,--yet, as their money was nearly exhausted, and as there seemed to be no end to the law's delay and the pertinacity of the woman who claimed them, it was deemed best by their friends that they should get away if they could, lest she might seize them unawares, and sell them to some trader. In speaking of this case, the person with whom I communicated at Washington informed me that there were also quite a number of others who wished to avail themselves of this opportunity of escaping, and that the number of passengers was likely to be larger than had at first been calculated upon. To which I replied, that I did not stand about the number; that all who were on board before eleven o'clock I should take,--the others would have to remain behind. Saturday evening, at supper, I let English a little into the secret of what I intended. I told him that the sort of ship-timber we were going to take would prove very easy to load and unload; that a number of colored people wished to take passage with us down the bay, and that, as Sayres and myself would be away the greater part of the evening, all he had to do was, as fast as they came on board, to lift up the hatch and let them pass into the hold, shutting the hatch down upon them. The vessel, which we had moved down the river since unloading the wood, lay at a rather lonely place, called White-house Wharf, from a whitish-colored building which stood upon it. The high bank of the river, under which a road passed, afforded a cover to the wharf, and there were only a few scattered buildings in the vicinity. Towards the town there stretched a wide extent of open fields. Anxious, as might naturally be expected, as to the result, I kept in the vicinity to watch the progress of events. There was another small vessel that lay across the head of the same wharf, but her crew were all black; and, going on board her just at dusk, I informed the skipper of my business, intimating to him, at the same time, that it would be a dangerous thing for him to betray me. He assured me that I need have no fears of him--that the other men would soon leave the vessel, not to return again till Monday, and that, for himself, he should go below and to sleep, so as neither to hear nor to see anything. Shortly after dark the expected passengers began to arrive, coming stealthily across the fields, and gliding silently on board the vessel. I observed a man near a neighboring brick-kiln, who seemed to be watching them. I went towards him, and found him to be black. He told me that he understood what was going on, but that I need have no apprehension of him. Two white men, who walked along the road past the vessel, and who presently returned back the same way, occasioned me some alarm; but they seemed to have no suspicions of what was on foot, as I saw no more of them. I went on board the vessel several times in the course of the evening, and learned from English that the hold was fast filling up. I had promised him, in consideration of the unusual nature of the business we were engaged in, ten dollars as a gratuity, in addition to his wages. Something past ten o'clock, I went on board, and directed English to cast off the fastenings and to get ready to make sail. Pretty soon Sayres came on board. It was a dead calm, and we were obliged to get the boat out to get the vessel's head round. After dropping down a half a mile or so, we encountered the tide making up the river; and, as there was still no wind, we were obliged to anchor. Here we lay in a dead calm till about daylight. The wind then began to breeze up lightly from the northward, when we got up the anchor and made sail. As the sun rose, we passed Alexandria. I then went into the hold for the first time, and there found my passengers pretty thickly stowed. I distributed bread among them, and knocked down the bulkhead between the hold and the cabin, in order that they might get into the cabin to cook. They consisted of men and women, in pretty equal proportions, with a number of boys and girls, and two small children. The wind kept increasing and hauling to the westward. Off Fort Washington we had to make two stretches, but the rest of the way we run before the wind. Shortly after dinner, we passed the steamer from Baltimore for Washington, bound up. I thought the passengers on board took particular notice of us; but the number of vessels met with in a passage up the Potomac at that season is so few, as to make one, at least for the idle passengers of a steamboat, an object of some curiosity. Just before sunset, we passed a schooner loaded with plaster, bound up. As we approached the mouth of the Potomac, the wind hauled to the north, and blew with such stiffness as would make it impossible for us to go up the bay, according to our original plan. Under these circumstances, apprehending a pursuit from Washington, I urged Sayres to go to sea, with the intention of reaching the Delaware by the outside passage. But he objected that the vessel was not fit to go outside (which was true enough), and that the bargain was to go to Frenchtown. Having reached Point Lookout, at the mouth of the river, and not being able to persuade Sayres to go to sea, and the wind being dead in our teeth, and too strong to allow any attempt to ascend the bay, we came to anchor in Cornfield harbor, just under Point Lookout, a shelter usually sought by bay-craft encountering contrary winds when in that neighborhood. We were all sleepy with being up all the night before, and, soon after dropping anchor, we all turned in. I knew nothing more till, waking suddenly, I heard the noise of a steamer blowing off steam alongside of us. I knew at once that we were taken. The black men came to the cabin, and asked if they should fight. I told them no; we had no arms, nor was there the least possibility of a successful resistance. The loud shouts and trampling of many feet overhead proved that our assailants were numerous. One of them lifted the hatch a little, and cried out, "Niggers, by G--d!" an exclamation to which the others responded with three cheers, and by banging the buts of their muskets against the deck. A lantern was called for, to read the name of the vessel; and it being ascertained to be the Pearl, a number of men came to the cabin-door, and called for Captain Drayton. I was in no great hurry to stir; but at length rose from my berth, saying that I considered myself their prisoner, and that I expected to be treated as such. While I was dressing, rather too slowly for the impatience of those outside, a sentinel, who had been stationed at the cabin-door, followed every motion of mine with his gun, which he kept pointed at me, in great apprehension, apparently, lest I should suddenly seize some dangerous weapon and make at him. As I came out of the cabin-door, two of them seized me, took me on board the steamer and tied me; and they did the same with Sayres and English, who were brought on board, one after the other. The black people were left on board the Pearl, which the steamer took in tow, and then proceeded up the river. To explain this sudden change in our situation, it is necessary to go back to Washington. Great was the consternation in several families of that city, on Sunday morning, to find no breakfast, and, what was worse, their servants missing. Nor was this disaster confined to Washington only. Georgetown came in for a considerable share of it, and even Alexandria, on the opposite side of the river, had not entirely escaped. The persons who had taken passage on board the Pearl had been held in bondage by no less than forty-one different persons. Great was the wonder at the sudden and simultaneous disappearance of so many "prime hands," roughly estimated, though probably with considerable exaggeration, as worth in the market not less than a hundred thousand dollars,--and all at "one fell swoop" too, as the District Attorney afterwards, in arguing the case against me, pathetically expressed it! There were a great many guesses and conjectures as to where these people had gone, and how they had gone; but it is very doubtful whether the losers would have got upon the right track, had it not been for the treachery of a colored hackman, who had been employed to carry down to the vessel two passengers who had been in hiding for some weeks previous, and who could not safely walk down, lest they might be met and recognized. Emulating the example of that large, and, in their own opinion at least, highly moral, religious and respectable class of white people, known as "dough-faces," this hackman thought it a fine opportunity to feather his nest by playing cat's-paw to the slave-holders. Seeing how much the information was in demand, and anticipating, no doubt, a large reward, he turned informer, and described the Pearl as the conveyance which the fugitives had taken; and, it being ascertained that the Pearl had actually sailed between Saturday night and Sunday morning, preparations were soon made to pursue her. A Mr. Dodge, of Georgetown, a wealthy old gentleman, originally from New England, missed three or four slaves from his family, and a small steamboat, of which he was the proprietor, was readily obtained. Thirty-five men, including a son or two of old Dodge, and several of those whose slaves were missing, volunteered to man her; and they set out about Sunday noon, armed to the teeth with guns, pistols, bowie-knives, &c., and well provided with brandy and other liquors. They heard of us on the passage down, from the Baltimore steamer and the vessel loaded with plaster. They reached the mouth of the river, and, not having found the Pearl, were about to return, as the steamer could not proceed into the bay without forfeiting her insurance. As a last chance, they looked into Cornfield harbor, where they found us, as I have related. This was about two o'clock in the morning. The Pearl had come to anchor about nine o'clock the previous evening. It is a hundred and forty miles from Washington to Cornfield harbor. The steamer, with the Pearl in tow, crossed over from Point Lookout to Piney Point, on the south shore of the Potomac, and here the Pearl was left at anchor, a part of the steamer's company remaining to guard her, while the steamer, having myself and the other white prisoners on board, proceeded up Coan river for a supply of wood, having obtained which, she again, about noon of Monday, took the Pearl in tow and started for Washington. The bearing, manner and aspect of the thirty-five armed persons by whom we had been thus seized and bound, without the slightest shadow of lawful authority, was sufficient to inspire a good deal of alarm. We had been lying quietly at anchor in a harbor of Maryland; and, although the owners of the slaves might have had a legal right to pursue and take them back, what warrant or authority had they for seizing us and our vessel? They could have brought none from the District of Columbia, whose officers had no jurisdiction or authority in Cornfield harbor; nor did they pretend to have any from the State of Maryland. Some of them showed a good deal of excitement, and evinced a disposition to proceed to lynch us at once. A man named Houver, who claimed as his property two of the boys passengers on board the Pearl, put me some questions in a very insolent tone; to which I replied, that I considered myself a prisoner, and did not wish to answer any questions; whereupon one of the bystanders, flourishing a dirk in my face, exclaimed, "If I was in his place, I'd put this through you!" At Piney Point, one of the company proposed to hang me up to the yard-arm, and make me confess; but the more influential of those on board were not ready for any such violence, though all were exceedingly anxious to get out of me the history of the expedition, and who my employers were. That I had employers, and persons of note too, was taken for granted on all hands; nor did I think it worth my while to contradict it, though I declined steadily to give any information on that point. Sayres and English very readily told all that they knew. English, especially, was in a great state of alarm, and cried most bitterly. I pitied him much, besides feeling some compunctions at getting him thus into difficulty; and, upon the representations which I made, that he came to Washington in perfect ignorance of the object of the expedition, he was finally untied. As Sayres was obliged to admit that he came to Washington to take away colored passengers, he was not regarded with so much favor. But it was evidently me whom they looked upon as the chief culprit, alone possessing a knowledge of the history and origin of the expedition, which they were so anxious to unravel. They accordingly went to work very artfully to worm this secret out of me. I was placed in charge of one Orme, a police-officer of Georgetown, whose manner towards me was such as to inspire me with a certain confidence in him; who, as it afterwards appeared from his testimony on the trial, carefully took minutes--but, as it proved, very confused and incorrect ones--of all that I said, hoping thus to secure something that might turn out to my disadvantage. Another person, with whom I had a good deal of conversation, and who was afterwards produced as a witness against me, was William H. Craig, in my opinion a much more conscientious person than Orme, who seemed to think that it was part of his duty, as a police-officer, to testify to something, at all hazards, to help on a conviction. But this is a subject to which I shall have occasion to return presently. In one particular, at least, the testimony of both these witnesses was correct enough. They both testified to my expressing pretty serious apprehensions of what the result to myself was likely to be. What the particular provisions were, in the District of Columbia, as to helping slaves to escape, I did not know; but I had heard that, in some of the slave-states, they were very severe; in fact, I was assured by Craig that I had committed the highest crime, next to murder, known in their laws. Under these circumstances, I made up my mind that the least penalty I should be apt to escape with was confinement in the penitentiary for life; and it is quite probable that I endeavored to console myself, as these witnesses testified, with the idea that, after all, it might, in a religious point of view, be all for the best, as I should thus be removed from temptation, and have ample time for reflection and repentance. But my apprehensions were by no means limited to what I might suffer under the forms of law. From the temper exhibited by some of my captors, and from the vindictive fury with which the idea of enabling the enslaved to regain their liberty was, I knew, generally regarded at the south, I apprehended more sudden and summary proceedings; and what happened afterwards at Washington proved that these apprehensions were not wholly unfounded. The idea of being torn in pieces by a furious mob was exceedingly disagreeable. Many men, who might not fear death, might yet not choose to meet it in that shape. I called to mind the apology of the Methodist minister, who, just after a declaration of his that he was not afraid to die, ran away from a furious bull that attacked him,--"that, though not fearing death, he did not like to be torn in pieces by a mad bull." I related this anecdote to Craig, and, as he testified on the trial, expressed my preference to be taken on the deck of the steamer and shot at once, rather than to be given up to a Washington mob to be baited and murdered. I talked pretty freely with Orme and Craig about myself, the circumstances under which I had undertaken this enterprise, my motives to it, my family, my past misfortunes, and the fate that probably awaited me; but they failed to extract from me, what they seemed chiefly to desire, any information which would implicate others. Orme told me, as he afterwards testified, that what the people in the District wanted was the principals; and that, if I would give information that would lead to them, the owners of the slaves would let me go, or sign a petition for my pardon. Craig also made various inquiries tending to the same point. Though I was firmly resolved not to yield in this particular, yet I was desirous to do all I could to soften the feeling against me; and it was doubtless this desire which led me to make the statements sworn to by Orme and Craig, that I had no connection with the persons called abolitionists,--which was true enough; that I had formerly refused large offers made me by slaves to carry them away; and that, in the present instance, I was employed by others, and was to be paid for my services. On arriving off Fort Washington, the steamer anchored for the night, as the captors preferred to make their triumphant entry into the city by daylight. Sayres and myself were watched during the night by a regular guard of two men, armed with muskets, who were relieved from time to time. Before getting under weigh again,--which they did about seven o'clock in the morning of Tuesday, Feb. 18,--Sayres and myself were tied together arm-and-arm, and the black people also, two-and-two, with the other arm bound behind their backs. As we passed Alexandria, we were all ordered on deck, and exhibited to the mob collected on the wharves to get a sight of us, who signified their satisfaction by three cheers. When we landed at the steamboat-wharf in Washington, which is a mile and more from Pennsylvania Avenue, and in a remote part of the city, but few people had yet assembled. We were marched up in a long procession, Sayres and myself being placed at the head of it, guarded by a man on each side; English following next, and then the negroes. As we went along, the mob began to increase; and, as we passed Gannon's slave-pen, that slave-trader, armed with a knife, rushed out, and, with horrid imprecations, made a pass at me, which was very near finding its way through my body. Instead of being arrested, as he ought to have been, this slave-dealer was politely informed that I was in the hands of the law, to which he replied, "D--n the law!--I have three negroes, and I will give them all for one thrust at this d--d scoundrel!" and he followed along, waiting his opportunity to repeat the blow. The crowd, by this time, was greatly increased. We met an immense mob of several thousand persons coming down Four-and-a-half street, with the avowed intention of carrying us up before the capitol, and making an exhibition of us there. The noise and confusion was very great. It seemed as if the time for the lynching had come. When almost up to Pennsylvania Avenue, a rush was made upon us,--"Lynch them! lynch them! the d--n villains!" and other such cries, resounded on all sides. Those who had us in charge were greatly alarmed; and, seeing no other way to keep us from the hands of the mob, they procured a hack, and put Sayres and myself into it. The hack drove to the jail, the mob continuing to follow, repeating their shouts and threats. Several thousand people surrounded the jail, filling up the enclosure about it. Our captors had become satisfied, from the statements made by Sayres and myself, and from his own statements and conduct, that the participation of English in the affair was not of a sort that required any punishment; and when the mob made the rush upon us, the persons having him in charge had let him go, with the intention that he should escape. After a while he had found his way back to the steamboat wharf; but the steamer was gone. Alone in a strange place, and not knowing what to do, he told his story to somebody whom he met, who put him in a hack and sent him up to the jail. It was a pity he lacked the enterprise to take care of himself when set at liberty, as it cost him four months' imprisonment and his friends some money. I ought to have mentioned before that, on arriving within the waters of the District, Sayres and myself had been examined before a justice of the peace, who was one of the captors; and who had acted as their leader. He had made out a commitment against us, but none against English; so that the persons who had him in charge were right enough in letting him go. Sayres and myself were at first put into the same cell, but, towards night, we were separated. A person named Goddard, connected with the police, came to examine us. He went to Sayres first. He then came to me, when I told him that, as I supposed he had got the whole story out of Sayres, and as it was not best that two stories should be told, I would say nothing. Goddard then took from me my money. One of the keepers threw me in two thin blankets, and I was left to sleep as I could. The accommodations were not of the most luxurious kind. The cell had a stone floor, which, with the help of a blanket, was to serve also for a bed. There was neither chair, table, stool, nor any individual piece of furniture of any kind, except a night-bucket and a water-can. I was refused my overcoat and valise, and had nothing but my water-can to make a pillow of. With such a pillow, and the bare stone floor for my bed, looked upon by all whom I saw with apparent abhorrence and terror,--as much so, to all appearance, as if I had been a murderer, or taken in some other desperate crime,--remembering the execrations which the mob had belched forth against me, and uncertain whether a person would be found to express the least sympathy for me (which might not, in the existing state of the public feeling, be safe), it may be imagined that my slumbers were not very sound. Meanwhile the rage of the mob had taken, for the moment, another direction. I had heard it said, while we were coming up in the steamboat, that the abolition press must be stopped; and the mob accordingly, as the night came on, gathered about the office of the _National Era_, with threats to destroy it. Some little mischief was done; but the property-holders in the city, well aware how dependent Washington is upon the liberality of Congress, were unwilling that anything should occur to place the District in bad odor at the north. Some of them, also, it is but justice to believe, could not entirely give in to the slave-holding doctrine and practice of suppressing free discussion by force; and, by their efforts, seconded by a drenching storm of rain, that came on between nine and ten o'clock, the mob were persuaded to disperse for the present. The jail was guarded that night by a strong body of police, serious apprehensions being entertained, lest the mob, instigated by the violence of many southern members of Congress, should break in and lynch us. Great apprehension, also, seemed to be felt at the jail, lest we might be rescued; and we were subject, during the night, to frequent examinations, to see that all was safe. Great was the terror, as well as the rage, which the abolitionists appeared to inspire. They seemed to be thought capable, if not very narrowly watched, of taking us off through the roof, or the stone floor, or out of the iron-barred doors; and, from the half-frightened looks which the keepers gave me from time to time, I could plainly enough read their thoughts,--that a fellow who had ventured on such an enterprise as that of the Pearl was desperate and daring enough to attempt anything. For a poor prisoner like me, so much in the power of his captors, and without the slightest means, hopes, or even thoughts of escape, it was some little satisfaction to observe the awe and terror which he inspired. Of the prison fare I shall have more to say, by and by. It is sufficient to state here that it was about on a par with the sleeping accommodations, and hardly of a sort to give a man in my situation the necessary physical vigor. However, I thought little of this at that moment, as I was too sick and excited to feel much disposition to eat. The Washington prison is a large three-story stone building, the front part of the lower story of which is occupied by the guard-room, or jail-office, and by the kitchen and sleeping apartments for the keepers. The back part, shut off from the front by strong grated doors, has a winding stone stair-case, ascending in the middle, on each side of which, on each of the three stories, are passage-ways, also shut off from the stair-case, by grated iron doors. The back wall of the jail forms one side of these passages, which are lighted by grated windows. On the other side are the cells, also with grated iron doors, and receiving their light and air entirely from the passages. The passages themselves have no ventilation except through the doors and windows, which answer that purpose very imperfectly. The front second story, over the guard-room, contains the cells for the female prisoners. The front third story is the debtors' apartment. The usage of the jail always has been--except in cases of insubordination or attempted escape, when locking up in the cells by day, as well as by night, has been resorted to as a punishment--to allow the prisoners, during the day-time, the use of the passages, for the benefit of light, air and exercise. Indeed, it is hard to conceive a more cruel punishment than to keep a man locked up all the time in one of these half-lighted, unventilated cells. On the morning of the second day of our confinement, we too were let out into the passage. But we were soon put back again, and not only into separate cells, but into separate passages, so as to be entirely cut off from any communication with each other. It was a long time before we were able to regain the privilege of the passage. But, for the present, I shall pass over the internal economy and administration of the prison, and my treatment in it, intending, further on, to give a general sketch of that subject. About nine or ten o'clock, Mr. Giddings, the member of Congress from Ohio, came to see us. There was some disposition, I understood, not to allow him to enter the jail; but Mr. Giddings is a man not easily repulsed, and there is nobody of whom the good people at Washington, especially the office-holders, who make up so large a part of the population, stand so much in awe as a member of Congress; especially a member of Mr. Giddings' well-known fearless determination. He was allowed to come in, bringing another person with him, but was followed into the jail by a crowd of ruffians, who compelled the turnkey to admit them into the passage, and who vented their rage in execration and threats. Mr. Giddings said that he had understood we were here in jail without counsel or friends, and that he had come to let us know that we should not want for either; and he introduced the person he had brought with him as one who was willing to act temporarily as our counsel. Not long after, Mr. David A. Hall, a lawyer of the District, came to offer his services to us in the same way. Key, the United States Attorney for the District, and who, as such, had charge of the proceedings against us, was there at the same time. He advised Mr. Hall to leave the jail and go home immediately, as the people outside were furious, and he ran the risk of his life. To which Mr. Hall replied that things had come to a pretty pass, if a man's counsel was not to have the privilege of talking with him. "Poor devils!" said the District Attorney, as he went out, "I pity them,--they are to be made scape-goats for others!" Yet the rancor, and virulence, and fierce pertinacity with which this Key afterwards pursued me, did not look much like pity. No doubt he was a good deal irritated at his ill success in getting any information out of me. The seventy-six passengers found on board the Pearl had been committed to the jail as runaways, and Mr. Giddings, on going up to the House, by way of warning, I suppose, to the slave-holders, that they were not to be allowed to have everything their own way, moved an inquiry into the circumstances under which seventy-six persons were held prisoners in the District jail, merely for attempting to vindicate their inalienable rights. Mr. Hale also, in the Senate, in consequence of the threats held out to destroy the _Era_ office, and to put a stop to the publication of that paper, moved a resolution of inquiry into the necessity of additional laws for the protection of property in the District. The fury which these movements excited in the minds of the slave-holders found expression in the editorial columns of the Washington _Union_, in an article which I have inserted below, as forming a curious contrast to the exultations of that print, only a week before, and to which I have had occasion already to refer, over the spread of the principles of liberty and universal emancipation. The violent attack upon Mr. Giddings, because he had visited us three poor prisoners in jail, and offered us the assistance of counsel,--as if the vilest criminals were not entitled to have counsel to defend them,--is well worthy of notice. The following is the article referred to. THE ABOLITION INCENDIARIES. Those two abolition incendiaries (Giddings and Hale) threw firebrands yesterday into the two houses of Congress. The western abolitionist moved a resolution of inquiry into the transactions now passing in Washington, which brought on a fierce and fiery debate on the part of the southern members, in the course of which Mr. Giddings _was compelled to confess_, on the cross-questioning of Messrs. Venable and Haskell, _that he had visited the three piratical kidnappers now confined in jail, and offered them counsel_. The reply of Mr. Toombs, of Georgia, was scorching to an intense degree. The abolitionist John P. Hale threw a firebrand resolution into the Senate, calling for additional laws to compel this city to prevent riots. This also gave rise to a long and excited debate. No question was taken, in either house, before they adjourned. But, in the progress of the discussion in both houses, some doctrines were uttered which are calculated to startle the friends of the Union. Giddings justified the kidnappers, and contended that, though the act was legally forbidden, it was not morally wrong! Mr. Toombs brought home the practical consequences of this doctrine to the member from Ohio in a most impressive manner. Hale, of the Senate, whilst he was willing to protect the abolitionist, expressed himself willing to relax the laws and weaken the protection which is given to the slave property in this district! Mr. Davis, of Massachusetts, held the strange doctrine, that while he would not disturb the rights of the slave-holders, he would not cease to discuss those rights! As if Congress ought to discuss, or to protect a right to discuss, a domestic institution of the Southern States, with which they had no right to interfere! Why discuss, when they cannot act? Why first lay down an abstract principle, which they intend to violate in practice? Such fanatics as Giddings and Hale are doing more mischief than they will be able to atone for. Their incessant and impertinent intermeddling with the most delicate question in our social relations is creating the most indignant feelings in the community. The fiery discussions they are exciting are calculated to provoke the very riots which they deprecate. Let these madmen forbear, if they value the tranquillity of our country, and the stability of our Union. We conjure them to forbear their maddened, parricidal hand. An article like this in the _Union_ was well calculated, and probably was intended, to encourage and stimulate the rioters, and accordingly they assembled that same evening in greater force than before threatening the destruction of the _Era_ office. The publication office of the _Era_ was not far from the Patent Office; and the dwelling-house of Dr. Bailey, the editor, was at no great distance. The mob, taking upon themselves the character of a meeting of citizens, appointed a committee to wait upon Dr. Bailey, to require him to remove his press out of the District of Columbia. Of course, as I was locked up in the jail, trying to rest my aching head and weary limbs, with a stone floor for a bed and a water-can for my pillow, I can have no personal knowledge of what transpired on this occasion. But a correspondent of the New York _Tribune_, who probably was an eye-witness, gives the following account of the interview between the committee and Dr. Bailey: Clearing his throat, the leader of the committee stretched forth his hand, and thus addressed Dr. Bailey: _Mr. Radcliff_.--Sir, we have been appointed as a committee to wait upon you, by the meeting of the citizens of Washington which has assembled this evening to take into consideration the circumstances connected with the late outrage upon _our_ property, and to convey to you the result of the deliberations of that meeting. You are aware of the excitement which now prevails. It has assumed a most threatening aspect. This community is satisfied that the existence of your press among us is endangering the public peace, and they are convinced that the public interests demand its removal. We have therefore waited upon you for the purpose of inquiring whether you are prepared to remove your press by ten o'clock to-morrow morning; and we beseech you, as you value the peace of this District, to accede to our request. [Loud shouting heard at the Patent Office.] _Dr. Bailey_.--Gentlemen: I do not believe you are actuated by any unkind feelings towards me personally; but you must be aware that you are demanding of me the surrender of a great constitutional right,--a right which I have used, but not abused,--in the preservation of which you are as deeply interested as I am. How can you ask me to abandon it, and thus become a party to my own degradation? _Mr. Radcliff_.--We subscribe to all that you say. But you see the popular excitement. The consequences of your refusal are inevitable. Now, if you can avert these consequences by submitting to what the people request, although unreasonable, is it not your duty, as a good citizen, to submit? It is on account of the community we come here, obeying the popular feeling which you hear expressed in the distance, and which cannot be calmed, and, but for the course we have adopted, would at this moment be manifested in the destruction of your office. But they have consented to wait till they hear our report. We trust, then, that, as a good citizen, you will respond favorably to the wish of the people. _Another of the Committee_.--As one of the oldest citizens, I do assure you that it is in all kindness we make this request. We come here to tell you that we cannot arrest violence in any other way than by your allowing us to say that you yield to the request of the people. In kindness we tell you that if this thing commences here we know not where it may end. I am for mild measures myself. The prisoners were in my hands, but I would not allow my men to inflict any punishment on them. _Dr. Bailey_.--Gentlemen, I appreciate your kindness; but I ask, is there a man among you who, standing as I now stand, the representative of a free press, would accede to this demand, and abandon his rights as an American citizen? _One of the Committee_.--We know it is a great sacrifice that we ask of you; but we ask it to appease popular excitement. _Dr. Bailey_.--Let me say to you that I am a peace-man. I have taken no measures to defend my office, my house or myself. I appeal to the good sense and intelligence of the community, and stand upon my rights as an American citizen, looking to the law alone for protection. _Mr. Radcliff_.--We have now discharged our duty. It has come to this,--the people say it must be done, unless you agree to go to-morrow. We now ask a categorical answer,--Will you remove your press? _Dr. Bailey_.--I answer: I make no resistance, and I cannot assent to your demand. The press is there--it is undefended--you can do as you think proper. _One of the Committee_.--All rests with you. We tell you what will follow your refusal, and, if you persist, all the responsibility must fall upon your shoulders. It is in your power to arrest the arm that is raised to give the blow. If you refuse to do so by a single expression, though it might cost you much, on you be all the consequences. _Dr. Bailey_.--You demand the sacrifice of a great right. You-- _One of the Committee (interrupting him_).--I know it is a hardship; but look at the consequences of your refusal. We do not come here to express our individual opinions. I would myself leave the District to-morrow, if in your place. We now ask of you, Shall this be done? We beg you will consider this matter in the light in which we view it. _Dr. Bailey_.--I am one man against many. But I cannot sacrifice any right that I possess. Those who have sent you here may do as they think proper. _One of the Committee_.--The whole community is against you. They say here is an evil that threatens them, and they ask you to remove that evil. You say "No!" and of course on your head be all the consequences. _Dr. Bailey_.--Let me remind you that we have been recently engaged in public rejoicings. For what have we rejoiced? Because the people in another land have arisen and triumphed over the despot, who had done--what? He did not demolish presses, but he imprisoned editors. In other words, he enslaved the press. Will you then present to America and the world-- _One of the Committee (interrupting him_).--If we could stop this movement, of the people, we would do it. But you make us unable to do so. We cannot tell how far it will go. After your press is pulled down, we do not know where they will go next. It is your duty, in such a case, to sacrifice your constitutional rights. _Dr. Bailey_.--I presume, when they shall have accomplished their object-- _Mr. Radcliff (interrupting)._--We advise you to be out of the way! The people think that your press endangers their property and their lives; and they have appointed us to tell you so, and ask you to remove it to-morrow. If you say that you will do so, they will retire satisfied. If you refuse, they say they will tear it down. Here is Mr. Boyle, a gentleman of property, and one of our oldest residents. You see that we are united. If you hold out and occupy your position, the men, women and children of the District will universally rise up against you. _Dr. Bailey (addressing himself to his father, a venerable man of more than eighty years of age, who approached the doorway and commenced remonstrating with the committee)_.--You do not understand the matter, father; these gentlemen are a committee appointed by a meeting assembled in front of the Patent Office. You need not address remonstrances to them. Gentlemen, you appreciate my position. I cannot surrender my rights. Were I to die for it, I cannot surrender my rights! Tell those who sent you hither that my press and my house are undefended--they must do as they see proper. I maintain my rights, and make no resistance! The committee then retired, and Dr. Bailey reëntered his dwelling. Meanwhile, the shouts of the mob, as they received the reports of the committee, were reëchoed along the streets. A fierce yell greeted the reäppearance of Radcliff in front of the Patent Office. He announced the result of the interview with the editor of the _Era_. Shouts, imprecations, blasphemy, burst from the crowd. "Down with the _Era_!" "Now for it!" "Gut the office!" were the exclamations heard on all sides, and the mob rushed tumultuously to Seventh-street. But a body of the city police had been stationed to guard the building, and the mob finally contented themselves with passing a resolution to pull it down the next day at ten o'clock, if the press was not meanwhile removed. That same afternoon, we three prisoners had been taken before three justices, who held a court within the jail for our examination. Mr. Hall appeared as our counsel. The examination was continued till the next day, when we were, all three of us, recommitted to jail, on a charge of stealing slaves, our bail being fixed at a thousand dollars for each slave, or seventy-six thousand dollars for each of us. Meanwhile, both houses of Congress became the scenes of very warm debates, growing out of circumstances connected with our case. In the Senate, Mr. Hale, agreeably to the notice he had given, asked leave to introduce a bill for the protection of property in the District of Columbia against the violence of mobs. This bill, as was stated in the debate, was copied, almost word for word, from a law in force in the State of Maryland (and many other states have--and all ought to have--a similar law), making the cities and towns liable for any property which might be destroyed in them by mob violence. In the House the subject came up on a question of privilege, raised by Mr. Palfrey, of Massachusetts, who offered a resolution for the appointment of a select committee to inquire into the currently-reported facts that a lawless mob had assembled during the two previous nights, setting at defiance the constituted authorities of the United States, and menacing members of Congress and other persons. In both those bodies the debate was very warm, as any one interested in it will find, by reading it in the columns of the _Congressional Globe_. It was upon this occasion, during the debate in the Senate, that Mr. Foote, then a senator from Mississippi, and now governor of that state, whose speech on the French revolution has been already quoted, threatened to join in lynching Mr. Hale, if he ever set foot in Mississippi, whither he invited him to come for that purpose. This part of the debate was so peculiar and so characteristic, showing so well the spirit with which the District of Columbia was then blazing against me, that I cannot help giving the following extract from Mr. Foote's speech, as contained in the official report: "All must see that the course of the senator from New Hampshire is calculated to embroil the confederacy--to put in peril our free institutions--to jeopardize that Union which our forefathers established, and which every pure patriot throughout the country desires shall be perpetuated. Can any man be a patriot who pursues such a course? Is he an enlightened friend of freedom, or even a judicious friend of those with whom he affects to sympathize, who adopts such a course? Who does not know that such men are, practically, the worst enemies of the slaves? I do not beseech the gentleman to stop; but, if he perseveres, he will awaken indignation everywhere, and it cannot be that enlightened men, who conscientiously belong to the faction at the north of which he is understood to be the head, can sanction or approve everything that he may do, under the influence of excitement, in this body. I will close by saying that, if he really wishes glory, and to be regarded as the great liberator of the blacks,--if he wishes to be particularly distinguished in this cause of emancipation, as it is called,--let him, instead of remaining here in the Senate of the United States, or instead of secreting himself in some dark corner of New Hampshire, where he may possibly escape the just indignation of good men throughout this republic,--let him visit the good State of Mississippi, in which I have the honor to reside, and no doubt he will be received with such shouts of joy as have rarely marked the reception of any individual in this day and generation. I invite him there, and will tell him, beforehand, in all honesty, that he could not go ten miles into the interior before he would grace one of the tallest trees in the forest, with a rope around his neck, with the approbation of every virtuous and patriotic citizen; and that, if necessary, I should myself assist in the operation!" Mr. Hale's reply was equally characteristic: "The honorable Senator invites me to visit the State of Mississippi, and kindly informs me that he would be one of those who would act the assassin, and put an end to my career. He would aid in bringing me to public execution,--no, death by a mob! Well, in return for his hospitable invitation, I can only express the desire that he would penetrate into some of the dark corners of New Hampshire; and, if he do, I am much mistaken if he would not find that the people in that benighted region would be very happy to listen to his arguments, and engage in an intellectual conflict with him, in which the truth might be elicited. I think, however, that the announcement which the honorable Senator has made on this floor of the fate which awaits so humble an individual as myself in the State of Mississippi must convince every one of the propriety of the high eulogium which he pronounced upon her, the other day, when he spoke of the high position which she occupied among the states of this confederacy.--But enough of this personal matter."[A] [Footnote A: The following paragraph, which has recently been going the rounds of the newspapers, will serve to show the sort of manners which prevail in the state so fitly represented by Mr. Foote, and how these southern ruffians experience in their own families the natural effect of the blood-thirsty sentiments which they so freely avow: "THE DEATH OF MR. CARNEAL.--The Vicksburg _Sentinel_, of the 13th ult., gives the following account of the shooting of Mr. Thomas Carneal, son-in-law of Governor Foote: "We have abstained thus long from giving any notice of the sad affair which resulted in the death of Mr. Thomas Carneal, the son-in-law of the governor of our state, that we might get the particulars. It seems that the steamer E.C. Watkins, with Mr. Carneal as a passenger, landed at or near the plantation of Judge James, in Washington county. Mr. Carneal had heard that the judge was an extremely brutal man to his slaves, and was likewise excited with liquor; and, upon the judge inviting him and others to take a drink with him, Carneal replied that he would not drink with a man who abused his negroes; this the judge resented as an insult, and high words ensued. "The company took their drink, however, all but Mr. Carneal, who went out upon the bow of the boat, and took a seat, where he was sought by Judge James, who desired satisfaction for the insult. Carneal refused to make any, and asked the old gentleman if any of his sons would resent the insult if he was to slap him in the mouth; to which the judge replied that he would do it himself, if his sons would not; whereupon Mr. Carneal struck him in the month with the back of his hand. The judge resented it by striking him across the head with a cane, which stunned Mr. Carneal very much, causing the blood to run freely from the wound. As soon as Carneal recovered from the wound, he drew a bowie-knife, and attacked the judge with it, inflicting several wounds upon his person, some of which were thought to be mortal. "Some gentlemen, in endeavoring to separate the combatants, were wounded by Carneal. When Judge James arrived at his house, bleeding, and in a dying state, as was thought, his son seized a double-barrelled gun, loaded it heavily with large shot, galloped to where the boat was, hitched his horse, and deliberately raised his gun to shoot Carneal, who was sitting upon a cotton-bale. Mr. James was warned not to fire, as Carneal was unarmed, and he might kill some innocent person. He took his gun from his shoulder, raised it again, and fired both barrels in succession, killing Carneal instantly. "It is a sad affair, and Carneal leaves, besides numerous friends, a most interesting and accomplished widow, to bewail his tragical end."] Such was the savage character of the debate, that even Mr. Calhoun, who was not generally discourteous, finding himself rather hard pressed by some of Mr. Hale's arguments, excused himself from an answer, on the ground that Mr. Hale was a maniac! The slave-holders set upon Mr. Hale with all their force; but, though they succeeded in voting down his bill, it was generally agreed, and anybody may see by the report, that he had altogether the best of the argument. Mr. Palfrey's resolution was also lost; but the boldness with which Giddings and others avowed their opinions, and the freedom of speech which they used on the subject of slavery, afforded abundant proof that the gagging system which had prevailed so long in Congress had come at last to an end. These movements, though the propositions of Messrs. Hale and Palfrey were voted down, were not without their effect. The Common Council of Washington appointed an acting mayor, in place of the regular mayor, who was sick. President Polk sent an intimation to the clerks of the departments, some of whom had been active in the mobs, that they had better mind their own business and stay at home. Something was said about marines from the Navy-Yard; and from that time the riotous spirit began to subside. Meanwhile, the unfortunate people who had attempted to escape in the Pearl had to pay the penalty of their love of freedom. A large number of them, as they were taken out of jail by the persons who claimed to be their owners, were handed over to the slave-traders. The following account of the departure of a portion of these victims for the southern market was given in a letter which appeared at the time in several northern newspapers: "_Washington, April_ 22, 1848. "Last evening, as I was passing the railroad dépôt, I saw a large number of colored people gathered round one of the cars, and, from manifestations of grief among some of them, I was induced to draw near and ascertain the cause of it. I found in the car towards which they were so eagerly gazing about fifty colored people, some of whom were nearly as white as myself. A majority of them were of the number who attempted to gain their liberty last week. About half of them were females, a few of whom had but a slight tinge of African blood in their veins, and were finely formed and beautiful. The men were ironed together, and the whole group looked sad and dejected. At each end of the car stood two ruffianly-looking personages, with large canes in their hands, and, if their countenances were an index of their hearts, they were the very impersonation of hardened villany itself. "In the middle of the car stood the notorious slave-dealer of Baltimore, Slatter, who, I learn, is a member of the Methodist church, 'in good and regular standing.' He had purchased the men and women around him, and was taking his departure for Georgia. While observing this old, gray-headed villain,--this dealer in the bodies and souls of men,--the chaplain of the Senate entered the car,--a Methodist brother,--and took his brother Slatter by the hand, chatted with him for some time, and seemed to view the heart-rending scene before him with as little concern as we should look upon cattle. I know not whether he came with a view to sanctify the act, and pronounce a parting blessing; but this I do know, that he justifies slavery, and denounces anti-slavery efforts as bitterly as do the most hardened slave-dealers. "A Presbyterian minister, who owned one of the fugitives, was the first to strike a bargain with Slatter, and make merchandise of God's image; and many of these poor victims, thus manacled and destined for the southern market, are regular members of the African Methodist church of this city. I did not hear whether they were permitted to get letters of dismission from the church, and of 'recommendation to any church where God, in his providence, might cast their lot.' Probably a certificate from Slatter to the effect that they are Christians will answer every purpose. No doubt he will demand a good price for slaves of this character. Perhaps brother Slicer furnished him with testimonials of their religious character, to help their sale in Georgia. I understand that he was accustomed to preach to them here, and especially to urge upon them obedience to their masters. "Some of the colored people outside, as well as in the car, were weeping most bitterly. I learned that many families were separated. Wives were there to take leave of their husbands, and husbands of their wives, children of their parents, brothers and sisters shaking hands perhaps for the last time, friends parting with friends, and the tenderest ties of humanity sundered at the single bid of the inhuman slave-broker before them. A husband, in the meridian of life, begged to see the partner of his bosom. He protested that she was free--that she had free papers, and was torn from him, and shut up in the jail. He clambered up to one of the windows of the car to see his wife, and, as she was reaching forward her hand to him, the black-hearted villain, Slatter, ordered him down. He did not obey. The husband and wife, with tears streaming down their cheeks, besought him to let them converse for a moment. But no! a monster more hideous, hardened and savage, than the blackest spirit of the pit, knocked him down from the car, and ordered him away. The bystanders could hardly restrain themselves from laying violent hands upon the brutes. This is but a faint description of that scene, which took place within a few rods of the capitol, under _enactments_ recognized by Congress. O! what a revolting scene to a feeling heart, and what a retribution awaits the actors! Will not these wailings of anguish reach the ears of the Most High? 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.'" Of those sent off at this time, several, through the generosity of charitable persons at the north, were subsequently redeemed, among whom were the Edmundson girls, of whom an account is given in the "Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin." From one of the women, who was not sold, but retained at Washington, I received a mark of kindness and remembrance for which I felt very grateful. She obtained admission to the jail, the Sunday after our committal, to see some of her late fellow-passengers still confined there; and, as she passed the passage in which I was confined, she called to me and handed a Bible through the gratings. I am happy to be able to add that she has since, upon a second trial, succeeded in effecting her escape, and that she is now a free woman. The great excitement which our attempt at emancipation had produced at Washington, and the rage and fury exhibited against us, had the effect to draw attention to our case, and to secure us sympathy and assistance on the part of persons wholly unknown to us. A public meeting was held in Faneuil Hall, in Boston, on the 25th of April, at which a committee was appointed, consisting of Samuel May, Samuel G. Howe, Samuel E. Sewell, Richard Hildreth, Robert Morris, Jr., Francis Jackson, Elizur Wright, Joseph Southwick, Walter Channing, J.W. Browne, Henry I. Bowditch, William F. Channing, Joshua P. Blanchard and Charles List, authorized to employ counsel and to collect money for the purpose of securing to us a fair trial, of which, without some interference from abroad, the existing state of public feeling in the District of Columbia seemed to afford little prospect. A correspondence was opened by this committee with the Hon. Horace Mann, then a representative in Congress from the State of Massachusetts, with ex-Governor Seward, of New York, with Salmon P. Chase, Esq., of Ohio, and with Gen. Fessenden, of Maine, all of whom volunteered their gratuitous services, should they be needed. A moderate subscription was promptly obtained, the larger part of it, as I am informed, through the liberality of Gerrit Smith, now a representative in Congress from New York, whose large pecuniary contributions to all philanthropic objects, as well as his zealous efforts in the same direction both with the tongue and the pen, have made him so conspicuous. He has, indeed, a unique way of spending his large fortune, without precedent, at least in this country, and not likely to find many imitators. The committee, being thus put in funds, deputed Mr. Hildreth, one of the members of it, to proceed to Washington to make the necessary arrangements. He arrived there toward the end of the month of May, by which time the public excitement against us, or at least the exterior signs of it, had a good deal subsided. But we were still treated with much rigor, being kept locked up in our cells, denied the use of the passage, and not allowed to see anybody, except when once in a while Mr. Giddings or Mr. Hall found an access to us; but even then we were not allowed to hold any conversation, except in the presence of the jailer. It may well be imagined that the news of my capture and imprisonment, and of the danger in which I seemed to be, had thrown my family into great distress. I also had suffered exceedingly on their account, several of the children being yet too young to shift for themselves. But I was presently relieved, by the information which I received before long, that during my imprisonment my family would be provided for. Warm remonstrances had been made to the judge of the criminal court by Mr. Hall against the attempt to exclude us from communication with our friends,--a liberty freely granted to all other prisoners. The judge declined to interfere; but Mr. Mann, having agreed to act as our counsel, was thenceforth freely admitted to interviews with us, without the presence of any keeper. Books and newspapers were furnished me by friends out of doors. I presently obtained a mattress, and the liberty of providing myself with better food than the jail allows. I continued to suffer a good deal of annoyance from the capricious insolence and tyranny of the marshal, Robert Wallace; but I intend to go more at length into the details of my prison experience after having first disposed of the legal proceedings against us. The feeling against me was no doubt greatly increased by the failure of the efforts repeatedly made to induce me to give up the names of those who had coöperated with me, and to turn states-evidence against them. There was a certain Mr. Taylor, from Boston, I believe, then in Washington, the inventor of a submarine armor for diving purposes. I had formerly been well acquainted with him, and, at a time when no friend of mine was allowed access to me, he made me repeated visits at the jail, at the request, as he said, of the District Attorney, to induce me to make a full disclosure, in which case it was intimated I should be let off very easy. As Mr. Taylor did not prevail with me, one of the jailers afterwards assured me that he was authorized to promise me a thousand dollars in case I would become a witness against those concerned with me. As I turned a deaf ear to all these propositions, the resolution seemed to be taken to make me and Sayres, and even English, suffer in a way to be a warning to all similar offenders. The laws under which we were to be tried were those of the State of Maryland as they stood previous to the year 1800. These laws had been temporarily continued in force over that part of the District ceded by Maryland (the whole of the present District) at the time that the jurisdiction of the United Spates commenced; and questions of more general interest, and the embarrassment growing out of the existence of slavery, having defeated all attempts at a revised code, these same old laws of Maryland still remain in force, though modified, in some respects, by acts of Congress. In an act of Maryland, passed in the year 1796, and in force in the District, there was a section which seemed to have been intended for precisely such cases as ours. It provided "That any person or persons who shall hereafter be convicted of giving a pass to any slave, or person held to service, or shall be found to assist, by advice, donation or loan, or otherwise, the transporting of any slave or any person held to service, from this state, or by any other unlawful means depriving a master or owner of the service of his slave or person held to service, for every such offence the party aggrieved shall recover damages in an action on the case, against such offender or offenders, and such offender or offenders shall also be liable, upon indictment, and conviction upon verdict, confession or otherwise, in this state, in any county court where such offence shall happen, to be fined a sum not exceeding two hundred dollars, at the discretion of the court, one-half to the use of the master or owner of such slave, the other half to the county school, if there be any; if there be no such school, to the use of the county." Accordingly, the grand jury, under the instructions of the District Attorney, found seventy-four indictments against each of us prisoners, based on this act, one for each of the slaves found on board the vessel, two excepted, who were runaways from Virginia, and the names of their masters not known. As it would have been possible to have fined us about, fifteen thousand dollars apiece upon these indictments, besides costs, and as, by the laws of the District, there is no method of discharging prisoners from jail who are unable to pay a fine, except by an executive pardon, one would have thought that this might have satisfied. But the idea that we should escape with a fine, though we might be kept in prison for life from inability to pay it, was very unsatisfactory. It was desired to make us out guilty of a penitentiary offence at the least; and for that purpose recourse was had to an old, forgotten act of Maryland, passed in the year 1737, the fourth section of which provided "That any person or persons who, after the said tenth day of September [1737], shall steal any ship, sloop, or other vessel whatsoever, out of any place within the body of any county within this province, of seventeen feet or upwards by the keel, and shall carry the same ten miles or upwards from the place whence it shall be stolen, _or who shall steal any negro or other slave_, or who shall counsel, hire, aid, abet, or command any person or persons to commit the said offences, or who shall be accessories to the said offences, and shall be thereof legally convicted as aforesaid, or outlawed, or who shall obstinately or of malice stand mute, or peremptorily challenge above twenty, shall suffer death as a felon, or felons, and be excluded the benefit of the clergy." They would have been delighted, no doubt, to hang us under this act; but that they could not do, as Congress, by an act passed in 1831, having changed the punishment of death, inflicted by the old Maryland statutes (except in certain cases specially provided for), into confinement in the penitentiary for not less than twenty years. To make sure of us at all events, not less than forty-one separate indictments (that being the number of the pretended owners) were found against each of us for stealing slaves. Our counsel afterwards made some complaint of this great number of indictments, when two against each of us, including all the separate charges in different counts, would have answered as well. It was even suggested that the fact that a fee of ten dollars was chargeable upon each indictment toward the five-thousand-dollar salary of the District Attorney might have something to do with this large number. But the District Attorney denied very strenuously being influenced by any such motive, maintaining, in the face of authorities produced against him, that this great number was necessary. He thought it safest, I suppose, instead of a single jury on each charge against each of us, to have the chance of a much greater number, and the advantage, besides, of repeated opportunities of correcting such blunders, mistakes and neglects, as the prisoner's counsel might point out. On the 6th of July, I was arraigned in the criminal court, Judge Crawford presiding, on one of the larceny indictments, to which I pleaded not guilty; whereupon my counsel, Messrs. Hall and Mann, moved the court for a continuance till the next term, alleging the prevailing public excitement, and the want of time to prepare the defence and to procure additional counsel. But the judge could only be persuaded, and that with difficulty, to delay the trial for eighteen days. When this unexpected information was communicated to the committee at Boston, a correspondence was opened by telegraph with Messrs. Seward, Chase and Fessenden. But Governor Seward had a legal engagement at Baltimore on the very day appointed for the commencement of the trial, and the other two gentlemen had indispensable engagements in the courts of Ohio and Maine. Under these circumstances, as Mr. Hall was not willing to take the responsibility of acting as counsel in the case, and as it seemed necessary to have some one familiar with the local practice, the Boston committee retained the services of J.M. Carlisle, Esq., of the Washington bar, and Mr. Hildreth again proceeded to Washington to give his assistance. Just as the trial was about to commence, Mr. Carlisle being taken sick, the judge was, with great difficulty, prevailed upon to grant a further delay of three days. This delay was very warmly opposed, not only by the District Attorney, but by the same Mr. Radcliff whom we have seen figuring as chairman of the mob-committee to wait on Dr. Bailey, and who had been retained, at an expense of two hundred dollars, by the friends of English, as counsel for him, they thinking it safest not to have his defence mixed up in any way with that of myself and Sayres. Before the three days were out, Governor Seward, having finished his business in Baltimore, hastened to Washington; but, as the rules of the court did not allow more than two counsel to speak on one side, the other counsel being also fully prepared, it was judged best to proceed as had been arranged. The trials accordingly commenced on Thursday, the 27th of July, upon an indictment against me for stealing two slaves, the property of one Andrew Houver. The District Attorney, in opening his case, which he did in a very dogmatic, overbearing and violent manner, declared that this was no common affair. The rights of property were violated by every larceny, but this case was peculiar and enormous. Other kinds of property were protected by their want of intelligence; but the intelligence of this kind of property greatly diminished the security of its possession. The jury therefore were to give such a construction to the laws and the facts as to subject violators of it to the most serious consequences. The facts which seemed to be relied upon by the District Attorney as establishing the alleged larceny were--that I had come to Washington, and staid from Monday to Saturday, without any ostensible business, when I had sailed away with seventy-six slaves on board, concealed under the hatches, and the hatches battened down; and that when pursued and overtaken the slaves were found on board with provisions enough for a month. It is true that Houver swore that the hatches were battened down when the Pearl was overtaken by the steamer; but in this he was contradicted by every other government witness. This Houver was, according to some of the other witnesses, in a considerable state of excitement, and at the time of the capture he addressed some violent language to me, as already related. He had sold his two boys, after their recapture, to the slave-traders; but had been obliged to buy them back again, at a loss of one hundred dollars, by the remonstrances of his wife, who did not like to part with them, as they had been raised in the family. Perhaps this circumstance made him the more inveterate against me. As to the schooner being provisioned for a month, the bill of the provisions on board, purchased in Washington, was produced on the trial, and they were found to amount to three bushels of meal, two hundred and six pounds of pork, and fifteen gallons of molasses, which, with a barrel of bread, purchased in Alexandria, would make rather a short month's supply for seventy-nine persons! It was also proved, by the government witnesses, that the Pearl was a mere bay-craft, not fit to go to sea; which did not agree very well with the idea held out by the District Attorney, that I intended to run these negroes off to the West Indies, and to sell them there. But, to make up for these deficiencies, Williams, who acted as the leader of the steamer expedition, swore that I had said, while on board, that if I had got off with the negroes I should have made an independent fortune; but on the next trial he could not say whether it was I who told him so, or whether somebody else told him that I had said so. Orme and Craig, with whom I principally conversed, and who went into long details, recollected nothing of the sort; and it is very certain that, as there was no foundation for it, and no motive for such a statement on my part, I never made it. Williams, perhaps, had heard somebody guess that, if I had got off, I had slaves enough to make me independent; and that guess of somebody else he perhaps remembered, or seemed to remember, as something said by me, or reported to have been said by me; and such often, in cases producing great public excitement, is the sort of evidence upon which men's lives or liberty is sworn away. The idea, however, of an intention to run the negroes off for sale, seemed principally to rest on the testimony of a certain Captain Baker, who had navigated the steamer by which we were captured at the mouth of the Potomac, and who saw, as he was crossing over to Coan river for wood, a long, black, suspicious-looking brig, with her sails loose, lying at anchor under Point Lookout, about three miles from our vessel. This was proved, by other witnesses, to be a very common place of anchorage; in fact, that it was common for vessels waiting for the wind, or otherwise, to anchor anywhere along the shores of the bay. But Captain Baker thought otherwise; and he and the District Attorney wished the jury to infer that this brig seen by him under Point Lookout was a piratical craft, lying ready to receive the negroes on board, and to carry them off to Cuba! Besides Houver, Williams, Orme, Craig and Baker, another witness was called to testify as to the sale of the wood, and my having been in Washington the previous summer. Many questions as to evidence arose, and the examination of these witnesses consumed about two days and a half. In opening the defence, Mr. Mann commenced with some remarks on the peculiarity of his position, growing out of the unexpected urgency with which the case had been pushed to a trial, and the public excitement which had been produced by it. He also alluded to the hardship of finding against me such a multiplicity of indictments,--for what individual, however innocent, could stand up against such an accumulated series of prosecutions, backed by all the force of the nation? Some observations on the costs thus unnecessarily accumulated, and, in particular, on the District Attorney's ten-dollar fees, produced a great excitement, and loud denials on the part of that officer. Mr. Mann then proceeded to remark that, in all criminal trials which he had ever before attended or heard of, the prosecuting officer had stated and produced to the jury, in his opening, the law alleged to be violated. As the District Attorney had done nothing of that sort, he must endeavor to do it for him. Mr. Mann then proceeded to call the attention of the jury to the two laws already quoted, upon which the two sets of indictments were founded. Of both these acts charged against me--the stealing of Houver's slaves, and the helping them to escape from their master--I could not be guilty. The real question in this case was, Which had I done? To make the act stealing, there must have been--so Mr. Mann maintained--a taking _lucri causa_, as the lawyers say; that is, a design on my part to appropriate these slaves to my own use, as my own property. If the object was merely to help them to escape to a free state, then the case plainly came under the other statute. In going on to show how likely it was that the persons on board the Pearl might have desired and sought to escape, independently of any solicitations or suggestions on my part, Mr. Mann alluded to the meeting in honor of the French revolution, already mentioned, held the very night of the arrival of the Pearl at Washington. As he was proceeding to read certain extracts from the speech of Senator Foote on that occasion, already quoted, and well calculated, as he suggested, to put ideas of freedom and emancipation into the heads of the slaves, he was suddenly interrupted by the judge, when the following curious dialogue occurred: "_Judge Crawford_.--A certain latitude is to be allowed to counsel in this case; but I cannot permit any harangue against slavery to be delivered here. "_Carlisle (rising suddenly and stepping forward_).--I am sure your honor must be laboring under some strange misapprehension. Born and bred and expecting to live and die in a slave-holding community, and entertaining no ideas different from those, which commonly prevail here, I have watched the course of my associate's argument with the closest attention. The point he is making, I am sure, is most pertinent to the case,--a point it would be cowardice in the prisoner's counsel not to make; and I must beg your honor to deliberate well before you undertake to stop the mouths of counsel, and to take care that you have full constitutional warrant for doing so. "_Judge Crawford_.--I can't permit an harangue against slavery." Mr. Mann proceeded to explain the point at which he was aiming. He had read these extracts from Mr. Foote's speech, delivered to a miscellaneous collection of blacks and whites, bond and free, assembled before the _Union_ office, as showing to what exciting influences the slaves of the District were exposed, independently of any particular pains taken by anybody to make them discontented; and, with the same object in view, he proposed to read some further extracts from other speeches delivered on the same occasion. "_District Attorney_.--If this matter is put in as evidence, it must first be proved that such speeches were delivered. "_Mann_.--If the authenticity of the speeches is denied, I will call the Honorable Mr. Foote to prove it. "_District Attorney_.--What newspaper is that from which the counsel reads? "_Mann_ (_holding it up_).--The Washington _Union_, of April 19th." And, without further objection, he proceeded to read some further extracts. He concluded by urging upon the jury that this case was to be viewed merely as an attempt of certain slaves to escape from their masters, and on my part an attempt to assist them in so doing; and therefore a case under the statute of 1796, punishable with fine; and not a larceny, as charged against me in this indictment. Several witnesses were called who had known me in Philadelphia, to testify as to my good character. The District Attorney was very anxious to get out of these witnesses whether they had never heard me spoken of as a man likely to run away with slaves? And it did come out from one of them that, from the tenor of my conversation, it used sometimes to be talked over, that one day or other it "would heave up" that I had helped off some negro to a free state. But these conversations, the witness added, were generally in a jesting tone; and another witness stated that the charge of running off slaves was a common joke among the watermen. According to the practice in the Maryland criminal courts,--and the same practice prevails in the District of Columbia,--the judge does not address the jury at all. After the evidence is all in, the counsel, before arguing the case, may call upon the judge to give to the jury instructions as to the law. These instructions, which are offered in writing, and argued by the counsel, the judge can give or refuse, as he sees fit, or can alter them to suit himself; but any such refusal or alteration furnishes ground for a bill of exceptions, on which the case, if a verdict is given against the prisoner, may be carried by writ of error before the Circuit Court of the District, for their revisal. My counsel asked of the judge no less than fourteen instructions on different points of law, ten of which the judge refused to give, and modified to suit himself. Several of these related to the true definition of theft, or what it was that makes a taking larceny. It was contended by my counsel, and they asked the judge to instruct the jury, that, to convict me of larceny, it must be proved that the taking the slaves on board the Pearl was with the intent to convert them to my own use, and to derive a gain from such conversion; and that, if they believed that the slaves were received on board with the design to help them to escape to a free state, then the offence was not larceny, but a violation of the statute of 1796. This instruction, variously put, was six times over asked of the judge, and as often refused. He was no less anxious than the District Attorney to convict me of larceny, and send me to the penitentiary. But, having a vast deal more sense than the District Attorney, he saw that the idea that I had carried off these negroes to sell them again for my own profit was not tenable. It was plain enough that my intention was to help them to escape. The judge therefore, who did not lack ingenuity, went to work to twist the law so as, if possible, to bring my case within it. Even he did not venture to say that merely to assist slaves to escape was stealing. Stealing, he admitted, must be a taking, _lucri causa_, for the sake of gain; but--so he told the jury in one of his instructions--"this desire of gain need not be to convert the article taken to his--the taker's--own use, nor to obtain for the thief the value in money of the thing stolen. If the act was prompted by a desire to obtain for himself, or another even, other than the owner, a money gain, or any other inducing advantage, a dishonest gain, then the act was a larceny." And, in another instruction, he told the jury, "that if they believed, from the evidence, that the prisoner, before receiving the slaves on board, imbued their minds with discontent, persuaded them to go with him, and, by corrupt influences and inducements, caused them to come to his ship, and then took and carried them down the river, then the act was a larceny." Upon these instructions of the judge, to which bills of exceptions were filed by my counsel, the case, which had been already near a week on trial, was argued to the jury. The District Attorney had the opening and the close, and both my counsel had the privilege of speaking. For the following sketch of the argument, as well as of the legal points already noted, I am indebted to the notes of Mr. Hildreth, taken at the time: "_District Attorney_.--I shall endeavor to be very brief in the opening, reserving myself till I know the grounds of defence. It is the duty of the jury to give their verdict according to the law and evidence; and, so far as I knew public opinion, there neither exists now, nor has existed at any other time, the slightest desire on the part of a single individual that the prisoner should have otherwise than a fair trial. I think, therefore, the solemn warnings by the prisoner's counsel to the jury were wholly uncalled for. There was, no doubt, an excitement out of doors,--a natural excitement,--at such an amount of property snatched up at one fell swoop; but was that to justify the suggestion to a jury of twelve honest men that they were not to act the part of a mob? The learned counsel who opened the case for the prisoner has alluded to the disadvantage of his position from the fact that he was a stranger. I acknowledge that disadvantage, and I have attempted to remedy it, and so has the court, by extending towards him every possible courtesy. "The prisoner's counsel seems to think I press this matter too hard. But am I to sit coolly by and see the hard-earned property of the inhabitants of this District carried off, and when the felon is brought into court not do my best to secure his conviction? [The District Attorney here went into a long and labored defence of the course he had taken in preferring against the prisoner forty-one indictments for larceny, and seventy-four others, on the same state of facts, for transportation. He denied that the forty-one larcenies of the property of different individuals could be included in one indictment, and declared that if the prisoner's counsel would show the slightest authority for it he would give up the case. After going on in this strain for an hour or more, attacking the opposite counsel and defending himself, in what Carlisle pronounced 'the most extraordinary opening argument he had ever heard in his life,' the District Attorney came down at last to the facts of the case."] "In what position is the prisoner placed by the evidence? How is he introduced to the jury by his Philadelphia friends? These witnesses were examined as to his character, and the substance of their testimony is, that he is a man who would steal a negro if he got a chance. He passed for honest otherwise. But he says himself he would steal a negro to liberate him, and the court says it makes no difference whether he steals to liberate or steals to sell. Being caught in the act, he acknowledges his guilt, and says he was a deserter from his God,--a backslider,--a church-member one year--the next, in the Potomac with a schooner, stealing seventy-four negroes! Why say he took them for gain, if he did not steal them? Why say he knew he should end his days in a penitentiary? Why say if he got off with the negroes he should have realized an independent fortune? Did he not know they were slaves? He chartered the vessel to carry off negroes; and, if they were free negroes, or he supposed them to be, how was he to realize an independent fortune? He was afraid of the excitement at Washington. Why so, if the negroes were not slaves? There was the fact of their being under the hatches, concealed in the hold of the vessel,--did not that prove he meant to steal them? Add to that the other fact of his leaving at night. He comes here with a miserable load of wood; gives it away; sells it for a note; did not care about the wood, wanted only to get it out; had a longing for a cargo of negroes. The wood was a blind; besides he lied about it;--would he have ever come back to collect his note? But the prisoner's counsel says the slaves might have heard Mr. Foote's torch-light oration, and so have been persuaded to go. A likely story! They all started off, I suppose, ran straight down to the vessel and got into the hold! Seventy-four negroes all together! But was not the vessel chartered in Philadelphia to carry off negroes? This shows the excessive weakness of the defence. And how did the slaves behave after they were captured? If they had been running away, would they not have been downcast and disheartened? Would not they have said, Now we are taken? On the other hand, according to the testimony of Major Williams, on their way back they were laughing, shouting and eating molasses in large quantities. Nero fiddled when Rome was burning, but did not eat molasses. What a transition, from liberty to molasses! "Then it is proved that the bulkhead between the cabin and the hold was knocked down, and that the slaves went to Drayton and asked if they should fight. Did not that show his authority over them,--that the slaves were under his control, and that he was the master-spirit? It speaks volumes. [Here followed a long eulogy on the gallantry and humanity of the thirty-five captors. One man did threaten a little, but he was drunk.] "The substance of the law, as laid down by the judge, is this: If Drayton came here to carry off these people, and, by machinations, prevailed on them to go with him, and knew they were slaves, it makes no difference whether he took them to liberate, or took them to sell. If he was to be paid for carrying them away, that was gain enough. Suppose a man were to take it into his head that the northern factories were very bad things for the health of the factory-girls, and were to go with a schooner for the purpose of liberating those poor devils by stealing the spindles, would not he be served as this prisoner is served here? Would they not exhaust the law-books to find the severest punishment? There may be those carried so far by a miserable mistaken philanthropy as even to steal slaves for the sake of setting them at liberty. But this prisoner says he did it for gain. We might look upon him with some respect if, in a manly style, he insisted on his right to liberate them. But he avowedly steals for gain. He lies about it, besides. Even a jury of abolitionists would have no sympathy for such a man. Try him anyhow, by the word of God--by the rules of common honesty--he would be convicted, anyhow. He is presented to the world at large as a rogue and a common thief and liar. There can be no other conception of him. He did it for dishonest gain. "The prisoner must be convicted. He cannot escape. There can be no manner of doubt as to his guilt. I am at a loss, without appearing absurd in my own eyes, to conceive what kind of a defence can be made. "I have not the least sort of feeling against the wretch himself,--I desire a conviction from principle. I have heard doctrines asserted on this trial that strike directly at the rights and liberty of southern citizens. I have heard counsel seeking to establish principles that strike directly at the security of southern property. I feel no desire that this man, as a man, should be convicted; but I do desire that all persons inclined to infringe on our rights of property should know that there is a law hero to punish them, and I am happy that the law has been so clearly laid down by the court. Let it be known from Maine to Texas, to earth's widest limits, that we have officers and juries to execute that law, no matter by whom it may be violated! "_Mann_--for the prisoner--regretted to occupy any more of the jury's time with this very protracted trial. I mentioned, some days since, that the prisoner was liable, under the indictments against him, to eight hundred years imprisonment,--a term hardly to be served out by Methuselah himself; but, apart from any punishment, if his hundred and twenty-five trials are to proceed at this rate, the chance is he will die without ever reaching their termination. The District Attorney has dwelt at great length on what passed the other day, and more than once he has pointedly referred to me, in a tone and manner not to be mistaken. I have endeavored to conduct this trial according to the principles of law, and to that standard I mean to come up. My client, though a prisoner at this bar, has rights, legal, social, human; and upon those rights I mean to insist. This is the first time in my life that I ever heard a prisoner on trial, and before conviction, denounced as a liar, a thief, a felon, a wretch, a rogue. It is unjust to apply these terms to any man on trial. The law presumes him to be innocent. The feelings of the prisoner ought not to be thus outraged. He is unfortunate; he may be guilty; that is the very point you are to try. "This prisoner is charged with stealing two slaves, the property of Andrew Houver. Did he, or not? That point you are to try by the law and the evidence. Because you may esteem this a peculiarly valuable kind of property, you are not to measure out in this case a peculiar kind of justice. You have heard the evidence; the law for the purposes of this trial you are to take from the judge. But you are not to be led away with the idea that you must convict this prisoner at any rate. It is a well-established principle that it is better for an indefinite number of guilty men to escape than for one innocent man to be convicted and punished; and for the best of reasons,--for to have the very machinery established for the protection of right turned into an instrument for the infliction of wrong, strikes a more fatal blow at civil society than any number of unpunished private injuries. "Nor is there any danger that the prisoner will escape due punishment for any crimes he may have committed. Besides this and forty other larceny indictments hanging over his head, there are seventy-four transportation indictments against him. Now, he cannot be guilty of both; and which of these offences, if either, does the evidence against him prove? "Who is this man? Look at him! You see he has passed the meridian of life. You have heard about him from his neighbors. They pronounce him a fair, upright, moral man. No suspicion hitherto was ever breathed against his honesty. He was a professor of religion, and, so far as we know, had walked in all the ordinances and commands of the law blameless. Now, in all cases of doubt, a fair and exemplary character, especially in an elderly man, is a great capital to begin with. This prisoner may have been mistaken in his views as to matters of human right; but, as to violating what he believed to be duty, there is not the slightest evidence that such was his character, but abundance to the contrary. He is found under circumstances that make him amenable to the law; let him be tried,--I do not gainsay that; but let him have the common sentiments of humanity extended toward him, even if he be guilty. "The point urged against him with such earnestness--I may say vehemence--is, not that he took the slaves merely, but that he took them with design to steal. His confessions are dwelt upon, stated and overstated, as you will recollect. But consider under what circumstances these alleged confessions were made. There are circumstances which make such statements very fallacious. Consider his excitement--his state of health; for it is in evidence that he had been out of health, suffering with some disorder which required his head to be shaved. Consider the armed men that surrounded him, and the imminent peril in which he believed his life to be. It is great injustice to brand him with the foul epithet of liar for any little discrepancies, if such there were, in statements made under such circumstances. Other matters have been forced in, of a most extraordinary character, to prejudice his case in your eyes. It has been suggested--the idea has been thrown out, again and again--that, under pretence of helping them to freedom, he meant to sell these negroes. This suggestion, which outruns all reason and discretion, is founded on the simple fact of a brig seen lying at anchor in a place of common anchorage, suggesting no suspicious appearance, but as to which you are asked to infer that these seventy-six slaves were to be transported into her, and carried to Cuba or elsewhere for sale. What a monstrous imagination! What a gross libel on that brig, her officers, her crew, her owners, all of whom are thus charged as kidnappers and pirates; and all this baseless dream got up for the purpose of influencing your minds against the prisoner! It marks, indeed, with many other things, the style in which this prosecution is conducted. "Take the law as laid down by the court, and it is necessary for the government to prove, if this indictment is to be sustained, that the prisoner corrupted the minds of Houver's slaves, and induced and persuaded them to go on board his vessel. They were found on board the prisoner's vessel, no doubt; but as to how they came there we have not a particle of evidence. Here is a gap, a fatal gap, in the government's case. By what second-sight are you to look into this void space and time, and to say that Drayton enticed them to go on board? [The counsel here read from 1 _Starkie on Evidence,_ 510, &c., to the effect that the prosecution are bound by the evidence to exclude every hypothesis inconsistent with the prisoner's guilt.] Now, is it the only possible means of accounting for the presence of Houver's slaves on board to suppose that this prisoner enticed them? Might not somebody else have done it? Might they not have gone without being enticed at all? We wished to call the slaves themselves as witnesses, but the law shuts up their mouths. Can you, without any evidence, say that Drayton enticed them, and that by no other means could they come onboard? Presumptive evidence, as laid down in the book--an acknowledged and unquestioned authority--from which I have read, ought to be equally strong with the evidence of one unimpeached witness swearing positively to the fact. Are you as sure that Drayton enticed those slaves as if that fact had been positively sworn to by one witness, testifying that he stood by and saw and heard it? If you are not, then, under the law as laid down by the court, you can not find him guilty. "_Thursday, Aug_. 13. "_Carlisle_, for the prisoner.--The sun under which we draw our breath, the soil we tottle over, in childhood, the air we breathe, the objects that earliest attract our attention, the whole system of things with which our youth is surrounded, impress firmly upon us ideas and sentiments which cling to us to our latest breath, and modify all our views. I trust I am man enough always to remember this, when I hear opinions expressed and views maintained by men educated under a system different from that prevailing here, no matter how contrary those views and opinions may be to my own. "It may surprise those of you who know me,--the moral atmosphere in which I have grown up, and the opinions which I entertain,--but never have I felt so deep and hearty an interest in the defence of any case as in this. This prisoner I never saw till I came from a sick bed into this court, when I met him for the first time. I had participated strongly in the feeling which in connection with him had been excited in this community. As you well know, I have and could have no sympathy with the motives by which he may be presumed to have been actuated. Why, then, this sudden feeling in his behalf? Not, I assure you, from mercenary motives. His acquittal or his condemnation will make no difference in the compensation I receive for my services. The overpowering interest I feel in this case originates in the fact that it places at stake the reputation of this District, and, in some respects, of the country itself, of which this city is the political capital. The counsel for the government has dwelt with emphasis on the great amount and value of property placed at hazard by this prisoner. There is something, however, far more valuable than property--a fair, honorable, impartial administration of justice; and of the chivalrous race of the south it may be expected that they will do justice, though the heavens fall! God forbid that the world should point to this trial as a proof that we are so besotted by passion and interest that we cannot discern the most obvious distinctions and that on a slave question with a jury of slave-holders there is no possible chance of justice! Many, I assure you, will be ready to fasten this charge upon us. It is my hope, my ardent desire, it is your sworn duty, that no step be taken against this prisoner without full warrant of law and evidence. The duty of defence I discharge with pleasure. I could have desired that this prisoner might have been defended entirely by counsel resident in this District. It would have been my pride to have shown to the world that of our own mere motion we would do justice in any case, no matter how delicate, no matter how sore the point the prisoner had touched. "My learned friend, the District Attorney, has alluded to the courtesy which he and the court have extended to my associate in this cause. I hope he does not plume himself upon that. A gentleman of my associate's learning, ability, unexceptionable deportment, and high character among his own people, must and will be treated with courtesy wherever he goes. But, at the same time that he boasts of his courtesy, the District Attorney takes occasion to charge my associate with gross ignorance of the law. He says the forty-one charges could not have been included in one indictment, and offers to give up the case if we will produce a single authority to that effect. It were easy to produce the authority [see 1 _Chitty_, C.L. Indictment], but, unfortunately, the District Attorney has made a promise which he can't fulfil. The District Attorney is mistaken in this matter; at the same time, let me admit that in the management of this case he has displayed an ability beyond his years. This is the first prosecution ever brought, so far as we can discover, on this slave-stealing statute, either in this District or in Maryland. This statute, of the existence of which few lawyers were aware,--I am sure I was not,--has been waked up, after a slumber of more than a century, and brought to bear upon my client. It is your duty to go into the examination of this novel case temperately and carefully; to take care that no man and no court, upon review of the case, shall be able to say that your verdict is not warranted by the evidence. If the case is made out against the prisoner, convict him; but if not, as you value the reputation of the District and your own souls, beware how you give a verdict against him! "You are not a lynch-law court. It is no part of your business to inquire whether the prisoner has done wrong, and if so to punish him for it. It is your sole business to inquire if he be guilty of this, special charge set forth against him in this indictment, of stealing Andrew Houver's two slaves. The law you are not expected to judge of; to enlighten you on that matter, we have prayed instructions from the court, and those instructions, for the purpose of this trial, are to be taken as the law. The question for you is, Does the evidence in this case bring the prisoner within the law as laid down by the court? To bring him within that law, you are not to go upon imagination, but upon facts proved by witnesses; and, it seems to me, you have a very plain duty before you. This is not a thing done in a corner. Take care that you render such a verdict that you will not be ashamed to have it set forth in letters of light, visible to all the world. "There are two offences established by the statutes of Maryland, between which, in this case, it becomes your duty to distinguish. Everything depends on these statutes, because without these statutes neither act is a crime. At common law, there are no such offences as stealing slaves, or transporting slaves. Now, which of these two acts is proved against this prisoner? In some respects they are alike. The carrying the slaves away, the depriving the master of their services, is common to both. But, to constitute the stealing of slaves, according to the law as laid down by the court, there must be something more yet. There must be a corruption of the minds of the slaves, and a seducing them to leave their masters' service. And does not this open a plain path for this prisoner out of the danger of this prosecution? Where is the least evidence that the prisoner seduced these slaves, and induced them to leave their masters? Has the District Attorney, with all his zeal, pointed out a single particle of evidence of that sort? Has he done anything to take this case out of the transportation statute, and to convert it into a case of stealing? He has, to be sure, indulged in some very harsh epithets applied to this prisoner,--epithets very similar to those which Lord Coke indulged in on the trial of Sir Walter Raleigh, and which drew out on the part of that prisoner a memorable retort. My client is not a Raleigh; but neither, I must be permitted to say, is the District Attorney a Lord Coke. I should be sorry to have it go abroad that we cannot try a man for an offence of this sort without calling him a liar, a rogue, a wretch. [The District Attorney here interrupted, with a good deal of warmth. He insisted that he did not address the prisoner, but the jury, and that it was his right to call the attention of the jury to the evidence proving the prisoner to be a liar, rogue and wretch.] _Carlisle_--I do not dispute the learned gentleman's right. It is a matter of taste; but with you, gentlemen of the jury, these harsh epithets are not to make the difference of a hair. You are to look at the evidence; and where is the evidence that the prisoner seduced and enticed these slaves? "It may happen to any man to have a runaway slave in his premises, and even in his employment. It happened to me to have in my employ a runaway,--one of the best servants, by the way, I ever had. He told me he was free, and I employed him as such. If I had happened to have taken him to Baltimore, there would have been a complete similitude to the case at bar, and, according to the District Attorney's logic, I might have been indicted for stealing. Because I had him with me, I am to be presumed to have enticed him from his master! As to the particular circumstances under which he came into my employment, I might have been wholly unable to show them. Is it not possible to suppose a great number of circumstances under which these slaves of Houver left their master's service and came on board the Pearl, without any agency on the part of this prisoner? Now, the government might positively disprove and exclude forty such suppositions; but, so long as one remained which was not excluded, you cannot find a verdict of conviction. The government is to prove that the prisoner enticed and seduced these negroes, and you have no right to presume he did so unless every other possible explanation of the case is positively excluded by the testimony. Is it so extravagant a supposition that Mr. Foote's speech, and the other torch-light speeches heretofore alluded to, heard by these slaves, or communicated to them, might have so wrought upon their minds as to induce them to leave their masters? I don't say that they had any right to suppose that these declamations about universal emancipation had any reference to them. I am a southern man, and I hold to the southern doctrine. I admit that there is no inconsistency between perfect civil liberty and holding people of another race in domestic servitude. But then it is natural that these people should overlook this distinction, however obvious and important. Nor do they lack wit to apply these speeches to their own case or interest in such matters. I myself have a slave as quick to see distinctions as I am, and who would have made a better lawyer if he had had the same advantages. It came out the other day, in a trial in this court, that the colored people have debating-societies among themselves. It was an assault and battery case; one of the disputants, in the heat of the argument, struck the other; but then they have precedents for that in the House of Representatives. Is it an impossible, or improbable, or a disproved supposition, that a number of slaves, having agreed together to desert their masters, or having concerted such a plan with somebody here, Drayton was employed to come and take them away, and that he received them on board without ever having seen one of them? If his confessions are to be taken at all, they are to be taken together; and do they not tend to prove such a state of facts? Drayton says he was hired to come here,--that he was to be paid for taking them away. Does that look as if he seduced them? [The counsel here commented at length on Drayton's statements, for the purpose of showing that they tended to prove nothing more than a transportation for hire; and he threw no little ridicule on the 'phantom ship' which the District Attorney had conjured up in his opening of the case, but which, in his late speech, he had wholly overlooked.] "But, even should you find that Drayton seduced these slaves to leave their masters, to make out a case of larceny you must be satisfied that he took them into his possession. Now, what is possession of a slave? Not merely being in company with him. If I ride in a hack, I am not in possession of the driver. Possession of a slave is dominion and control; and where is the slightest evidence that this prisoner claimed any dominion or control over these slaves? The whole question in this case is, Were these slaves stolen, or were they running away with the prisoner's assistance? The mere fact of their being in the prisoner's company throws no light whatever on this matter. "The great point, however, in this case is this,--By the judge's instructions, enticement must be proved. Shall the record of this trial go forth to the world showing that you have found a fact of which there was no evidence? "I believe in my conscience there is a gap in this evidence not to be filled up except by passion and prejudice. If that is so, I hope there is no one so ungenerous, so little of a true southerner, as to blame me for my zeal in this case, or not to rejoice in a verdict of acquittal. It is bad enough that strangers should have got up a mob in this District in relation to this matter. It would, however, be a million times worse if juries cannot be found here cool and dispassionate enough to render impartial verdicts. "_District Attorney_.--I hope, gentlemen of the jury, you will rise above all out-of-door influence. Make yourselves abolitionists, if you can; but look at the facts of the case. And, looking at those facts, is it necessary for me to open my lips in reply? In a case like this, sustained by such direct testimony, such overwhelming proof, I defy any man,--however crazy on the subject of slavery, unless he be blinded by some film of interest,--to hesitate a moment as to his conclusions. [The District Attorney here proceeded at great length, and with a great air of offended dignity, to complain of having been schooled and advised by the prisoner's counsel, and to justify the use of the foul epithets he had bestowed on the prisoner.] This is not a place for parlor talk. I had chosen the English words that conveyed my meaning most distinctly. It was all very well for the prisoner's counsel to smooth things over; but was I, instead of calling him a liar, to say, he told a fib? When I call him a thief and a felon, do I go beyond the charge of the grand jury in the indictment? If this is stepping over the limits of propriety, in all similar cases I shall do the same. I do not intend to blackguard the prisoner,--I do not delight in using these epithets. My heart is not locked up; I am no Jack Ketch, prosecuting criminals for ten dollars a head. I sympathize with the wretches brought here; but when I choose to call them by their proper names I am not to be accused of bandying epithets. [The District Attorney then proceeded also at great length, and in a high key, to justify his hundred and twenty-five indictments against the prisoner, and to clear himself from the imputation of mercenary motives, on the ground that the business of the year, independently of these indictments, would furnish the utmost amount to which he was entitled. He next referred to the matter of the brig testified to by Captain Baker, which had been made the occasion of much ridicule by the prisoner's counsel. Part of the evidence which he had relied on in connection with the brig had been ruled out; and the law, as laid down by the court, according to which taking to liberate was the same as taking to steal, had made it unnecessary for him, so he said, to dwell on this part of the case. Yet he now proceeded to argue at great length, from the testimony in the case, that there must have been a connection between the brig and the schooner; that, as the schooner was confessedly unseaworthy, and could not have gone out of the bay, it must have been the intention to put the slaves on board the brig, and to carry them off to Cuba or elsewhere and sell them. The testimony to this effect he pronounced conclusive.] "The United States (said the District Attorney) have laid before you the clearest possible case. I have just gone through a pretty long term of this court; I see several familiar faces on the jury, and I rely on your intelligence. In fact, the only point of the defence is, that the United States have offered no proof that Drayton seduced and enticed these slaves to come on board the Pearl; and that the prisoner's counsel are pleased to call a gap, a chasm, which they say you can't fill up. It is the same gap which occurs in every larceny case. Where can the government produce positive testimony to the taking? That is done secretly, in the dark, and is to be presumed from circumstances. A man is found going off with a bag of chickens,--your chickens. Are you going to presume that the chickens run into his bag of their own accord, and without his agency? A man is found riding your horse. Are you to presume that the horse came to him of its own accord? and yet horses love liberty,--they love to kick up their heels and run. Yet this would be just as sensible as to suppose that these slaves came on board Drayton's vessel without his direct agency. He came here from Philadelphia for them; they are found on board his vessel; Drayton says he would steal a negro if he could; is not that enough? Then he was here some months before with an oyster-boat, pretending to sell oysters. He pretended that he came for his health. Likely story, indeed! I should like to see the doctor who would recommend a patient to come here in the fall of the year, when the fever and ague is so thick in the marshes that you can cut it with a knife. Cruising about, eating and selling oysters, at that time of the year, for his health! Nonsense! He was here, at that very time, hatching and contriving that these very negroes should go on board the Pearl. But the prisoner's counsel say he might have been employed by others simply to carry them away! Who could have employed him but abolitionists; and did he not say he had no sympathy with abolitionists. So much for that hypothesis. Then, he in fact pleads guilty,--he says he expects to die in the penitentiary. Don't you think he ought to? If there is any chasm here, the prisoner must shed light upon it. If he had employers, who were they? The prisoner's counsel have said that he is not bound to tell; and that the witnesses, if summoned here, would not be compelled to criminate themselves. But shall this prisoner be allowed to take advantage of his own wrong? "As to the metaphysics of the prisoner's counsel about possession, that is easily disposed of. Were not these slaves found in Drayton's possession, and didn't he admit that he took them? "As to the cautions given you about prejudice and passion, I do not think they are necessary. I have seen no sort of excitement here since the first detection of this affair that would prevent the prisoner having a fair trial. Is there any crowd or excitement here? The community will be satisfied with the verdict. There is no question the party is guilty. I never had anything to do with a case sustained by stronger evidence. I don't ask you to give an illegal or perjured verdict. Take the law and the evidence, and decide upon it. "N.B.--The argument being now concluded, and the jury about to go out, some question arose whether the jury should have the written instructions of the court with them; and some inquiry being made as to the practice, one of the jurors observed that in a case in which he had formerly acted as juror the jury had the instructions with them, and he proceeded to tell a funny story about a bottle of rum, told by one of the jurors on that occasion, which story caused him to remember the fact. It may be observed, by the way, that the proceedings of the United States Criminal Court for the District of Columbia are not distinguished for any remarkable decorum or dignity. The jury, in this case, were in constant intercourse, during any little intervals in the trial, with the spectators outside the bar." The case was given to the jury about three o'clock, P.M., and the court, after waiting half an hour, adjourned. When the court met, at ten o'clock the next morning, the jury were still out, having remained together all night without being able to agree. Meanwhile the District Attorney proceeded to try me on another indictment, for stealing three slaves the property of one William H. Upperman. As this trial was proceeding, about half-past two the jury in the first case came in, and rendered a verdict of GUILTY. They presented rather a haggard appearance, having been locked up for twenty-four hours, and some of them being perhaps a little troubled in their consciences. The jury, it was understood, had been divided, from the beginning, four for acquittal and eight for conviction. These four were all Irishmen, and perhaps they did not consider it consistent with their personal safety and business interests to persist in disappointing the slave-holding public of that verdict which the District Attorney had so imperiously demanded. The agreement, it was understood, had taken place only a few moments before they came in, and had been reached entirely on the strength of Williams' testimony to my having said, that had I got off I should have made an independent fortune. Now, it was a curious coincidence, that at the very moment that this agreement was thus taking place, Williams, again on the stand as a witness on the second trial, wished to take back what he had then sworn to on the first trial, stating that he could not tell whether he had heard me say this, or whether he had heard of my having said it from somebody else. After the rendition of the verdict of the other jury, the second case was again resumed. The evidence varied in only a few particulars from that which had been given in the first case. There was, in addition, the testimony of Upperman, the pretended owner of the woman and her daughters, one of fifteen, the other nine years old, whom I was charged in this indictment with stealing. This man swore with no less alacrity, and with no less falsehood, than Houver had done before him. He stated that about half-past ten, of that same night that the Pearl left Washington, while he was fastening up his house, he saw a man standing on the side-walk opposite his door, and observed him for some time. Not long after, having gone to bed, he heard a noise of somebody coming down stairs; and, calling out, he was answered by his slave-woman, who was just then going off, though he had no suspicion of it at the time. That man standing on the side-walk he pretended to recognize as me. He was perfectly certain of it, beyond all doubt and question. The object of this testimony was, to lead to a conclusion of enticement or persuasion on my part, and so to bring the case within one of the judge's instructions already stated. On a subsequent trial, Upperman was still more certain, if possible, that I was the man. But he was entirely mistaken in saying so. His house was on Pennsylvania Avenue, more than a mile from where the Pearl lay, and I was not within a mile of it that night. I dare say Upperman was sincere enough. He was one of your positive sort of men; but his case, like that of Houver, shows that men in a passion will sometimes fall into blunders. I have reason to believe that after the trials were over Upperman became satisfied of his error. The first trial had consumed a week; the second one lasted four days. The judge laid down the same law as before, and similar exceptions were taken by my counsel. The jury again remained out all night, being long divided,--nine for conviction to three for acquittal; but on the morning of August 9th they came in with a verdict of GUILTY. Satisfied for the present with these two verdicts against me, the District Attorney now proposed to pass over the rest of my cases, and to proceed to try Sayres. My counsel objected that, having been forced to proceed against my remonstrances, I was here ready for trial, and they insisted that all my cases should be now disposed of. They did not prevail, however; and the District Attorney proceeded to try Sayres on an indictment for stealing the same two slaves of Houver. In addition to the former witnesses against me, English was now put upon the stand, the District Attorney having first entered _nolle prosequi_ upon the hundred and fifteen indictments against him. But he could state nothing except the circumstances of his connection with the affair, and the coming on board of the passengers on Saturday night, as I have already related them. On the other hand, the "phantom brig" story, of which the District Attorney had made so great a handle in the two cases against me, was now ruled out, on the ground that the brig could not be brought into the case till some connection had first been shown between her and the Pearl. The trial lasted three days. The District Attorney pressed for a conviction with no less violence than he had done in my case, assuring the jury that if they did not convict there was an end of the security of slave property. But Sayres had several advantages over me. My two juries had been citizens of Washington, several of them belonging to a class of loafers who frequent the courts for the sake of the fees to be got as jurymen. Some complaints having been made of this, the officers had been sent to Georgetown and the country districts, and the present jury was drawn from those quarters. Then, again, I was regarded as the main culprit,--the only one in the secret of the transaction; and, as I was already convicted, the feeling against Sayres was much lessened. In fact, the jury in his case, after an absence of half an hour, returned a verdict of NOT GUILTY. The District Attorney, greatly surprised and vexed, proceeded to try Sayres on another indictment. This trial lasted three days and a half; but, in spite of the efforts of the District Attorney, who was more positive, longer and louder, than ever, the jury, in ten minutes, returned a verdict of NOT GUILTY. The trials had now continued through nearly four weeks of very hot weather, and both sides were pretty well worn out. Vexed at the two last verdicts, the District Attorney threatened to give up Sayres on a requisition from Virginia, which was said to have been lodged for us, some of the alleged slaves belonging there, and we having been there shortly before. Finally, it was agreed that verdicts should be taken against Sayres in the seventy-four transportation cases, he to have the advantage of carrying the points of law before the Circuit Court, and the remaining larceny indictments against him to be discontinued. Thus ended the first legal campaign. English was discharged altogether, without trial. Sayres had got rid of the charge of larceny. I had been found guilty on two indictments for stealing, upon which Judge Crawford sentenced me to twenty years imprisonment in the penitentiary; while Sayres, on seventy-four indictments for assisting the escape of slaves, was sentenced to a fine on each indictment of one hundred and fifty dollars and costs, amounting altogether to seven thousand four hundred dollars. But from these judgments an appeal had been taken to the Circuit Court, and meanwhile Sayres and I remained in prison as before. The hearing before the Circuit Court came on the 26th of November. That court consisted of Chief-Justice Cranch, an able and upright judge, but very old and infirm; and Judges Morrell and Dunlap, the latter of whom claimed to be the owner of two of the negroes found on board the Pearl. My cases were argued for me by Messrs. Hildreth, Carlisle and Mann. The District Attorney, who was much better fitted to bawl to a jury than to argue before a court, had retained, at the expense of the United States, the assistance of Mr. Bradley, one of the ablest lawyers of the District. The argument consumed not less than three days. Many points were discussed; but that on which the cases turned was the definition of larceny. It resulted in the allowance of several of my bills of exceptions, the overturn of the law of Judge Crawford on the subject of larceny, and the establishment by the Circuit Court of the doctrine on that subject contended for by my counsel; but from this opinion Judge Dunlap dissented. The case of Sayres, for want of time, was postponed till the next term. A new trial having been ordered in my two cases, everybody supposed that the charge of larceny would now be abandoned, as the Circuit Court had taken away the only basis on which it could possibly rest. But the zeal of the District Attorney was not yet satisfied; and, no longer trusting to his own unassisted efforts, he obtained (at the expense of the United States) the assistance of Richard Cox, Esq., an old and very unscrupulous practitioner, with whose aid he tried the cases over again in the Criminal Court. The two trials lasted about fourteen days. I was again defended by Messrs. Mann and Carlisle, and now with better success, as the juries, under the instructions which Judge Crawford found himself obliged to give, and notwithstanding the desperate efforts against me, acquitted me in both cases, almost without leaving their seats. Finally, the District Attorney agreed to abandon the remaining larceny cases, if we would consent to verdicts in the transportation cases on the same terms with those in the case of Sayres. This was done; when Judge Crawford had the satisfaction of sentencing me to fines and costs amounting together to ten thousand and sixty dollars, and to remain in prison until that amount was paid. There was still a further hearing before the Circuit Court on the bills of exceptions to these transportation indictments. My counsel thought they had some good legal objections; but the hearing unfortunately came on when Judge Cranch was absent from the bench, and the other two judges overruled them. By a strange construction of the laws, no criminal case, except by accident, can be carried before the Supreme Court of the United States; otherwise, the cases against us would have been taken there, including the question of the legality of slavery in the District of Columbia. Thus, after a severe and expensive struggle, I was saved from the penitentiary; but Sayres and myself remained in the Washington jail, loaded with enormous fines, which, from our total inability to pay them, would keep us there for life, unless the President could be induced to pardon us; and it was even questioned, as I shall show presently, whether he had any such power. The jail of the District of Columbia is under the charge of the Marshal of the District. That office, when I was first committed to prison, was filled by a Mr. Hunter; but he was sick at the time, and died soon after, when Robert Wallace was appointed. This Wallace was a Virginian, from the neighbor hood of Alexandria, son of a Doctor Wallace from whom he had inherited a large property, including many slaves. He had removed to Tennessee, and had set up cotton-planting there; but, failing in that business, had returned back with the small remnants of his property, and Polk provided for him by making him marshal. It was not long before I found that he had a great spite against me. It was in vain that I solicited from him the use of the passage. The light which came into my cell was very faint, and I could only read by sitting on the floor with my back against the grating of the cell door. But, so far from aiding me to read,--and it was the only method I had of passing my time,--Wallace made repeated and vexatious attempts to keep me from receiving newspapers. I should very soon have died on the prison allowance. The marshal is allowed by the United States thirty-three cents per day for feeding the prisoners. For this money they receive two meals; breakfast, consisting of one herring, corn-bread and a dish of molasses and water, very slightly flavored with coffee; and for dinner, corn-bread again, with half a pound of the meanest sort of salted beef, and a soup made of corn-meal stirred into the pot-liquor. This is the bill of fare day after day, all the year round; and, as at the utmost such food cannot cost more than eight or nine cents a day for each prisoner, and as the average number is fifty, the marshal must make a handsome profit. The diet has been fixed, I suppose, after the model of the slave allowances. But Congress, after providing the means of feeding the prisoners in a decent manner, ought not to allow them to be starved for the benefit of the marshal. Such was the diet to which I was confined in the first days of my imprisonment. But I soon contrived to make a friend of Jake, the old black cook of the prison, who, I could see as he came in to pour out my coffee, evinced a certain sympathy and respect for me. Through his agency I was able to purchase some more eatable food; and indeed the surgeon of the jail allowed me flour, under the name of medicine, it being impossible, as he said, for me to live on the prison diet. Wallace, soon after he came into office, finding a small sum in my possession, of about forty dollars, took it from me. He expressed a fear that I might corrupt old Jake, or somebody else,--especially as he found that I gave Jake my old newspapers,--and so escape from the prison. But he left the money in the hands of the jailer, and allowed me to draw it out, a dollar at a time. He presently turned out old Jake, and put in a slave-woman of his own as cook; but she was better disposed towards me than her master, and I found no difficulty in purchasing with my own money, and getting her to prepare such food as I wanted. I was able, too, after some six or eight weeks' sleeping on the stone floor of my cell, to obtain some improvement in that particular; and not for myself only, but for all the other prisoners also. The jailer was requested by several persons who came to see us to procure mattresses for us at their expense; and, finally, Wallace, as if out of pure shame, procured a quantity of husk mattresses for the use of the prisoners generally. Still, we had no cots, and were obliged to spread our mattresses on the floor. The allowance of clothing made to the prisoners who were confined without any means of supporting themselves corresponded pretty well with the jail allowance of provisions. They received shirts, one at a time, made of the very meanest kind of cotton cloth, and of the very smallest dimensions; trousers of about equal quality, and shoes. It was said that the United States paid also for jackets and caps. How that was I do not know; but the prisoners never received any. The custody of the jail was intrusted to a head jailer, assisted by four guards, or turnkeys, one of whom acted also as book-keeper. Of the personal treatment toward me of those in office, at the time I was first committed, I have no complaint to make. The rigor of my confinement was indeed great; but I am happy to say that it was not aggravated by any disposition on the part of these men to triumph over me, or to trample upon me. As they grew more acquainted with me, they showed their sense that I was not an ordinary criminal, and treated me with many marks of consideration, and even of regard, and in one of them I found a true friend. Shortly after Wallace came into office, he made several changes. He was full of caprices, and easily took offence from very small causes; and of this the keepers, as well as the prisoners, had abundant experience. The head jailer did his best to please, behaving in the most humble and submissive manner; but all to no purpose. He was discharged, as were also the others, one after another,--Wallace undertaking to act as head jailer himself. Of Wallace's vexatious conduct towards me; of his refusal to allow me to receive newspapers,--prohibiting the under jailer to lend me even the Baltimore _Sun_; of his accusation against me of bribing old Jake, whom he forbade the turnkeys to allow to come near me; of his keeping me shut up in my cell; and generally of a bitter spirit of angry malice against me,--I had abundant reason to complain during the weary fifteen months or more that I remained under his power. But his subordinates, though obliged to obey his orders and to comply with his humors, were far from being influenced by his feelings. Even his favorite among the turnkeys, a person who pretty faithfully copied his conduct towards the other prisoners, always behaved very kindly towards me, and even used to make a confidant of me, by coming to my cell to talk over his troubles. But the person whose kind offices and friendly sympathy did far more than those of any other to relieve the tediousness of my confinement, and to keep my heart from sinking, was Mr. Wood. There is no chaplain at the Washington jail, nor has Congress, so far as I am aware, made any provision of any kind for the spiritual wants or the moral and religious instruction of the inmates of it. This great deficiency Mr. Wood, a man of a great heart, though of very limited pecuniary means, being then a clerk in the Telegraph office, had taken it upon himself to supply, so far as he could; and for that purpose he was in the habit of visiting the prison on Sundays, conversing with the prisoners, and furnishing tracts and books to such as were able and disposed to read. He came to my cell, or to the grating of the passage in which I was confined, on the very first Sunday of my imprisonment, and he readily promised, at my request, to furnish me with a Bible; though in that act of kindness he was anticipated by the colored woman of whom I have already made mention, who appeared at my cell, with a Bible for me, just after Mr. Wood had left it. The kindness of Mr. Wood's heart, and the sincerity of his sympathy, was so apparent as to secure him the affectionate respect of all the prisoners. To me he proved a very considerate and useful friend. Not only was I greatly indebted to his assistance in making known my necessities and those of my family to those disposed to relieve them, but his cheerful and Christian conversation served to brighten many a dark hour, and to dispel many gloomy feelings. Were all professing Christians like my friend Mr. Wood, we should not hear so many denunciations as we now do of the church, and complaints of her short-comings. There was another person, also, whose kind attentions to me I ought not to overlook. This was Mrs. Susannah Ford, a very respectable colored woman, who sold refreshments in the lobby of the court-house, and who, in the progress of the trial, had evinced a good deal of interest in the case. As she often had boarders in the jail, who, like me, could not live on the jail fare, and whom she supplied, she was frequently there, and she seldom came without bringing with her some substantial token of her regard. Sayres and myself had looked forward to the change of administration, which resulted from the election of General Taylor, with considerable hopes of advantage from it--but, for a considerable time, this advantage was limited to a change in the marshal in whose custody we were. The turning out of Wallace gave great satisfaction to everybody in the jail, or connected with it, except the turnkeys, who held office by his appointment, and who expected that his dismissal would be followed by their own. The very day before the appointment of his successor came out, I had been remonstrating with him against the cruelty of refusing me the use of the passage; and I had even ventured to hint that I hoped he would do nothing which he would be ashamed to see spoken of in the public prints; to which he replied, "G--d d--n the public prints!--in that cell you will stay!" But in this he proved not much of a prophet. The next day, as soon as the news of his dismissal reached the jail, the turnkeys at once unlocked my cell-door and admitted me into the passage, observing that the new marshal, when he came to take possession, should at least find me there. This new marshal was Mr. Robert Wallach, a native of the District, very similar in name to his predecessor, but very different in nature; and from the time that he entered into office the extreme rigor hitherto exercised to me was a good deal abated. One thing, however, I had to regret in the change, which was the turning out of all the old guards, with whom I was already well acquainted, and the appointment of a new set. One of these thus turned out--the person to whom I have already referred to as the chief favorite of the late marshal--made a desperate effort to retain his office. But, although he solicited and obtained certificates to the effect that he was, and always had been, a good Whig, he had to walk out with the others. The new jailer appointed by Wallach, and three of the new guards, or turnkeys, were very gentlemanly persons, and neither I nor the other prisoners had any reason to complain of the change. Of the fourth turnkey I cannot say as much. He was violent, overbearing and tyrannical, and he was frequently guilty of conduct towards the prisoners which made him very unfit to serve under such a marshal, and ought to have caused his speedy removal. But, unfortunately, the marshal was under some political obligations to him, which made the turning him out not so easy a matter. This person seemed to have inherited all the feelings of hatred and dislike which the late marshal had entertained towards me, and he did his best to annoy me in a variety of ways, though, of course, his power was limited by his subordinate position. But, although I gained considerably by the new-order of things, I soon found that it had also some annoying consequences. Under the old marshal, either to make the imprisonment more disagreeable to me, or from fear lest I should corrupt the other prisoners, I had been kept in a sort of solitary confinement, no other prisoners being placed in the same passage. This system was now altered; and, although my privacy was always so far respected that I was allowed a cell by myself, I often found myself with fellow-prisoners in the same passage from whose society it was impossible for me to derive either edification or pleasure. I suffered a good deal from this cause; but at length succeeded in obtaining a remedy, or, at least, a partial one. I was allowed, during the day-time, the range of the debtors' apartments, a suite of spacious, airy and comfortable rooms, in which there were seldom more than one or two tenants. I pleaded hard to be removed to these apartments altogether,--to be allowed to sleep there, as well as to pass the days there. As it was merely for the non-payment of a sum of money that I was held, I thought I had a right to be treated as a debtor. But those apartments were so insecure, that the keepers did not care to trust me there during the night. By this change of quarters my condition was a good deal improved. I not only had ample conveniences for reading, but I improved the opportunity to learn to write, having only been able to sign my name when T was committed to the prison. But a jail, after all, is a jail; and I longed and sighed to obtain my liberty, and to enjoy again the society of my wife and children. Had it been wished to impress my mind in the strongest manner with the horrors of slavery, no better method could have been devised than this imprisonment in the Washington jail. I felt personally what it was to be restrained of my liberty; and, as many of the prisoners were runaway slaves, or slaves committed at the request of their masters, I saw a good deal of what slaves are exposed to. Of this I shall here give but a single instance. Wallace, the marshal, as I have already mentioned, had two female slaves, the last remnants of the large slave-property which he had inherited from his father. One of these was a young and very comely mulatto girl, whom Wallace had made his housekeeper, and whom he sought to make also his concubine. But, as the girl already had a child by a young white man, to whom she was attached, she steadily repelled all his advances. Not succeeding by persuasion, this scion of the aristocracy of the Old Dominion--this Virginian gentleman, and marshal of the United States for the District of Columbia--shut the girl up in the jail of the District, in hopes of thus breaking her to his will; and, as she proved obstinate, he finally sold her. He then turned his eyes on the other woman,--his property,--Jemima, our cook, already the mother of three children. But she set him at open defiance. As she wished to be sold, he had lost the greatest means of controlling her; and as she openly threatened, before all the keepers, to tear every rag of clothing off his body if he dared lay his hand upon her, he did not venture, to brave her fury. In most of the states, if not in all of them, certainly in all the free states, there is no such thing as keeping a man in prison for life merely for the non-payment of a fine which he has no means to pay. The same spirit of humanity which has abolished the imprisonment of poor debtors at the caprice of their creditors has provided means for discharging, after a short imprisonment, persons held in prison for fines which they have no means of paying. Indeed, what can be more unequal or unjust than to hold a poor man a prisoner for life for an offence which a rich man is allowed to expiate by a small part of his superfluous wealth? But this is one, among many other barbarisms, which the existence of slavery in the District of Columbia, by preventing any systematic revision of the laws, has entailed upon the capital of our model democracy. There was, as I have stated, no means by which Sayres and myself could be discharged from prison except by paying our fines (which was totally out of the question), or by obtaining a presidential pardon, which, for a long time, seemed equally hopeless. There was, indeed, a peculiarity about our case, such as might afford a plausible excuse for not extending to us any relief. Under the law of 1796, the sums imposed upon us as fines were to go one half to the owners of the slaves, and the other half to the District; and it was alleged, that although the President might remit the latter half, he could not the other. That same Mr. Radcliff whom I have already had occasion to mention volunteered his services--for a consideration--to get over this difficulty. In consequence of a handsome fee which he received, he undertook to obtain the consent of the owners of the slaves to our discharge. But, having pocketed the money, he made, so far as I could find, very little progress in the business, not having secured above five or six signers. In answer to my repeated applications, he at length proposed that my wife and youngest daughter should come on to "Washington to do the business which he had undertaken, and for which he had secured a handsome payment in advance. They came on accordingly, and, by personal application, succeeded in obtaining, in all, the signatures of twenty-one out of forty-one, the whole number. The reception which they met with from different parties was very different, showing that there is among slave-holders as much variety of character as among other people. Some signed with alacrity, saying that, as no slaves had been lost, I had been kept in jail too long already. Others required much urging. Others positively refused. Some even added insults. Young Francis Dodge, of Georgetown, would not sign, though my life had depended upon it. One wanted me hung, and another tarred and feathered. One pious church-member, lying on his death-bed, as he supposed, was persuaded to sign; but he afterwards drew back, and nothing could prevail on him to put his name to the paper. Die or live, he wholly refused. But the most curious case occurred at Alexandria, to which place my wife went to obtain the signature of a pious old lady, who had been the claimant of a youngster found among the passengers of the Pearl, and who had been sold, in consequence, for the southern market. The old lady, it appeared, was still the owner of the boy's mother, who acted as one of her domestics, and, if she was willing, the old lady professed her readiness to sign. The black woman was accordingly called in, and the nature of my wife's application stated to her. But, with much positiveness and indignation, she refused to give her consent, declaring that my wife could as well do without her husband as she could do without her boy. So imbruted and stupefied by slavery was this old woman, that she seemed to think the selling her boy away from her a perfectly humane, Christian and proper act, while all her indignation was turned against me, who had merely afforded the boy an opportunity of securing his freedom! I dare say they had persuaded the old woman that I had enticed the boy to run away; whereas, as I have already stated, I had never seen him, nor any other of the passengers, till I found them on board. As only twenty-one signers could be obtained, the matter stood very much as it did before the attempt was made. So long as President Fillmore remained a candidate for reëlection there was little ground to expect from him a favorable consideration of my case. I therefore felt sincerely thankful to the Whig convention when they passed by Mr. Fillmore, and gave the nomination to General Scott. Mr. Fillmore being thus placed in a position which enabled him to listen to the dictates of reason, justice and humanity, my hopes, and those of my friends, were greatly raised. Mr. Sumner, the Free Democratic senator from Massachusetts, had visited me in prison shortly after his arrival at Washington, and had evinced from the beginning a sincere and active sympathy for me. Some complaints were made against him in some anti-slavery papers, because he did not present to the senate some petitions in my behalf, which had been forwarded to his care. But Mr. Sumner was of opinion, and I entirely agreed with him, that if the object was to obtain my discharge from prison, that object was to be accomplished, not by agitating the matter in the senate, but by private appeals to the equity and the conscience of the President; nor did he think, nor I either, that my interests ought to be sacrificed for the opportunity to make an anti-slavery speech. There is reason in everything; and I thought, and he thought too, that I had been made enough of a martyr of already. The case having been brought to the notice of the President, he, being no longer a candidate for reëlection, could not fail to recognize the claim of Sayres and myself to a discharge. We had already been kept in jail upwards of four years, for an offence which the laws had intended to punish by a trifling pecuniary fine Nor was this all. The earlier part of our confinement had been exceedingly rigorous, and it had only been by the untiring efforts of our friends, and at a great expense to them, that we had been saved from falling victims to the conspiracy, between the District Attorney and Judge Crawford, to send us to the penitentiary. Although my able and indefatigable counsel, Mr. Mann, whose arduous labors and efforts in my behalf I shall never forget, and still less his friendly counsels and kind personal attentions, had received nothing, except, I believe, the partial reimbursement of his travelling expenses, and although there was much other service gratuitously rendered in our cases, yet it had been necessary to pay pretty roundly for the services of Mr. Carlisle; and, altogether, the expenditures which had been incurred to shield us from the effects of the conspiracy above mentioned far exceeded any amount of fine which might have been reasonably imposed under the indictments upon which we had been found guilty. Was not the enormous sum which Judge Crawford sentenced us to pay a gross violation of the provision in the constitution of the United States against excessive fines? Any fine utterly beyond a man's ability to pay, and which operates to keep him a prisoner for life, must be excessive, or else that word has no meaning. But, though our case was a strong one, there still remained a serious obstacle in the way, in the idea that, because half the fines was to go to the owners of the slaves, the President could not remit that half. Here was a point upon which Mr. Sumner was able to assist us much more effectually than by making speeches in the senate. It was a point, too, involved in a good deal of difficulty; for there were some English cases which denied the power of pardon under such circumstances. Mr. Sumner found, however, by a laborious examination of the American cases, that a different view had been taken in this country; and he drew up and submitted to the President an elaborate legal opinion, in which the right of the executive to pardon us was very clearly made out. This opinion the President referred to the Attorney General. A considerable time elapsed before he found leisure to examine it; but at last it obtained his sanction, also. Information at length reached us--the matter having been pending for two months or more--that the President had signed our pardon. It had yet, however, to pass through the office of the Secretary for the Interior, and meanwhile we were not by any means free from anxiety. The reader will perhaps recollect that among the other things which the District Attorney had held over our heads had been the threat to surrender us up to the authorities of Virginia, on a requisition which it was alleged they had made for us. The story of this requisition had been repeated from time to time, and a circumstance now occurred which, in seeming to threaten us with something of the sort, served to revive all our apprehensions. Mr. Stuart, the Secretary of the Interior, through whose office the pardon was to pass, sent word to the marshal that such a pardon had been signed, and, at the same time, requested him, if it came that day into his hands, not to act upon it till the next. As this Stuart was a Virginian, out apprehensions were naturally excited of some movement from that quarter. The pardon arrived about five o'clock that afternoon; and immediately upon receiving it the marshal told us that he had no longer any hold upon us,--that we were free men, and at liberty to go where we chose. As we were preparing to leave the jail, I observed that a gentleman, a friend of the marshal, whom I had often seen there, and who had always treated me with great courtesy, hardly returned my good-day, and looked at me as black as a thunder-cloud. Afterwards, upon inquiring of the jailer what the reason could be, I learned that this gentleman, who was a good deal of a politician, was greatly alarmed and disturbed lest the act of the President in having pardoned us should result in the defeat of the Whig party--and, though willing enough that we should be released, he did not like to have it done at the expense of his party, and his own hopes of obtaining some good office. The Whigs were defeated, sure enough; but whether because we were pardoned--though the idea is sufficiently nattering to my vanity--is more than I shall venture to decide. The black prisoners in the jail, having nothing to hope or fear from the rise or fall of parties, yielded freely to their friendly feelings, and greeted our departure with three cheers. We left the jail as privately as possible, and proceeded in a carriage to the house of a gentleman of the District, where we were entertained at supper. Our imprisonment had lasted four years and four months, lacking seven days. We did not feel safe, however, with that Virginia requisition hanging over our heads, so long as we remained in the District, or anywhere on slave-holding ground; and, by the liberality of our friends, a hack was procured for us, to carry us, that same night, to Baltimore, there, the next morning, to take the cars for Philadelphia. The night proved one of the darkest and stormiest which it had ever been my fate to encounter,--and I have seen some bad weather in my time. The rain fell in torrents, and the road was only now and then visible by the flashes of the lightning. But our trusty driver persevered, and, in spite of all obstacles, brought us to Baltimore by the early dawn. Sayres proceeded by the direct route to Philadelphia. Having still some apprehensions of pursuit and a requisition, I took the route by Harrisburg. Great was the satisfaction which I felt as the cars crossed the line from Maryland into Pennsylvania. It was like escaping out of Algiers into a free and Christian country. I shall leave it to the reader to imagine the meeting between myself and my family. They had received notice of my coming, and were all waiting to receive me. If a man wishes to realize the agony which our American slave-trade inflicts in the separation of families, let him personally feel that separation, as I did; let him pass four years in the Washington jail. When committed to the prison, I was by no means well. I had been a good deal out of health, as appeared from the evidence on the trial, for two or three years before. Close confinement, or, indeed, confinement of any sort, does not agree with persons of my temperament; and I came out of the prison a good deal older, and much more of an invalid, than when I entered it. The reader, perhaps, will inquire what good was gained by all these sufferings of myself and my family--what satisfaction I can have, as it did not succeed, in looking back to an enterprise attended with so much risk, and which involved me in so long and tedious an imprisonment? The satisfaction that I have is this: What I did, and what I attempted to do, was my protest,--a protest which resounded from one end of the Union to the other, and which, I hope, by the dissemination of this, my narrative, to renew and repeat it,--it was my protest against the infamous and atrocious doctrine that there can be any such thing as property in man! We can only do according to our power, and the capacity, gifts and talents, that we have. Others, more fortunate than I, may record their protest against this wicked doctrine more safely and comfortably for themselves than I did. They may embody it in burning words and eloquent speeches; they may write it out in books; they may preach it in sermons. I could not do that. I have as many thoughts as another, but, for want of education, I lack the power to express them in speech or writing. I have not been able to put even this short narrative on paper without obtaining the assistance of a friend. I could not talk, I could not write; but I could act. The humblest, the most uneducated man can do that. I did act; and, by my actions, I protested that I did not believe that there was, or could be, any such thing as a right of property in human beings. Nobody in this country will admit, for a moment, that there can be any such thing as property in a white man. The institution of slavery could not last for a day, if the slaves were all white. But I do not see that because their complexions are different they are any the less men on that account. The doctrine I hold to, and which I desired to preach in a practical way, is the doctrine of Jefferson and Madison, that there cannot be property in man,--no, not even in black men. And the rage exerted against me on the part of the slave-holders grew entirely out of my preaching that doctrine. Actions, as everybody knows, speak louder than words. By virtue of my actions proclaiming my opinion on that subject, I became at once, powerless as I otherwise was, elevated, in the minds of the slave-holders, to the same high level with Mr. Giddings and Mr. Hale, who they could not help believing must have been my secret confederates. If I had believed, as the slave-holders do, that men can be owned; if I had really attempted, as they falsely and meanly charged me with doing, to steal; had I actually sought to appropriate men as property to my own use; had that been all, does anybody imagine that I should ever have been pursued with such persevering enmity and personal virulence? Do they get up a debate in Congress, and a riot in the city of Washington, every time a theft is committed or attempted in the District? It was purely because I was not a thief; because, in helping men, women and children, claimed as chattels, to escape, I bore my testimony against robbing human beings of their liberty; this was the very thing that excited the slave-holders against me, just as a strong anti-slavery speech excites them against Mr. Hale, or Mr. Giddings, or Mr. Mann, or Mr. Stunner. Those gentlemen have words at command; they can speak, and can do good service by doing so. As for me, it was impossible that I should ever be able to make myself heard in Congress, or by the nation at large, except in the way of action. The opportunity occurring, I did not hesitate to improve it; nor have I ever yet seen occasion to regret having done so. 
31096	----	[Illustration: A Meeting In Mid Ocean.] The LILY AND THE CROSS. A Tale of Acadia. By PROF. JAMES DE MILLE, Author Of "the Dodge Club," "Cord And Creese," "the B. O. W. C. Stories," "the Young Dodge Club," Etc ILLUSTRATED. BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874, By LEE AND SHEPARD, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A Voice Out Of The Deep CHAPTER II. A Meeting In Mid Ocean CHAPTER III. New Friends CHAPTER IV. Mimi And Margot CHAPTER V. A Strange Revelation CHAPTER VI. A French Frigate CHAPTER VII. Caught In A Trap CHAPTER VIII. Under Arrest CHAPTER IX. Grand Pre CHAPTER X. Alone In The World CHAPTER XI. A Friend In Need CHAPTER XII. The Parson Among The Philistines CHAPTER XIII. A Stroke For Liberty CHAPTER XIV. Manoeuvres Of Zac CHAPTER XV. Flight CHAPTER XVI. Reunion CHAPTER XVII. Among Friends CHAPTER XVIII. Louisbourg CHAPTER XIX. The Captive And The Captors CHAPTER XX. Examinations CHAPTER XXI. A Ray Of Light CHAPTER XXII. Escape CHAPTER XXIII. Pursuit CHAPTER XXIV. Zac And Margot CHAPTER XXV. The Court Martial CHAPTER XXVI. News From Home THE LILY AND THE CROSS. A TALE OF ACADIA. CHAPTER I. A VOICE OUT OF THE DEEP. Once upon a time there was a schooner belonging to Boston which was registered under the somewhat singular name of the "Rev. Amos Adams." This was her formal title, used on state occasions, and was, no doubt, quite as appropriate as the more pretentious one of the "Duke of Marlborough," or the "Lord Warden." As a general thing, however, people designated her in a less formal manner, using the simpler and shorter title of the "Parson." Her owner and commander was a tall, lean, sinewy young man, whoso Sunday-go-to-meeting name was Zion Awake Cox, but who was usually referred to by an ingenious combination of the initials of these three names, and thus became Zac, and occasionally Zachariah. This was the schooner which, on a fine May morning, might have been seen "bounding over the billows" on her way to the North Pole. About her motion on the present occasion, it must be confessed there was not much bounding, nor much billow. Nor, again, would it have been easy for any one to see her, even if he had been brought close to her; for the simple reason that the "Parson," as she went on her way, carrying Zac and his fortunes, had become involved in a fog bank, in the midst of which she now lay, with little or no wind to help her out of it. Zac was not alone on board, nor had the present voyage been undertaken on his own account, or of his own motion. There were two passengers, one of whom had engaged the schooner for his own purposes. This one was a young fellow who called himself Claude Motier, of Randolph. His name, as well as his face, had a foreign character; yet he spoke English with the accent of an Englishman, and had been brought up in Massachusetts, near Boston, where he and Zac had seen very much of one another, on sea and on shore. The other passenger was a Roman Catholic priest, whose look and accent proclaimed him to be a Frenchman. He seemed about fifty years of age, and his bronzed faced, grizzled hair, and deeply-wrinkled brow, all showed the man of action rather than the recluse. Between these two passengers there was the widest possible difference. The one was almost a boy, the other a world-worn old man; the one full of life and vivacity, the other sombre and abstracted; yet between the two there was, however, a mysterious resemblance, which possibly may have been something more than that air of France, which they both had. Whatever it may have been, they had been strangers to one another until the past few days, for Claude Motier had not seen the priest until after he had chartered the schooner for a voyage to Louisbourg. The priest had then come, asking for a passage to that port. He gave his name as the Abbé Michel, and addressed Claude in such bad English that the young man answered in French of the best sort, whereat the good priest seemed much delighted, and the two afterwards conversed with each other altogether in that language. Besides these three, there were the ship's company dispersed about the vessel. This company were not very extensive, not numbering over three, in addition to Zac. These three all differed in age, in race, and in character. The aged colored man, who was at that moment washing out some tins at the bows, came aboard as cook, with the understanding that he was to be man of all work. He was a slave of Zac's, but, like many domestic slaves in those days, he seemed to regard himself as part of his master's family,--in fact, a sort of respected relative. He rejoiced in the name of Jericho, which was often shortened to Jerry, though the aged African considered the shorter name as a species of familiarity which was only to be tolerated on the part of his master. The second of the ship's company was a short, athletic, rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed, round-faced lad, who was always singing and dancing except when he was whistling. His name was Terry, and his country Ireland. In addition to Jerry and Terry, there was a third. He was a short, dull, and somewhat doleful looking boy of about twelve, who had a crushed expression, and seemed to take gloomy views of life. The only name by which he was known to himself and others was Biler; but whether that was a Christian name, or a surname, or a nickname, cannot be said. Biler's chief trouble in life was an inordinate and insatiable appetite. Nothing came amiss, and nothing was ever refused. Zac had picked the boy up three years before, and since that time he had never known him to be satisfied. At the present moment, Terry was standing at the tiller, while Biler was at the masthead, to which he had climbed to get rid of the disappointments of the world below, in a more elevated sphere, and from his lofty perch he was gazing with a hungry eye forth into space, and from time to time pulling bits of dried codfish from his pocket, and thrusting them into his mouth. "Hy da!" suddenly shouted the aged Jericho, looking up. "You da, Biler? You jis come down heah an' help me fotch along dese yar tings. Ef you ain't got notin' to do, Ise precious soon find you lots ob tings. Hurry down, da; make haste; relse I'll pitch some hot water up at you. I can't be boddered wid dese yer pots an' pans any longer, cos Ise got de dinna to meditate 'bout." With these words Jericho stood up, regarding Biler with an appearance of grave dignity, which would have overawed even a less solemn lad than this. Biler did not refuse obedience, but thrusting a few fragments of dried codfish into his mouth, heaved a sigh, gave another dejected look at surrounding space, and then slowly and mournfully descended to the lower world. The priest was seated on a water-cask, reading his Breviary, while Zac stood not far off, looking thoughtfully over the vessel's side. Terry was at the tiller, not because there was any steering to be done, but because he thought it would be as well for every one to be at his post in the event of a change of wind. He had whistled "St. Patrick's Day in the Morning," and was about beginning another interminable strain of the same kind. Claude was lounging about, and gradually drew nearer to the meditative Zac, whom he accosted. "Well, we don't appear to be making much progress--do we?" said he. Zac slowly shook his head. "No," said he; "I must say, I don't like this here one mite. 'Tain't quite right. Seems kin' o' unlucky." "Unlucky? How?" "Wal, fust and foremost, ef it hadn't been you, you'd never a' got me to pint the Parson's nose for that French hole, Louisbourg." "Why not?" asked Claude, in some surprise; "you don't suppose that there's any danger--do you?" "Wal, it's a risky business--no doubt o' that thar. You see, my 'pinion is this, that Moosoo's my nat'ral born enemy, an' so I don't like to put myself into his power." "O, there's no danger," said Claude, cheerily. "There's peace now, you know--as yet." Zac shook his head. "No," said he, "that ain't so. There ain't never real peace out here. There's on'y a kin' o' partial peace in the old country. Out here, we fight, an' we've got to go on fightin', till one or the other goes down. An' as to peace, 'tain't goin' to last long, even in the old country, 'cordin' to all accounts. There's fightin' already off in Germany, or somewhars, they say." "But you know," said Claude, "you thought you could manage this for me somehow. You said you could put me ashore somewhere without trusting yourself in Louisbourg harbor--some bay or other--wasn't it? I forget what the name is. There's no trouble about that now--is there?" "Wal, not more'n thar was afore," said Zac, slowly; "on'y it seems more resky to me here, jest now, settin' here this way, inactive like; p'aps it's the fog that's had a kin' o' depressin' effect on my sperrits; it's often so. Or mebbe it's the effect of the continooal hearin' of that darned frog-eatin' French lingo that you go on a jabberin' with the priest thar. I never could abide it, nor my fathers afore me; an' how ever you--you, a good Protestant, an' a Massachusetts boy, an' a loyal subject of his most gracious majesty, King George--can go on that way, jabberin' all day long with that thar priest in that darned outlandish lingo,--wal, it beats me,--it doos clar." At this Claude burst into a merry laugh. "Well, by George," he cried, "if this ain't the greatest case of patriotic prejudice! What's the matter with the French language? It's better than English to talk with. Besides, even if it wern't, the French can't help their language. If it were yours, you'd like it, you know. And then I hope you're not beginning to take a prejudice against the good Père Michel. He's as fine a fellow as ever lived, by George!" "O, mind you, now, I wan't intendin' to say anythin' agin him," said Zac. "I like him, an' can't help it, he's so gentle, an' meek, an' has sech a look out of his eyes. Blamed if I don't sometimes feel jest as though he's my father. O, no, I ain't got anythin' agin' him. Far from it. But it's the idee. For here, you see--this is the way it is; here aboard the Parson I see a Roman Catholic priest; I hear two people jabber French all day long. It makes me feel jest for all the world as though I'd got somehow into the hands of the Philistines. It seems like bein' a captive. It kin' o' seems a sort o' bad lookout; a kin' o' sort o' sign, you know, of what's a goin' to happen afore I git back agin." At this, which was spoken with much earnestness, and with a very solemn face, Claude gave another laugh. "O, that's all nonsense," said he, gayly. "Why, you don't really think, now, that you're going to get into trouble through me--do you? And then as to Père Michel, why, I feel as much confidence in him as I do in myself. So come, don't get into this low state of mind, but pluck up your spirits. Never mind the fog, or the French language. They oughtn't to have such an effect on a fellow of your size and general build. You'll put us ashore at that bay you spoke of, and then go home all right. That's the way of it. As to the land, you can't have any danger from that quarter; and as to the sea, why, you yourself said that the French cruiser was never built that could catch you." "Wal," said Zac, "that's a fac', an' no mistake. Give me any kin' of wind, an' thar ain't a Moosoo afloat that can come anywhar nigh the Parson. Still, jest now, in this here fog,--an' in the calm, too,--if a Moosoo was to come along, why, I railly don't--quite--know--what--I could--railly do." "The fog! O, in the fog you'll be all right enough, you know," said Claude. "O, but that's the very thing I don't know," said Zac. "That thar pint's the very identical pint that I don't feel at all clear about, an' would like to have settled." Claude said nothing for a few moments. He now began to notice in the face, the tone, and the manner of Zac something very different from usual--a certain uneasiness approaching to anxiety, which seemed to be founded on something which he had not yet disclosed. "What do you mean?" he asked, rather gravely, suddenly dropping his air of light banter. Zac drew a long breath. "Wal," said he, "this here fog makes it very easy for a Moosoo to haul up alongside all of a suddent, an' ax you for your papers. An' what's more," he continued, dropping his voice to a lower tone, and stooping, to bring his mouth nearer to Claude's ear, "what's more, I don't know but what, at this very moment, there's a Moosoo railly an' truly a little mite nearer to us than I altogether keer for to hev him." "What!" exclaimed Claude, with a start; "do you really think so? What! near us, here in this fog?" "Railly an' truly," said Zac, solemnly, "that's my identical meanin'--jest it, exactly; an' 'tain't overly pleasant, no how. See here;" and Zac dropped his voice to still lower tones, and drew still nearer to Claude, as he continued--"see here, now; I'll tell you what happened jest now. As I was a standin' here, jest afore you come up, I thought I heerd voices out thar on the starboard quarter --voices--" "Voices!" said Claude. "O, nonsense! Voices! How can there be voices out there? It must have been the water." "Wal," continued Zac, still speaking in a low tone, "that's the very thing I thought when I fust heerd 'em; I thought, too, it must be the water. But, if you jest take the trouble to examine, you'll find that thur ain't enough motion in the water to make any sound at all. 'Tain't as if thar was a puffin' of the wind an a dashin' of the waves. Thar ain't no wind an' no waves, unfort'nat'ly; so it seems beyond a doubt that it must either be actooal voices, or else somethin' supernat'ral. An' for my part I'd give somethin' for the wind to rise jest a leetle mite, so's I could step off out o' this, an' git out o' hearin', at least." At this Claude was again silent for some time, thinking to himself whether the possibility of a French ship being near was to be wished or dreaded. Much was to be said on both sides. To himself it would, perhaps, be desirable; yet not so to Zac, although he tried to reassure the dejected skipper by telling him that if a French vessel should really be so near, it would be all the better, since his voyage would thereby be made all the shorter, for he himself could go aboard, and the Parson might return to Boston. But Zac refused to be so easily comforted. "No," said he; "once I git into their clutches, they'll never let me go; and as for the poor old Parson, why, they'll go an' turn her into a Papist priest. And that," he added, with a deep sigh, "would be too--almighty--bad!" Claude now found that Zac was in too despondent a mood to listen to what he called reason, and therefore he held his tongue. The idea that a French ship might be somewhere near, behind that wall of fog, had in it something which to him was not unpleasant, since it afforded some variety to the monotony of his situation. He stood, therefore, in silence, with his face turned towards the direction indicated by Zac, and listened intently, while the skipper stood in silence by his side, listening also. There was no wind whatever. The water was quite smooth, and the Parson rose and fell at the slow undulations of the long ocean rollers, while at every motion the spars creaked and the sails flapped idly. All around there arose a gray wall of fog, deep, dense, and fixed, which shut them in on every side, while overhead the sky itself was concealed from view by the same dull-gray canopy. Behind that wall of fog anything might lie concealed; the whole French fleet might be there, without those on board the Parson being anything the wiser. This Claude felt, and as he thought of the possibility of this, he began to see that Zac's anxiety was very well founded, and that if the Parson should be captured it would be no easy task to deliver her from the grasp of the captor. Still there came no further sounds, and Claude, after listening for a long time without hearing anything, began, at length, to conclude that Zac had been deceived. "Don't you think," he asked, "that it may, after all, have been the rustle of the sails, or the creaking of the spars?" Zac shook his head. "No," said he; "I've heerd it twice; an' I know very well all the sounds that sails an' spars can make; an' I don't see as how I can be mistook. O, no; it was human voice, an' nothin' else in natur'. I wouldn't mind it a mite if I could do anythin'. But to set here an' jest git caught, like a rat in a trap, is what I call too--almighty--bad!" At this very instant, and while Zac was yet speaking, there came through the fog the sound of a voice. Claude heard it, and Zac also. The latter grasped the arm of his friend, and held his breath. It was a human voice. There was not the slightest doubt now of that. Words had been spoken, but they were unintelligible. They listened still. There was silence for a few moments, and then the silence was broken once more. Words were again heard. They were French, and they heard them this time with perfect distinctness. They were these:-- "_Put her head a little over this way_." CHAPTER II. A MEETING IN MID OCEAN. _Put her head a little over this way_! They were French words. To Claude, of course, they were perfectly intelligible, though not so to Zac, who did not understand any language but his mother Yankee. Judging by the distinctness and the loudness of the sound, the speaker could not be very far away. The voice seemed to come from the water astern. No sight, however, was visible; and the two, as they stared into the fog, saw nothing whatever. Nor did any of the others on board seem to have heard the voice. The priest was still intent on his Breviary. Terry was still whistling his abominable tune. Jericho was below with his pots and pans; and Biler, taking advantage of his absence, was seated on the taffrail devouring a raw turnip, which he chewed with a melancholy air. To none of these had the voice been audible, and therefore Claude and Zac alone were confronted with this mystery of the deep. But it was a mystery which they could not fathom; for the fog was all around, hiding everything from view, and the more they peered into the gloom the less were they able to understand it. Neither of them spoke for some time. Zac had not understood the words, but was more puzzled about the fact of a speaker being so near on the water, behind the fog, than he was about the meaning of the words which had been spoken. That seemed to be quite a secondary consideration. And it was not until he had exhausted his resources in trying to imagine what or where the one might be, that, he thought of asking about the other. "What did it mean?" he asked, at length. Claude told him. Zac said nothing for some time. "I wonder whether they've seen us," said he, at length. "No--'tain't possible. The fog's too thick--and we're as invisible to them as they are to us. Besides, these words show that they ain't thinkin' about anybody but themselves. Well, all we've got to do is to keep as still as a mouse, an' I'll jest go an' warn the boys." With these words Zac moved softly away to warn his crew. First he went to Terry, and informed him that the whole fleet of France was around the Parson, and that their only chance of safety was to keep silent--a piece of information which effectually stopped Terry's singing and whistling for some time; then he told Biler, in a friendly way, that if he spoke above a whisper, or made any noise, he'd pitch him overboard with an anchor tied to his neck. Then he warned Jericho. As for Père Michel, he felt that warning was unnecessary, for the priest was too absorbed in his book to be conscious of the external world. After this, he came back to Claude, who had been listening ever since he left, but without hearing anything more. "We must have drifted nearer together," said Zac. "The voice was a good deal louder than when I fust heerd it. My only hope is, that they'll drift past us, an' we'll git further away from them. But I wonder what they meant by bringin' her head around. P'aps they've seen us, after all--an' then, again, p'aps they haven't." He said this in a whisper, and Clause answered in another whisper. "It seems to me," said Claude, "that if they'd seen us, they'd have said something more--or at any rate, they'd have made more noise. But as it is, they've been perfectly silent." "Wal--I on'y hope we won't hear anythin' more of them." For more than two hours silence was observed on board the Parson. Terry stopped all whistling, and occupied himself with scratching his bullet head. The priest sat motionless, reading his book. Jericho drew the unhappy Biler down below for safe keeping, and detained him there a melancholy prisoner. Claude and Zac stood listening, but nothing more was heard. To Claude there seemed something weird and ghostly in this incident--a voice thus sounding suddenly forth out of nothingness, and then dying away into the silence from which it had emerged: there was that in it which made him feel a sensation of involuntary awe; and the longer the silence continued, the more did this incident surround itself with a certain supernatural element, until, at length, he began to fancy that his senses might have deceived him. Yet he knew this had not been the case. Zac had heard the voice as well as he, and the words to him had been perfectly plain. _Put her head a little over this way_! Singular words, too, they seemed to be, as he turned them over in his mind. Under other circumstances they might have been regarded as perfectly commonplace, but now the surroundings gave them the possibility of a varied interpretation. Who was the "her"? What was meant? Was it a ship or a woman? What could the meaning be? Or, again, might not this have been some supernatural voice speaking to them from the Unseen, and conveying to them some sentence either of good or evil omen, giving them some direction, perhaps, about the course of the schooner in which he was? Not that Claude was what is called a superstitious man. From ordinary superstition he was, indeed, quite as free as any man of his age or epoch; not was he even influenced by any of the common superstitious fancies then prevalent. But still there is a natural belief in the unseen which prevails among all men, and Claude's fancy was busy, being stimulated by this incident, so that, as he endeavored to account for it, he was as easily drawn towards a supernatural theory as to a natural one. Hundreds of miles from land, on the broad ocean, a voice had sounded from behind the impenetrable cloud, and it was scarcely to be wondered at that he considered it something unearthly. Under other circumstances Zac might also have yielded to superstitious fancies; but as it was, his mind had been too completely filled with the one absorbing idea of the French fleet to find room for any other thought. It was not an unsubstantial ghost which Zac dreaded, but the too substantial form of some frigate looming through the fog, and firing a gun to bring him on board. Every additional moment of silence gave him a feeling of relief, for he felt that these moments, as they passed, drew him away farther from the danger that had been so near. At length a new turn came to the current of affairs. A puff of wind suddenly filled the sails, and at its first breath Zac started up with a low chuckle. "I'd give ten guineas," said he, "for one good hooray--I would, by George! But bein' as it is, I'll postpone that till I haul off a few miles from this." "Why, what's the matter?" said Claude, rousing himself out of abstraction. "Matter?" repeated Zac. "Why, the wind's hauled round to the nor'west, and the fog's goin' to lift, an' the Parson's goin' to show her heels." With these words, Zac hurried to the tiller, which he took from the smiling Terry, and began to being the vessel around to run her before the wind. "Don't care a darn whar I go jest now," said he, "so's I on'y put a mile or two between us and the Frenchman. Arter that we can shape our course satisfactory." And now the wind, which had thus turned, blew more steadily till it became a sustained breeze of sufficient strength to carry the schooner, with very satisfactory speed, out of the unpleasant proximity to the Frenchman. And as it blew, the clouds lessened, and the circle of fog which had surrounded them was every moment removed to a greater distance, while the view over the water grew wider and clearer. All this was inexpressibly delightful to Zac, who, as it were, with one bound passed from the depths of despondency up to joyousness and hope. But suddenly a sight appeared which filled him with amazement, a sight which attracted all his thoughts, and in an instant changed all his feelings and plans. It was a sight which had become revealed on the dispersion of the fog, showing itself to their wondering eyes out there upon the sea astern, in the place where they had been looking for that French cruiser, which Zac had feared. No French cruiser was it that they saw, no ship of war with a hostile flag and hostile arms, no sight of fear; but a sight full of infinite pathos and sadness--a pitiable, a melancholy sight. It was about half a mile behind them, for that was about the distance which they had traversed since the wind had changed and the schooner's direction had been altered. It seemed at first like a black spot on the water, such as a projection rock or a floating spar; but as the fog faded away the object became more perceptible. Then they could see human figures, some of whom were erect, and others lying down. They were on what seemed to be a sort of raft, and the whole attitude of the little group showed most plainly that they had suffered shipwreck, and were here now floating about helplessly, and at the mercy of the tide, far out at sea. Moreover, these had already seen the schooner, for they were waving their arms and gesticulating wildly. One glance was enough for both Zac and Claude, and then the exclamation which they gave drew there the attention of all the others. The priest looked up, and putting his book back in his pocket, walked towards them, while Terry gave one swift look, and then disappeared below. "Quick wid ye," he called to Jericho; "put on a couple of barls o' taters to bile. There's a shipwrecked raft afloat out there beyant, an' they're all dyin' or dead av starvation, so they are." "O, you jes go long wid yer nonsensical tomfoolery," said Jericho. "Tomfoolery, is it? Go up, thin, an' luk for yerself," cried Terry, who bounded up on deck again, and began to prepare for action. At this Jericho put on his nose an enormous pair of spectacles, and thus equipped climbed upon deck, followed closely by the melancholy Biler, who devoured a carrot as he went up. By this time Zac had brought the Parson's head round once more, and steered for the raft, calling out to Terry to get the boat afloat. Terry and Jerry then went to work, assisted by Biler, and soon the boat was in the water. "Ef I hadn't ben sich a darned donkey," said Zac, in a tone of vexation, "I might have got at 'em before an' saved them all these hours of extra starvation. Ef I'd only yelled back when I fust heerd the voice! Who knows but that some of 'em hev died in the time that's ben lost?" "Can't we run alongside without the boat?" asked Claude. "Wal, yes," said Zac; "but then, you know, we couldn't stay alongside when we got that, an' so we've got to take 'em off with the boat the best way we can." They were not long in retracing their way, and soon came near enough. Zac then gave up the tiller to Terry, telling him to keep as near as possible. He then got into the boat, and Claude followed, by Zac's invitation, as well as his own urgent request. Each took an oar, and after a few strokes, they were up to the raft. The raft was on a level with the water and was barely able to sustain the weight of those who had found refuge on it. It seemed like the poop or round house of some ship which had been beaten off by the fury of the waves, and had afterwards been resorted to by those who now clung to it. The occupants of the raft were, indeed, a melancholy group. They were seven in number. Of these, two were common seamen; a third looked like a ship's officer, and wore the uniform of a second lieutenant; the fourth was a gentleman, who seemed about forty years of age. These four were standing, and as the boat approached them they gave utterance to every possible cry of joy and gratitude. But it was the other three occupants of the raft that most excited the attention of Claude and Zac. An old man was seated there, with thin, emaciated frame, and snow-white hair. He was holding in his arms a young girl, while beside her knelt another young girl who seemed like the attendant of the first, and both the old man and the maid were most solicitous in their attentions. The object of these attentions was exquisitely beautiful. Her slender frame seemed to have been worn by long privation, and weakened by famine and exposure. Her face was pale and wan, but still showed the rounded outlines of youth. Her hair was all dishevelled, as though it had been long the sport of the rude tempest and the ocean billow, and hung in disordered masses over her head and shoulders. Her dress, though saturated with wet from the sea and the fog, was of rich material, and showed her to belong to lofty rank; while the costume of the old man indicated the same high social position. The young lady was not senseless, but only weak, perhaps from sudden excitement. As she reclined in the old man's arms, her eyes were fixed upon the open boat; and Claude, as he turned to grasp the raft, caught her full gaze fixed upon him, with a glance from her large dark eyes that thrilled through him, full of unutterable gratitude. Her lips moved, not a word escaped, but tears more eloquent than words rolled slowly down. Such was the sight that greeted Claude as he stepped from the boat upon the raft. In an instant he was caught in the embraces of the men, who, frenzied with joy at the approach of deliverance, flung themselves upon him. But Claude had no eyes for any one but the lovely young girl, whose gaze of speechless gratitude was never removed from him. "Messieurs," said Claude, who knew them to be French, and addressed them in their own language, "you shall all be saved; but we cannot all go at once; we must save the weakest first; and will, therefore, take these now, and come back for you afterwards." Saying this, he stooped down so to raise the young lady in his arms, and carry her aboard. The old man held her up, uttering inarticulate murmurs, that sounded like blessings on their deliverer. Claude lifted the girl as though she had been a child, and stepped towards the boat. Zac was already on the raft, and held the boat, while Claude stepped aboard. The old man then tried to rise and follow, assisted by the maid, but, after one or two efforts, sank back, incapable of keeping his feet. Upon this Zac flung the rope to the French lieutenant, and walked over to the old man. Claude now had returned, having left the girl in the stern of the boat. "Look here," said Zac, as he came up; "the old gentleman can't walk. You'd best carry him aboard, and I'll carry the gal." With these words Zac turned towards the maid; she looked up at him with a shy glance and showed such a pretty face, such black eyes and smiling lips, that Zac for a moment hesitated, feeling quite paralyzed by an overflow of bashfulness. But it was not a time to stand on ceremony; and so honest Zac, without more ado, seized the girl in his arms, and bore her to the boat, where he deposited her carefully by the side of the other. Claude now followed, carrying the old man, whom he placed beside the young lady, so that he and the maid could support her as before. There was yet room for one more, and the gentleman still on the raft came forward at Claude's invitation, and took his place in the bows. The rest waited on the raft. The boat then returned to the schooner, which now had come very close. Here Claude lifted the lady high in the air, and Père Michel took her from his arms. Claude then got on board the schooner, and took her to the cabin, where he laid her on a couch. Zac then lifted up the maid, who was helped on board by Père Michel, where Claude met her, and took her to the cabin. Zac then lifted up the old man, and Père Michel stood ready to receive him also. And now a singular incident occurred. As Zac raised the old man, Père Michel caught sight of the face, and regarded it distinctly. The old man's eyes were half closed, and he took no notice of anything; but there was something in that face which produced a profound impression on Père Michel. He stood rigid, as though rooted to the spot, looking at the old man with a fixed stare. Then his arms sank down, his head also fell forward, and turning abruptly away, he walked forward to the bows. Upon this Jericho came forward; and he it was who lifted the old man on board and assisted him to the cabin. After this, the other gentleman got on board, and then the boat returned and took off the other occupants of the raft. CHAPTER III. NEW FRIENDS. Every arrangement was made that could be made within the confines of a small schooner to secure the comfort of the strangers. To the young lady and her maid Claude gave up the state-room which he himself had thus far occupied, and which was the best on board, while Zac gave up his to the old man. The others were all comfortably disposed of, and Zac and Claude stowed themselves away as best they could feeling indifferent about themselves as long as they could minister to the wants of their guests. Food and sleep were the things that were the most needed by all these new-comers, and these they had in abundance. Under the beneficial effects of these, they began to regain their strength. The seaman rallied first, as was most natural; and from these Claude learned the story of their misfortunes. The lost ship had been the French frigate Arethuse, which had left Brest about a moth previously, on a voyage to Louisbourg and Quebec. The old gentleman was the Comte de Laborde, and the two girls whom they had saved, one was his daughter, and the other her maid. The other gentleman was the Comte de Cazeneau. This last was on his way to Louisbourg, where an important post was awaiting him. About a week before this the Arethuse had encountered a severe gale, accompanied by a dense fog, in which they had lost their reckoning. To add to their miseries, they found themselves surrounded by icebergs, among which navigation was so difficult that the seamen all became demoralized. At length the ship struck one of these floating masses, and instantly began to fill. The desperate efforts of the crew, however, served to keep her afloat for another day, and might have saved her, had it not been for the continuation of the fog. On the following night, in the midst of intense darkness, she once more struck against an iceberg, and this time the consequences were more serious. A huge fragment of ice fell upon the poop, shattering it and sweeping it overboard. In an instant all discipline was at an end. It was _sauve qui peut_. The crew took to the boats. One of these went down with all on board, while the others passed away into the darkness. This little handful had thrown themselves upon the ship's poop, which was floating alongside within reach, just in time to escape being dragged down by the sinking ship; and there, for days and nights, with scarcely any food, and no shelter whatever, they had drifted amid the dense fog, until all hope had died out utterly. Such had been their situation when rescue came. Claude, upon hearing this story, expressed a sympathy which was most sincere; and to the seamen it was all the pleasanter as his accent showed him to be a countryman. But the general sympathy which the young man felt, sincere though it was, could not be compared with that special sympathy which he experienced for the lovely young girl whom he had borne from the raft into the schooner, and whose deep glance of speechless gratitude had never since faded from his memory. She was now aboard, and was occupying his own room. More than this, she had already taken up a position within his mind which was a pre-eminent one. She had driven out every thought of everything else. The highest desire which he had was to see once again that face which had become so vividly impressed upon his memory, and find out what it might be like in less anxious moments. But for this he would have to wait. Meanwhile the schooner had resumed her voyage, in which, however, she made but slow progress. The wind, which had come up so opportunely, died out again; and, though the fog had gone, still for a few days they did little else than drift. After the first day and night the Count de Laborde came upon deck. He was extremely feeble, and had great difficulty in walking; with him were his daughter and her maid. Although her exhaustion and prostration on the raft had, apparently, been even greater than his, yet youth was on her side, and she had been able to rally much more rapidly. She and her maid supported the feeble old count, and anxiously anticipated his wants with the fondest care. Claude had hoped for this appearance, and was not disappointed. He had seen her first as she was emerging from the valley of the shadow of death, with the stamp of sorrow and despair upon her features; but now no trace of despair remained; her face was sweet and joyous beyond expression, with the grace of a child-like innocence and purity. The other passenger, whom the lieutenant of the Arethuse had called the Count de Cazeneau, was also on deck, and, on seeing Laborde and his daughter, he hastened towards them with the utmost fervor of congratulations. The lieutenant also went to pay his respects. The young countess was most gracious, thanking them for their good wishes, and assuring them that she was as well as ever; and then her eyes wandered away, and, after a brief interval, at length rested with a fixed and earnest look full upon Claude. The glance thrilled through him. For a moment he stood as if fixed to the spot; but at length, mastering his emotion, he went towards her. "Here he is, papa, dearest," said she,--"our noble deliverer.--And, O, monsieur, how can we ever find words to thank you?" "Dear monsieur," said the old count, embracing Claude, "Heaven will reward you; our words are useless.--Mimi," he continued, turning to his daughter, "your dream was a true one.--You must know, monsieur, that she dreamed that a young Frenchman came in an open boat to save us. And so it really was." Mimi smiled and blushed. "Ah, papa, dear," she said, "I dreamed because I hoped. I always hoped, but you always desponded. And now it has been better than our hopes.--But, monsieur, may we not know the name of our deliverer?" She held out her little hand as she said this. Claude raised it respectfully to his lips, bowing low as he did so. He then gave his name, but hastened to assure them that he was not their preserver, insisting that Zac had the better claim to that title. To this, however, the others listened with polite incredulity, and Mimi evidently considered it all the mere expression of a young man's modesty. She waved her little hand with a sunny smile. "_Eh bien_," she said, "I see, monsieur, it pains you to have people too grateful; so we will say no more about it. We must satisfy ourselves by remembering and by praying." Here the conversation was interrupted by the interposition of the Count de Cazeneau, who came forward to add his thanks to those of Laborde. He made a little set speech, to which Claude listened with something of chagrin, for he did not like being placed in the position of general savior and preserver, when he knew that Zac deserved quite as much credit for what had been done as he did. This was not unobserved by Mimi, who appreciated his feelings and came to his relief. "M. Motier does not like being praised," said she. "Let us respect his delicacy." But Cazeneau was not to be stopped so easily. He seemed like one who had prepared a speech carefully and with much labor, and was, accordingly, bound to give it all; so Claude was forced to listen to an eloquent and inflated panegyric about himself and his heroism, without being able to offer anything more than an occasional modest disclaimer. And all the time the deep, dark glance of Mimi was fixed on him, as though she would read his soul. If, indeed, he had any skill in reading character, it was easy enough to see in the face of that young man a pure, a lofty, and a generous nature, unsullied by anything mean or low, a guileless and earnest heart, a soul _sans peur et sans reproche_; and it did seem by the expression of her own face as though she had read all this in Claude. Further conversation of a general nature followed, which served to explain the position of all of them with reference to one another. Claude was the virtual master of the schooner, since he had chartered it for his own purposes. To all of them, therefore, he seemed first their savior, and secondly their host and entertainer, to whom they were bound to feel chiefly grateful. Yet none the less did they endeavor to include the honest skipper in their gratitude; and Zac came in for a large share of it. Though he could not understand any of the words which they addressed to him, yet he was easily able to guess what they were driving at, and so he modestly disclaimed it all with the expression,-- "O, sho! sho, now! sho, sho!" They now learned that Claude was on his way to Louisbourg, and that they would thus be able to reach their original destination. They also learned the circumstances of Zac, and his peculiar unwillingness to trust his schooner inside the harbor of Louisbourg. Zac's scruples were respected by them, though they all declared that there was no real danger. They were sufficiently satisfied to be able to reach any point near Louisbourg, and did not seek to press Zac against his will, or to change his opinion upon a point where it was so strongly expressed. No sooner had these new passengers thus unexpectedly appeared, than a very marked change came over Père Michel, which to Claude was quite inexplicable. To him and to Zac the good priest had thus far seemed everything that was most amiable and companionable; but now, ever since the moment when he had turned away at the sight of the face of Laborde, he had grown strangely silent, and reticent, and self-absorbed. Old Laborde had made advances which had been coldly repelled. Cazeneau, also, had tried to draw him out, but without success. To the lieutenant only was he at all inclined to unbend. Yet this strange reserve did not last long, and at length Père Michel regained his old manner, and received the advances of Laborde with sufficient courtesy, while to Mimi he showed that paternal gentleness which had already endeared him to Claude and to Zac. Several days thus passed, during which but little progress was made. The schooner seemed rather to drift than to sail. Whenever a slight breeze would arise, it was sure to be adverse, and was not of long duration. Then a calm would follow, and the schooner would lie idle upon the bosom of the deep. During these days Mimi steadily regained her strength; and the bloom and the sprightliness of youth came back, and the roses began to return to her cheeks, and her wan face resumed its plumpness, and her eyes shone with the light of joyousness. Within the narrow confines of a small schooner, Claude was thrown in her way more frequently than could have been the case under other circumstances; and the situation in which they were placed towards one another connected them more closely, and formed a bond which made an easy way to friendship, and even intimacy. As a matter of course, Claude found her society pleasanter by far than that of any one else on board; while, on the other hand, Mimi did not seem at all averse to his companionship. She seemed desirous to know all about him. "But, monsieur," she said once, in the course of a conversation, "it seems strange to me that you have lived so long among the English here in America." "It is strange," said Claude; "and, to tell the truth, I don't altogether understand myself how it has happened." "Ah, you don't understand yourself how it has happened," repeated Mimi, in a tone of voice that was evidently intended to elicit further confidences. "No," said Claude, who was not at all unwilling to receive her as his confidante. "You see I was taken away from France when I was an infant." "When you were an infant!" said Mimi. "How very, very sad!" and saying this, she turned her eyes, with a look full of deepest commiseration, upon him. "And so, of course, you cannot remember anything at all about France." Claude shook his head. "No, nothing at all," said he. "But I'm on my way there now; and I hope to see it before long. It's the most beautiful country in all the world--isn't it?' "Beautiful!" exclaimed Mimi, throwing up her eyes; "there are no words to describe it. It is heaven! Alas! how can I ever bear to live here in this wild and savage wilderness of America!" "You did not wish to leave France then?" said Claude, who felt touched by this display of feeling. "I!" exclaimed Mimi; "I wish to leave France! Alas, monsieur! it was the very saddest day of all my life. But dear papa had to go, and I do not know why it was. He offered to let me stay; but I could not let him go alone, for he is so old and feeble, and I was willing to endure all for his sake." "What part of France did you live in?" asked Claude. "Versailles." "That is where the court is," said Claude. "Of course," said Mimi, with a smile. "But how funny it seems to hear a Frenchman make such a remark, and in such an uncertain way, as though he did not feel quite sure. Why, monsieur, in France Versailles is everything; Versailles is the king and court. In a word, monsieur, Versailles is France." "I suppose you saw very much of the splendor and magnificence of the court?" said Claude. "I!" said Mimi; "splendor and magnificence! the court! _Ma foi_, monsieur, I did not see any of it at all. In France young girls are kept close-guarded. You have lived among the English, and among them I have heard that young girls can go anywhere and do anything. But for my part I have always lived most secluded--sometimes at school, and afterwards at home." "How strange it is," said Claude, "that your father should leave France, when he is so old and feeble, and take you, too, and come to this wild country!" "O, it is very strange," said Mimi, "and very sad; and I don't know why in the world it was, for he will never tell me. Sometimes I think that something unfortunate has happened, which has made him go into exile this way. But then, if that were so, I don't see why he should remain in French possessions. If his political enemies have driven him away, he would not be safe in French colonies; and so I don't know why in the world he ever left home." "Does he intend to remain at Louisbourg, or go farther?" asked Claude, after a thoughtful pause. "I'm sure I don't know," said Mimi; "but I don't think he has decided yet. It is just as if he was looking for something, and as if he would travel about till he found it; though what it is that he wants I can hardly tell. And such, monsieur, is our mournful position. We may remain at Louisbourg a short time or a long time: it depends upon circumstances. We may go to Quebec, or even to New Orleans." "New Orleans!" exclaimed Claude. "Yes; I heard him hint as much. And he said, also, that if he did go as far as that, he would leave me at Quebec or Louisbourg. But I will never consent to that, and I will go with him wherever he goes." "I should think that such a roving life would make you feel very unhappy." "O, no; I am not unhappy," said Mimi, cheerfully. "I should, indeed, feel unhappy if I were left behind in France, or anywhere else, and if poor papa should go roaming about without any one to care for him. I am not much; but I know that he loves me dearly, and that he is very much happier with me than without me. And that is the reason why I am determined to go with him wherever he goes,--yes, even if he goes among the savages. Besides, while I am with him, he has a certain amount of anxiety about me, and this distracts his thoughts, and prevents him from brooding too much over his own personal troubles. But O, how I envy you, Monsieur Motier, and O, how I should love to be going back to France, if dear papa were only going there too! I shall never be happy again, I know, never, till I am back again in France." CHAPTER IV. MIMI AND MARGOT. While Claude was doing the honors of hospitality to the guests aft, the crew of the Parson was fraternizing with the seamen of the wrecked Arethuse, forward. The first and most important act of friendly intercourse was the work of Jericho, who put forth all his skill in preparing for the half-starved sailors a series of repasts upon which he lavished all his genius, together with the greater part of the stores of the schooner. To these repasts the seamen did ample justice, wasting but little time in unnecessary words, but eating as only those can eat who have been on the borders of starvation. Yet it may be questioned whether their voracity exceeded that of a certain melancholy boy, who waited on the banquet, and whose appetite seemed now even more insatiable in the midst of the abundant supplies which Jericho produced, than it had been in former days, when eatables had been less choice and repasts less frequent. In fact, Biler outdid himself, and completely wore out the patience of the long-suffering Jericho. "You jes look heah, you Biler," he said; "you better mind, for I ain't goin' to stand dese yer goins on no longer. Bar's limits to eberyting--and dese yer 'visiums has got to be 'commonized, an' not to be all gobbled up by one small boy. Tell you what, I got a great mind to put you on a lowns, an' gib you one rore turnip a day, an' ef you can ketch a fish I'll 'gree to cook it. Why, dar ain't de vessel afloat dat can stand dis yer. You eat fifty-nine meals a day, an' more. You nebber do notin' else but eat--morn', noon, an' night." "Arrah, Jerry, let the b'y ate his fill," said Terry: "sure an' a growin' b'y has to ate more'n a grown man, so as to get flesh to grow wid." "Can't do it," said Jerry, "an' won't do it. Didn't mind it so much afore, but now we'se got to 'commonize. Bar's ebber so many more moufs aboard now, an' all on 'em eat like sin. Dis yer calm keeps us out heah in one spot, an' when we're ebber a goin' to get to de end ov de vyge's more'n I can tell. No use frowin' away our val'ble 'visiums on dis yer boy--make him eat soap fat and oakum--good enough for him. No 'casium for him to be eatin' a hundred times more'n all de res ob us. If he wants to eat he'll hab to find his own 'visiums, an' ketch a shark, an' I'll put it in pickle for he own private use." With these words Jericho turned away with deep trouble and perplexity visible on his ebon brow, and Biler, pocketing a few potatoes and turnips, climbed to the mast-head, where he sat gazing in a melancholy way into space. To Terry these new comers were most welcome. At a distance he professed to hate and despise the French; but now that they appeared face to face, his hate was nowhere, and in its place there was nothing but a most earnest desire to form an eternal friendship with the shipwrecked seamen. There was certainly one difficulty in the way which was of no slight character; and that was, that neither of them knew the language of the other. But Terry was not easily daunted, and the very presence of a difficulty was enough to make him feel eager to triumph over it. In his first approaches he made the very common mistake of addressing the French sailors as though they were deaf. Thus he went up to them one after the other, shaking hands with each, and shouting in their ears as loud as he could, "_How do yez do_?" "_Good day_." "_The top av the mornin' to yez_." To which the good-natured Frenchmen responded in a sympathetic way, shaking his hand vigorously,--and grinning and chattering. Terry kept this up for some time; but at length it became somewhat monotonous, and he set his wits to work to try to discover some more satisfactory mode of effecting a communication with them. The next way that he thought of was something like the first, and, like the first, is also frequently resorted to by those who have occasion to speak to foreigners. It was to address them in broken English, or rather in a species of baby talk; for to Terry it seemed no more than natural that this sort of dialect would be more intelligible than the speech of full-grown men. Accordingly, as soon as Terry thought of this, he put it in practice. He began by shaking hands once more, and then said to them, "Me berry glad see you--me sposy you berry hundy. Polly want a cracker. He sall hab penty mate den, so he sall. Did de naughty water boos um den?" But unfortunately this effort proved as much of a failure as the other; so Terry was once more compolled to trust to his wits. Those wits of his, being active, did not fail, indeed, to suggest many ways, and of the best kind, by which he brought himself into communication with his new friends. At the first repast he found this out, and insisted upon passing everything to them with his own hands, accompanying each friendly offer with an affectionate smile, which went straight to the hearts of the forlorn and half-starved guests. This was a language which was every way intelligible, the language of universal humanity, in which the noblest precept is, to be kind to enemies and to feed the hungry. In addition to this, Terry also found out other ways of holding communication with them, the chief of which was by the language of song. Terry's irrepressible tendency to singing thus burst forth in their presence, and after trolling out a few Irish melodies, he succeeded in eliciting from them a sympathetic response in the shape of some lively French songs. The result proved most delightful to all concerned; and thereafter the muse of Ireland and the muse of France kept up a perpetual antiphonal song, which beguiled many a tedious hour. While the various characters on board the schooner were thus entering into communication with one another, Zac endeavored also to scrape an acquaintance with one of the rescued party, who seemed to him to be worth all the rest put together. This was Mimi's maid, Margot, a beautiful little creature, full of life and spirit, and fit companion for such a mistress as hers. The good little Margot was very accessible, and had not failed to pour forth in language not very intelligible her sense of gratitude to Zac. She had not forgotten that it was Zac who had conveyed her in his strong arms from death to life, and therefore persisted in regarding him not only as the preserver of her own self, but as the real and only preserver of all the others. Margot had one advantage which was delightful to Zac; and that was, she could speak a little English. She had once spent a year in England, where she had picked up enough of the language to come and go upon, and this knowledge now proved to be of very great advantage. The calm weather which continued gave Zac many opportunities of drifting away towards Margot, and talking with her, in which talks they gradually grew to be better acquainted. "I am so happy zat I spik Ingelis!" said Margot; "I nevar did sink dat it was evare useful." "An' pooty blamed lucky it's ben for me, too," said Zac, in a joyous tone; "for as I don't know French, like Claude over there, I have to trust to you to keep up the conversation." "I not know mooch Ingelis," said Margot, "for I not understan de mooch of what you say." "O, you'll learn dreadful fast out here," said Zac. "But I not weesh to stay here so long as to learn," said Margot. "Not wish! Sho, now! Why, it's a better country than France." "Than France--better!" cried Margot, lifting her hands and throwing up her eyes in amazement. "France! Monsieur, France is a heaven--mais--dees--dees--is different." "Why, what's the matter with America?" said Zac. "Amérique--eet ees all full of de sauvage--de Indian--de wild men--an' wild beasts--an' desert." "O, you ain't ben to Boston; that's clar," said Zac, mildly. "Jest you wait till you see Boston; that's all." "Boston! I nevare hear of Boston," said Margot, "till you tell me. I do not believe eet it is more magnifique dan Paris." "The most magnificent town in the hull world," said Zac, calmly. "You take the House of Assembly an' Govement House--take King Street and Queen Street, an' I'd like to know whar you'll find a better show any whar on airth." "Sais pas," said Margot; "nevare see Boston. Mais vous--you nevare see Paris--so we are not able to compare." "O, well, it's nat'ral enough for you," said Zac, with magnanimity, "nat'ral enough for you, course, to like your own place best--'twouldn't be nat'ral ef you didn't. All your friends live thar, course. You were born thar, and I s'pose your pa an' ma may be there now, anxiously expectin' to hear from you." Zac put this in an interrogative way, for he wanted to know. But as he said these words, the smiling face of Margot turned sad; she shook her head, and said,-- "No; I have no one, no one!" "What! no relatives!" said Zac, in a voice full of commiseration and tender pity. Margot shook her head. "An' so you've got no father nor mother, an' you're a poor little orphan girl!" said Zac, in a broken voice. Margot shook her head, and looked sadder than over. Tears came to Zac's eyes. He felt as he had never felt before. There was something so inexpressibly touching about this orphan! He took her little hand tenderly in his own great, brown, toil-worn fist, and looked at her very wistfully. For a few moments he said nothing. Margot looked up at him with her great brown eyes, and then looked meekly at the deck. Zac heaved a deep sigh; then he placed his disengaged hand solemnly upon her head. "Wal," said he, gravely, "I'll protect you. Ef anybody ever harms you, you jest come to me. I'll--I'll be--a father to you." Again Margot looked up at him with her great brown eyes. "O, dat's noting," she said. "I don't want you to be my fader. But, all de same, I tink you one very nice man; an' you safe my life; an' I sall not forget--nevare; an' I weesh--. Sall I tell you what I weesh?" "Yes, yes," said Zac, eagerly, with a strange thrill of excitement. Margot threw a quick look around. "Dees Monsieur de Cazeneau," said she, drawing nearer to Zac, and speaking in a low, quick voice, "I 'fraid of heem. Dere is danjaire for my mademoiselle. He is a bad man. He haf a plot--a plan. You moos safe us. Dees Monsieur Motier is no good. You haf safe us from death; you moos safe us from dees danjaire." "How?" asked Zac, who took in at once the meaning of Margot's words, though not fully understanding them. "I will tell. Dess Monsieur de Cazeneau wish to get us to Louisbourg, where he will ruin us all--dat is, de ole count and de mademoiselle. You moos turn about, and take us to Boston." "Take you to Boston! But this schooner is engaged to go to Louisbourg with Mr. Motier." Margot shook her head. "You moos do it," said she, "or we sall be ruin. You moos tell Monsieur Motier--" Zac now began questioning her further; but Margot could not remain any longer; she therefore hurried away, with the promise to see him again and explain more about it; and Zac was left alone with his own thoughts, not knowing exactly what he could say to Claude, or how he could make up, out of Margot's scanty information, a story which might offer sufficient ground for a change in the purpose of the voyage. Meanwhile Claude had seen Mimi at various times, and had conversed with her, as before, in a very confidential manner. The danger of which Margot had spoken was present in Mimi's thoughts, also; and she was anxious to secure Claude's assistance. Thus it was that Mimi communicated to Claude all about her personal affairs. There was something almost childish in this ready communicativeness; but she knew no reason for concealing anything, and therefore was thus frank and outspoken. Claude, also, was quite as willing to tell all about himself; though his own story was somewhat more involved, and could not be told piecemeal, but required a longer and more elaborate explanation. "Have you many friends in France?" asked Mimi, in an abrupt sort of way, the next time they met. "Friends in France?" repeated Claude; "not one, that I know of." "No friends! Then what can you do there?" she asked, innocently. "Well, I don't know yet," said he. "I will see when I get there. The fact is, I am going there to find out something about my own family--my parents and myself." At this Mimi fastened her large eyes upon Claude with intense interest. "How strangely you talk!" said she. "I'll tell you a secret," said Claude, after a pause. "What?" she asked. "You will never tell it to any one? It's very important." "I tell it?" repeated Mimi; "I! Never. Of course not. So, now, what is the secret?" "Well, it's this: my name is not Motier." "Well," said Mimi, "I'm sure I'm very glad that it isn't; and it seemed strange when you told me first, for Motier is a plebeian name; and you certainly are no plebeian." "I am not a plebeian," said Claude, proudly. "You are right. My name is one of the noblest in France. I wonder if you can tell me what I want to know!" "I! Why, how can I?" said Mimi. "But I should so like to know what it is that you want to know! And O, monsieur, I should so love to know what is your real name and family!" "Well," said Claude, "I don't as yet know much about it myself. But I do know what my real name is. I am the Count de Montresor." "Montresor," exclaimed Mimi, "Montresor!" As she said this, there was an evident agitation in her voice and manner which did not escape Claude. "What's the matter?" said he. "You know something. Tell me what it is! O, tell me!" Mimi looked at him very earnestly. "I don't know," said she; "I don't know anything at all. I only know this, that poor papa's troubles are connected in some way with some one whose name is Montresor. But his troubles are a thing that I am afraid to speak about, and therefore I have never found out anything about them. So I don't know anything about Montresor, more than this. And the trouble is something terrible, I know," continued Mimi, "for it has forced him, at his time of life, to leave his home and become an exile. And I'm afraid--that is, I imagine--that he himself has done some wrong in his early life to some Montresor. But I'm afraid to ask him; and I think now that the sole object of his journey is to atone for this wrong that he has done. And O, monsieur, now that you tell your name, now that you say how you have been living here all your life, I have a fearful suspicion that my papa has been the cause of it. Montrosor! How strange!" Mimi was very much agitated; so much so, indeed, that Claude repented having told her this. But it was now too late to repent, and he could only try to find some way of remedying the evil. "Suppose I go to your father," said he, "and tell him who I am, and all about myself." "No, no," cried Mimi, earnestly; "do not! O, do not! I would not have you for worlds. My hope is, that he may give up his search and go home again, and find peace. There is nothing that you can do. What it is that troubles him I don't know; but it was something that took place before you or I were born--many, many years ago. You can do nothing. You would only trouble him the more. If he has done wrong to you or yours, you would only make his remorse the worse, for he would see in you one whom his acts have made an exile." "O, nonsense!" said Claude, cheerily; "I haven't been anything of the kind. For my part, I've lived a very happy life indeed; and it's only of late that I found out my real name. I'll tell you all about it some time, and then you'll understand better. As to anybody feeling remorse about my life, that's all nonsense. I consider my life rather an enviable one thus far." At this Mimi's agitation left her, and she grew calm again. She looked at Claude with a glance of deep gratitude, and said,-- "O, how glad, how very glad, I am to hear you say that! Perhaps you may be able yet to tell that to my dear papa. But still, I do not wish you to say anything to him at all till I may find some time when you may do it safely. And you will promise me--will you not?--that you will keep this a secret from him till he is able to bear it." "Promise? Of course," said Claude. She held out her hand, and Claude took it and carried it to his lips. They had been sitting at the bows of the schooner during this conversation. No one was near, and they had been undisturbed. CHAPTER V. A STRANGE REVELATION. The old Count Laborde had been too much weakened by suffering and privation to recover very rapidly. For a few days he spent most of his time reclining upon a couch in the little cabin, where Mimi devoted herself to him with the tenderest care. At times she would come upon deck at the urgent request of her father, and then Claude would devote himself to her with still more tender care. The old man did not take much notice of surrounding things. He lay most of the time with his eyes closed, in a half-dreamy state, and it was only with an effort that he was able to rouse himself to speak. He took no notice whatever of any one but his daughter. Cazeneau made several efforts to engage his attention, but he could not be roused. Thus there were short intervals, on successive days, when Claude was able to devote himself to Mimi, for the laudable purpose of beguiling the time which he thought must hang heavy on her hands. He considered that as he was in some sort the master of the schooner, these strangers were all his guests, and he was therefore bound by the sacred laws of hospitality to make it as pleasant for them as possible. Of course, also, it was necessary that he should exert his hospitable powers most chiefly for the benefit of the lady; and this necessity he followed up with very great spirit and assiduity. By the conversation which he had already had with her, it will be seen that they had made rapid advances towards intimacy. Claude was eager to extend this advance still farther, to take her still more into his confidence, and induce her to take him into hers. He was very eager to tell her all about himself, and the nature of his present voyage; he was still more eager to learn from her all that she might know about the Montresor family. And thus he was ever on the lookout for her appearance on deck. These appearances were not so frequent as he desired; but Mimi's devotion to her father kept her below most of the time. At such times Claude did the agreeable to the other passengers, with varying success. With the lieutenant he succeeded in ingratiating himself very rapidly; but with Cazeneau all his efforts proved futile. There was about this man a sullen reserve and _hauteur_ which made conversation difficult and friendship impossible. Claude was full of _bonhomie_, good-nature generally, and sociability; but Cazeneau was more than he could endure; so that, after a few attempts, he retired, baffled, vexed at what he considered the other's aristocratic pride. What was more noticed by him now, was the fact that Père Michel had grown more reserved with him; not that there was any visible change in the good priest's friendly manner, but he seemed pro-occupied and strangely self-absorbed. And so things went on. Meantime the schooner can hardly be said to have gone on at all. What with light head winds, and currents, and calms, her progress was but slow. This state of things was very irritating to Zac, who began to mutter something about these rascally Moosoos bringing bad luck, and "he'd be darned if he wouldn't like to know where in blamenation it was all going to end." But as Claude was no longer so good a listener as he used to be, Zac grew tired of talking to empty space, and finally held his peace. The winds and tides, and the delay, however, made no difference with Claude, nor did it interfere in the slightest with his self-content and self-complacency. In fact, he looked as though he rather enjoyed the situation; and this was not the least aggravating thing in the surroundings to the mind of the impatient skipper. Thus several days passed, and at length Claude had an opportunity of drawing Mimi into another somewhat protracted conversation. "I am very much obliged to you," said Claude, gayly, "for making your appearance. I have been trying to do the agreeable to your shipmate Cazeneau, but without success. Is he always so amiable? and is he a friend of yours?" Mimi looked at Claude with a very serious expression as he said this, and was silent for a few minutes. "He is a friend of papa's," said she at last. "He came out with us--" "Is he a great friend of yours?" asked Claude. Mimi hesitated for a moment, and then said,-- "No; I do not like him at all." Claude drew a long breath. "Nor do I," said he. "Perhaps I am doing him injustice," said Mimi, "but I cannot help feeling as though he is in some way connected with dear papa's troubles. I do not mean to say that he is the cause of them. I merely mean that, as far as I know anything about them, it is always in such a way that he seems mixed up with them. And I don't think, either, that his face is very much in his favor, for there is something so harsh and cruel in his expression, that I always wish that papa had chosen some different kind of a person for his friend and confidant." "Is he all that?" asked Claude. "O, I suppose so," said Mimi. "They have secrets together, and make, together, plans that I know nothing about." "Do you suppose," asked Claude, "that you will ever be in any way connected with their plans?" He put this question, which was a general one, in a very peculiar tone, which indicated some deeper meaning. It seemed as though Mimi understood him, for she threw at him a hurried and half-frightened look. "Why?" she asked. "What makes you ask such a question as that?" "O, I don't know," said Claude. "The thought merely entered my mind--perhaps because I dislike him, and suspect him, and am ready to imagine all kinds of evil about him." Mimi regarded him now with a very earnest look, and said nothing for some time. "Have you any recollection," she asked, at length, "of ever having seen his face anywhere, at any time, very long ago?" Claude shook his head. "Not the slightest," said he. "I never saw him in all my life, or any one like him, till I saw him on the raft. But what makes you ask so strange a question?" "I hardly know," said Mimi, "except that he seems so in papa's confidence,--and I know that papa's chief trouble arises from some affair that he had with some Montresor,--and I thought--well, I'll tell you what I thought. I thought that, as this Montresor had to leave France--that perhaps he had been followed to America, or sought after; and, as you are a member of that family, you might have seen some of those who were watching the family; and the Count do Cazeneau seemed to be one who might be connected with it. But I'm afraid I'm speaking in rather a confused way; and no wonder, for I hardly know what it is that I do really suspect." "O, I understand," said Claude; "you suspect that my father was badly treated, and had to leave France, and that this man was at the bottom of it. Well, I dare say he was, and that he is quite capable of any piece of villany; but as to his hunting us in America, I can acquit him of that charge, as far as my experience goes, for I never saw him, and never heard of any one ever being on our track. But can't you tell me something more definite about it? Can't you tell me exactly what you know?" Mimi shook her head. "I don't know anything," said she, "except what little I told you--that poor papa's trouble of mind comes from some wrong which he did to some Montresor, who had to go to America. And you may not be connected with that Montresor, after all; but I'm afraid you must be, and that--you--will have to be--poor papa's--enemy." "Never!" said Claude, vehemently; "never! not if your father--Whatever has happened, I will let it pass--so far as I am concerned." "O, you don't know what it is that has happened." "Neither do you, for that matter; so there now; and for my part I don't want to know, and I won't try to find out, if you think I'd better not." "I don't dare to think anything about it; I only know that a good son has duties towards his parents, and that he must devote his life to the vindication of their honor." "Undoubtedly," said Claude, placidly; "but as it happens my parents have never communicated to me any story of any wrongs of theirs, I know very little about them. They never desired that I should investigate their lives; and, as I have never heard of any wrongs which they suffered, I don't see how I can go about to vindicate their honor. I have, by the merest chance, come upon something which excited my curiosity, and made me anxious to know something more. I have had no deeper feeling than curiosity; and if you think that my search will make me an enemy of your father, I hereby give up the search, and decline to pursue it any farther. In fact, I'll fall back upon my old name and rank, and become plain Claude Motier." Claude tried to speak in an off-hand tone; but his assumed indifference could not conceal the deep devotion of the look which he gave to Mimi, or the profound emotion which was in his heart. It was for her sake that he thus offered to relinquish his purpose. She knew it and felt it. "I'm sure," said she, "I don't know what to say to that. I'm afraid to say anything. I don't know what may happen yet; you may at any time find out something which would break through all your indifference, and fill you with a thirst for vengeance. I don't know, and you don't know, what may be--before us. So don't make any rash offers, but merely do as I asked you before; and that is,--while papa is here,--refrain from mentioning this subject to him. It is simply for the sake of his--his peace of mind--and--and--his health. I know it will excite him so dreadfully--that I tremble for the result." "O, of course," said Claude, "I promise, as I did before. You needn't be at all afraid." "Would you have any objection," she asked, after a short silence, "to tell me how much you do really know?" "Of course not," said Claude, with his usual frankness. "I'll tell you the whole story. There isn't much of it. I always believed myself to be the son of Jean Motier, until a short time ago. We lived near Boston, a place that you, perhaps, have heard of. He was always careful to give me the best education that could be had in a colony, and particularly in all the accomplishments of a gentleman. We were both very happy, and lived very well, and I called him father, and he called me son; and so things went on until a few weeks ago. I went off hunting with some British officers, and on my return found the old man dying. The shock to me was a terrible one. At that time I believed that it was my father that I was losing. What made it worse, was the evident fact that there was something on his mind, something that he was longing to tell me; but he could not collect his thoughts, and he could only speak a few broken words. He kept muttering, '_Mon trésor_, _Mon trésor_;' but I thought it was merely some loving words of endearment to me, and did not imagine what they really meant. Still I saw that there was something on his mind, and that he died without being able to tell it." Claude paused for a moment, quite overcome by his recollections, and Mimi's large dark eyes filled with tears in her deep sympathy with his sorrows. "Well," said Claude, regaining his composure with an effort, "I'll go on. As soon as he was buried I began to search the papers, partly to see how the business was, and how I was situated in the world; but more for the sake of trying to find out what this secret could be. There was an old cabinet filled with papers and parcels, and here I began my search. For a long time I found nothing but old business letters and receipts; but at last I found some religious books--with a name written in them. The name was Louise de Montresor. Well, no sooner had I seen this than I at once recollected the words of my father, as I supposed him, which I thought words of endearment--Montresor, Montresor. I saw now that it was the name of a person--of a woman; so this excited me greatly, and I continued the search with greater ardor. "After a while I came to a drawer in which was a quantity of gold coins, amounting to over a hundred guineas. In this same drawer was a gold watch; on the back of it were engraved the letters L. D. M., showing that it was evidently the property of this Louise de Montresor. A gold chain was connected with it, upon which was fastened a seal. On this was engraved a griffin rampant, with the motto, _Noblesse oblige_. "Well, after this I found another drawer, in which were several lady's ornaments, and among them was a package carefully wrapped up. On opening it I found the miniature portrait of a lady, and this lady was the same Louise de Montresor, for her name was written on the back." "Have you it now?" asked Mimi, with intense interest. "Yes," said Claude; "and I'll show it to you some time. But I have something else to show you just now. Wait a minute, and I'll explain. After I found the portrait, I went on searching, and came to another package. On opening this I found some papers which seemed totally different from anything I had seen as yet. The ink was faded; the writing was a plain, bold hand; and now I'll let you read this for yourself; and you'll know as much as I do." Saying this, Claude produced from his pocket a paper, which he opened and handed to Mimi. It was a sheet of foolscap, written on three sides, in a plain, bold hand. The ink was quite faded. As Mimi took the paper, her hand trembled with excitement, and over her face there came a sudden anxious, half-frightened look, as though she dreaded to make herself acquainted with the contents of this old document. After a moment's hesitation she mustered up her resolution, and began to read. It was as follows:-- "QUEBEC, June 10, 1725. "Instructions to Jean Motier with reference to my son, Claude de Montresor, and my property. "As I do not know how long I shall be absent, I think it better to leave directions about my son, which may be your guide in the event of my death. I must stay away long enough to enable me to overcome the grief that I feel. Long, long indeed, must it be before I shall feel able to settle in any one place. The death of my dearest wife, Louise, has left me desolate beyond expression, and there is no home for me any more on earth, since she has gone. "I have property enough for you to bring up Claude as a gentleman. I wish him to have the best education which he can get in the colonies. I do not wish him to know about his family and the past history of his unhappy parents until he shall be old enough to judge for himself. In any case, I should wish him not to think of France. Let him content himself in America. It is done. In France there is no redress. The government is hopelessly corrupt, and there is no possibility of wrong being righted. Besides, the laws against the Huguenots are in full force, and he can never live with his mother's enemies. I revere the sacred memory of my Huguenot wife, and curse the knaves and fanatics who wronged her and cast her out; yet I thank God that I was able to save her from the horrible fate that awaited her. "I wish my son, therefore, to know nothing of France, at least until he shall be of age, and his own master; and even then I should wish him never to go there. Let him content himself in the colonies. For how could he ever redeem the position which is lost? or how could he hope to face the powerful and unscrupulous enemies who have wrought my ruin; the false friend who betrayed me; his base and infernal accomplice; the ungrateful government which did such foul wrong to a loyal servant? All is lost. The estates are confiscated. The unjust deed can never be undone. Let my son, therefore, resign himself to fate, and be content with the position in which he may find himself. "The property will be sufficient to maintain him in comfort and independence. Here he will have all that he may want; here the church will give him her consolations without bigotry, or fanaticism, or corruption, or persecution. He will be free from the vices and temptations of the old world, and will have a happier fate than that of his unhappy father. "EUGENE DE MONTRESOR." Another paper was folded up with this. It was written in a different hand, and was as follows:-- "BOSTON, June 20, 1740. "Count Eugene de Montresor left on the 2d July, 1725, and has never since been heard of. I have followed all his instructions, with one exception. It was from the countess that I first heard the word of life, and learned the truth. The priests at Quebec gave me no peace; and so I had to leave and come here, among a people who are of another nation, but own and hold my faith--the faith of the pure worship of Christ. The count wished me to bring you up a Catholic; but I had a higher duty than his will, and I have brought you up not in your father's religion, but in your mother's faith. Your father was a good man, though in error. He has, no doubt, long since rejoined the saint who was his wife on earth; and I know that the spirits of your father and mother smile approvingly on my acts. "If I die before I tell you all, dear Claude, you will see this, and will understand that I did my duty to your parents and to you--" Here it ended abruptly. There was no name, and it was evidently unfinished. CHAPTER VI. A FRENCH FRIGATE. Mimi read both papers through rapidly and breathlessly, and having finished them, she read them over once more. As she finished the second reading, Claude presented to her in silence a small package. She took it in the same silence. On opening it, she saw inside a miniature portrait of a lady--the same one which Claude had mentioned. She was young and exquisitely beautiful, with rich dark hair, that flowed luxuriantly around her head; soft hazel eyes, that rested with inexpressible sweetness upon the spectator; and a gentle, winning smile. This face produced an unwonted impression upon Mimi. Long and eagerly did she gaze upon it, and when, at length, she handed it back to Claude, her eyes were moist with tears. Claude replaced the portrait in its wrapper, and then restored it, with the letters, to his pocket. For some time they sat in silence, and then Claude said,-- "You see there is no great duty laid on me. Judging by the tone of that letter, I should be doing my duty to my father if I did not go to France--and if I did not seek after anything." "Ah! but how could you possibly live, and leave all this unexplained?" "I could do it very easily," said Claude. "You don't know yourself." "O, yes, I could; I could live very easily and very happily--if I only had your assistance." At these words, which were spoken in a low, earnest voice, full of hidden meaning, Mimi darted a rapid glance at Claude, and caught his eyes fixed on her. Her own eyes fell before the fervid eagerness of the young man's gaze, a flush overspread her face, and she said not a word. Nor did Claude say anything more just then; but it was rather as though he felt afraid of having gone too far, for he instantly changed the subject. "I'm afraid," said he, "that I shall not be able to find out very much. You cannot give me any enlightenment, and there is nothing very precise in these papers. The chief thing that I learned from them was the fact that Jean Motier was not my father, but my guardian. Then a few other things are stated which can easily be mentioned. First, that my father was the Count Eugene de Montresor; then that he was driven to exile by some false charge which he did not seem able to meet; then, that his estates were confiscated; then, that his wife, my mother, was a Huguenot, and also in danger. I see, also, that my father considered his enemies altogether too powerful for any hope to remain that he could resist them, and that finally, after my mother's death, he grew weary of the world, and went away somewhere to die. "Now, the fact that he lived two years in Quebec made me have some thoughts at first of going there; but afterwards I recollected how long it had been since he was there, and it seemed quite improbable that I should find any one now who could tell me anything about him; while, if I went to France, I thought it might be comparatively easy to learn the cause of his exile and punishment. And so, as I couldn't find any vessels going direct from Boston, I concluded to go to Louisbourg and take ship there. I thought also that I might find out something at Louisbourg; though what I expected I can hardly say. "You spoke as though you supposed that this Cazeneau had something to do with my father's trouble. Do you think that his present journey has anything to do with it? That is, do you think he is coming out on the same errand as your father?" "I really do not know what to say about that. I should think not. I know that he has some office in Louisbourg, and I do not see what motive he can have to search after the Montresors. I believe that papa hopes to find your papa, so as to make some atonement, or something of that sort; but I do not believe that Cazeneau is capable of making atonement for anything. I do not believe that Cazeneau has a single good quality. Cazeneau is my father's evil genius." Mimi spoke these words with much vehemence, not caring, in her excitement, whether she was overheard or not; but scarce had she uttered them than she saw emerging from the forecastle the head of Cazeneau himself. She stopped short, and looked at him in amazement and consternation. He bowed blandly, and coming upon deck, walked past her to the stern. After he had passed, Mimi looked at Claude with a face full of vexation. "Who could have supposed," said she, "that he was so near? He must have heard every word!" "Undoubtedly he did," said Claude, "and he had a chance of verifying the old adage that 'listeners never hear good of themselves.'" "O, I wish you would be on your guard!" said Mimi, in real distress. "It makes me feel very anxious." She threw at Claude a glance so full of tender interest and pathetic appeal, that Claude's playful mood gave way to one of a more sentimental character; and it is quite impossible to tell what he would have done or said had not Cazeneau again made his appearance, on his way back to the forecastle. He smiled a cold smile as he passed them. "Charming weather for a _tête-à-tête_, mademoiselle," said he. "_Parbleu_! Monsieur Motier, I don't wonder you don't make your vessel go faster. I quite envy you; but at present I must see about my fellows below here." With these words he turned away, and descended into the forecastle. Mimi also turned away, and Claude accompanied her to the stern. "How old do you suppose he is?" asked Claude, very gravely. "How old? What a funny question! Why, he must be nearly fifty by this time." "Fifty!" exclaimed Claude, in surprise. "Yes." "Why, I thought he was about thirty, or thirty-five." "Well, he certainly doesn't look over forty; but he is a wonderfully well-kept man. Even on the raft, the ruling passion remained strong in the very presence of death, and he managed to keep up his youthful appearance; but I know that he is almost, if not quite, as old as papa." "Is it possible?" cried Claude, in amazement. Mimi turned, and with her face close to Claude's, regarded him with an anxious look, and spoke in a low, hurried voice:-- "O, be on your guard--beware of him. Even now he is engaged in some plot against you. I know it by his face. That's what takes him down there to confer with the seamen. He is not to be trusted. He is all false--in face, in figure, in mind, and in heart. He knows nothing about honor, or justice, or mercy. He has been the deadly enemy of the Montresors, and if he finds out who you are, he will be your deadly enemy. O, don't smile that way! Don't despise this enemy! Be careful--be on your guard, I entreat you--_for my sake_!" These last words were spoken in a hurried whisper, and the next moment Mimi turned and hastened down into the cabin to her father, while Claude remained there, thinking over these words. Yet of them all it was not the warning contained in them that was present in his memory, but rather the sweet meaning convoyed in those last three words, and in the tone in which they were uttered--the words _for my sake_! Out of his meditations on this theme he was at length aroused by an exclamation from Zac. Looking up, he saw that worthy close beside him, intently watching something far away on the horizon, through a glass. "I'll be darned if it ain't a French frigate!" This was the exclamation that roused Claude. He at once returned to himself, and turning to Zac, he asked him what he meant. Zac said nothing, but, handing him the spy-glass, pointed away to the west, where a sail was visible on the horizon. That sail was an object of curious interest to others on board; to the lieutenant and seamen of the wrecked vessel, who were staring at her from the bows; and to Cazeneau, who was with them, staring with equal interest. Claude took the glass, and raising it to his eye, examined the strange sail long and carefully, but without being able to distinguish anything in particular about her. "What makes you think that she is a French frigate?" he asked, as he handed the glass back to Zac. "I cannot make out that she is French any more than English." "O, I can tell easy enough," said Zac, "by the cut of her jib. Then, too, I judge by her course. That there craft is comin' down out of the Bay of Fundy, which the Moosoos in their lingo call Fonde de la Baie. She's been up at some of the French settlements. Now, she may be goin' to France--or mayhap she's goin' to Louisbourg--an' if so be as she's goin' to Louisbourg, why, I shouldn't wonder if it mightn't be a good idee for our French friends here to go aboard of her and finish their voyage in a vessel of their own. One reason why I'd rather have it so is, that I don't altogether like the manoeuvrin's of that French count over thar. He's too sly; an' he's up to somethin', an' I don't fancy havin' to keep up a eternal watch agin him. If I was well red of him I could breathe freer; but at the same time I don't altogether relish the idee of puttin' myself into the clutches of that thar frigate. It's easy enough for me to keep out of her way; but if I was once to get under her guns, thar'd be an end of the Parson. This here count ain't to be trusted, no how; an' if he once got into communication with that there frigate, he'd be my master. An' so I'm in a reg'lar quan-dary, an' no mistake. Darned if I know what in the blamenation to do about it." Zac stopped short, and looked with an air of mild inquiry at Claude. Claude, on his part, was rather startled by Zac's estimate of the character of Cazeneau, for it chimed in so perfectly with Mimi's opinion that it affected him in spite of himself. But it was only for a moment, and then his own self-confidence gained the mastery. CHAPTER VII. CAUGHT IN A TRAP. The schooner was now directed towards the stranger, and before very long they saw that her course had been changed, and that she was now bearing down upon them. Zac stood at the helm saying nothing, but keeping his eyes fixed upon the frigate, which drew nearer and nearer, till finally she came near enough for her flag to be plainly seen. They had been right in their conjectures, and the new comer was a French frigate. This assurance seemed to open the mouth of Zac. "I must say," he remarked to Claude, "the nearer I get to her, the less I like it. I've met Moosoo before this on the high seas, but I allus went on the plan of keepin' out of his way. This here system of goin' right into his jaws don't suit me at all." "O, come now," said Claude, "don't begin again. I thought you'd given up all anxiety. There's not the slightest occasion for being worried about it. I'll find out whether they can take me to Louisbourg, and so I'll leave you, and you'll get back to Boston quicker than if you took me where you first proposed." "Yes; but suppose she's goin' to France, and chooses to take me prisoner?" said Zac. "O, nonsense!" said Claude. "They couldn't. What, after saving so many lives, and conveying these rescued fellow-countrymen to their own flag, do you suppose they could think of arresting you? Nonsense! The thing's impossible." Zac said no more, but was evidently ill at ease, and in his own mind there was no end of dark forebodings as to the event of this meeting. These forebodings were in no way lessened as the schooner rounded to under the lee of the frigate, and Zac saw a row of guns heavy enough to blow him and his "Parson" to atoms. The frigate did not wait for the schooner to send a boat aboard, for her own boat was all ready, and soon appeared, well manned, rowing towards the schooner. On coming alongside, the officer in command stepped on board, and Claude at once went forward to meet him. Cazeneau also walked forward with the same purpose. Claude politely raised his hat, and the officer civilly returned his greeting. "This, monsieur, is the schooner Amos Adams, of Boston. We have recently picked up the survivors of His Royal French Majesty's frigate 'Arethuse,' which has been lost at sea, and we have come to see whether you could take them. Will you have the goodness to tell me where you are going?" "Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the officer, "the Arethuse lost! Is it possible? What a terrible misfortune! And she had on board the new commandant for Louisbourg." At this Cazeneau came forward. "He is safe, monsieur, for I am he." The officer respectfully removed his hat, and bowed very low. "What ship is this?" asked Cazeneau, in the tone of a superior. "L'Aigle," replied the officer. "Where are you bound?" "To Brest. We have just been cruising to the different settlements and forts on the Bay of Fundy, with some supplies which were sent from Louisbourg." "Ah! And you are now on your return to France?" "Yes." "Who commands your ship?" "Captain Ducrot." "Ah! Very good. You see, monsieur," said Cazeneau to Claude, "this ship is bound to France; and that destination will not suit any of us. I think I had better go aboard and see the captain, with whom I may have some little influence. Perhaps, as my command is an important one, he may be persuaded to alter his course, and land us at Louisbourg, or some other place.--And so, monsieur," he continued, turning to the officer, "I shall be obliged to you if you will put me aboard the Aigle." The officer assured him that the boat was altogether at his service; whereupon Cazeneau stepped aboard, followed by the officer, and in a short time the boat was on its way back to the frigate. Claude watched this in silence, and without any misgivings. It seemed to him quite natural, and, indeed, the best thing that could be done, under the circumstances. If the ship was going to France, she could not be of service to them; but if her captain could be induced to change his course and land them at Louisbourg, this would be exactly what they wanted; and Cazeneau seemed to be the only one on board who was at all likely to persuade the captain of the Aigle to do such a thing as this. It seemed a long time before any further notice was taken of the schooner. Meanwhile, all on board were watching the frigate with much anxiety, and wondering what the result would be. In any case it did not seem a matter of very great importance to any one; for the lieutenant and the two sailors, who might have been most concerned, were very well treated on board the schooner,--better, perhaps, than they would be on board a frigate,--and evinced no particular desire to leave. The priest said nothing; and to him, as well as to Claude, there was nothing to be gained by taking to the ship. As for the aged Laborde, he was still too weak to take any notice of events going on around him; while Mimi, perhaps, found herself as well situated here, under the care of Claude, as she could possibly be on the larger ship, under the care of one who might be less agreeable. Claude himself would certainly have preferred letting things remain as they were. The situation was very pleasant. Mimi's occasional companionship seemed sweeter than anything he had ever known; and, as he was master on board, he naturally had a certain right to show her attentions; which right he could not have under other circumstances. He would have liked to see Cazeneau take his departure for good, together with the French sailors, leaving Laborde and Mimi on board the schooner. Finally, Zac was not at all pleased with anything in his present situation. The thought of possible foul play never left his mind for an instant; and though the blow was delayed for a considerable time, he could not help feeling sure that it would fall. During this period of waiting, the aged Laborde had been brought up on deck, and placed there on a seat. This was done from a hope which Mimi had that he would be benefited by the excitement of the change. The sight of the ship, however, produced but little effect of any kind upon the languid and worn-out old man. He gave an indifferent glance at the frigate and the surrounding scene, and then subsided into himself, while Mimi in vain strove to rouse him from his indifference. At last their suspense came to an end, and they saw preparations making for another visit to the schooner. This time a second boat was lowered, which was filled with marines. The sight of this formidable boat's crew produced on Claude an impression of surprise; while in Zac it enforced a conviction that his worst fears were now to be realized. "Look thar!" said he in a hoarse whisper. "Now you see what's a comin'! Good by, poor old Parson! Yer in the claws of the Philistines now, an' no mistake." To this Claude made no reply, for he began to feel rather perplexed himself, and to imagine that Cazeneau might have been playing him false. All that Mimi had said about him now came to his mind, and the armed boat's crew seemed like the first act of a traitor. He tried to account for this in some other way, but was not able. He could no longer laugh away Zac's fears. He could only be still and wait. The two boats rowed towards the schooner. Cazeneau was not in either of them. He had remained on board. At length one of the boats touched the schooner, and the same officer who had visited her before again stepped on board. "Is the Count de Laborde here?" he asked. Claude pointed to where the old man was seated. The officer advanced, and removed his hat with a bow to the old count, and another to the beautiful Mimi. "Monsieur le Comte," said he, "I have the honor to convoy to you the compliments of Captain Ducrot, with the request that you would honor him with your company on board the Aigle. His excellency the Comte de Cazeneau, commandant of Louisbourg, has persuaded him to convey himself, and you, and some others, to the nearest French fort. It is the intention of Captain Ducrot to sail back up the Bay of Fundy, and land you at Grand Pré, from which place you can reach Louisbourg by land." To this Laborde murmured a few indistinct words in reply, while Mimi made no remark whatever. She was anxious to know what Claude was intending to do. The officer now turned away to the others. "My instructions," said he, "are, to convey the invitation of Captain Ducrot to Monsieur l'Abbé Michel and Lieutenant d'Angers, whom he will be happy to receive on board the Aigle, and convey them to Grand Pré, or France. The two seamen of the Arethuse will also go on board and report themselves." The officer now went back to Laborde, and offered, to assist him. The old man rose, and taking his arm, walked feebly towards the vessel's side, whence he descended into the boat, and was assisted to the stern by the seamen. The officer then assisted Mimi to a place by her father's side, anticipating Claude, who stepped forward with the offer of his assistance. Then followed Père Michel, and Lieutenant d'Angers, of the Arethuse; then Margot; and, finally, the two seamen. Meanwhile nothing was said to Claude. He was not included in the compliments of Captain Ducrot, nor was any notice taken of him in any way. He could not help feeling slighted and irritated at the whole proceeding. To himself and to Zac this whole party owed their lives, and they were all leaving him now with no more regard for him than if he were, a perfect stranger. But the fact was, the whole party took it for granted that he and Zac would be invited on board, and that they would see them both again, and supposed that they were coming in the same boat. Mimi and Père Michel both thought that Claude, at least, was going with them; for he had told them both that he was going to leave the schooner and send Zac home. But Claude's feelings were somewhat embittered by this whole incident, and were destined to be still more so before it was all over. The lieutenant remained on board. The boat rowed back to the Aigle, carrying the passengers above named, after which the lieutenant motioned to the other boat. This one moved alongside, and a half-dozen armed seamen stepped on board. "Monsieur," said the lieutenant, advancing to Claude, "I hope you will pardon me for being the instrument in a very unpleasant duty. I am pained to inform you that you are my prisoner, on the command of his excellency the commandant of Louisbourg, whose instructions I am ordered to fulfil. I deeply regret this painful necessity, and most sincerely hope that it may prove only a temporary inconvenience." At this Claude was so astounded that for some time he could only stare at the officer, without being able to utter a syllable. At length he said,-- "What, monsieur! A prisoner? You must be mistaken! And who--The commandant of Louisbourg--is not that the Count de Cazeneau?" "It is." "But, monsieur, it must be a mistake. I have never injured him or any one. I have done nothing but good to him. My friend here, the captain of this schooner, and I, saved his life; and we have treated him with the utmost kindness since he was on board here. Finally, we sailed towards you, and put ourselves in your power, solely that these shipwrecked passengers, of whom the Count de Cazeneau was one, might reach their friends sooner. How, then, can he possibly mean to arrest me?" "Monsieur, I assure you that it grieves mo most deeply," said the officer--"most exquisitely. I know all this--all, and so does Captain Ducrot; but there is no mistake, and it must be." "But what authority has he here, and why should your captain do his orders?" "Monsieur, I am only a subordinate, and I know nothing but my orders. At the same time, you must know that the commandant of Louisbourg has general control, by land and sea, and is my captain's superior." Claude made no reply. He saw that this man was but, as he said, a subordinate, and was only obeying his orders. But the officer had something still on his mind. His words and his looks all showed that the present business was exceedingly distasteful to him, and that he was only doing it under pressure. "Monsieur," said he, after a pause, "I have another painful duty to perform. I am ordered to take possession of this schooner, as a prize of war, and take the captain and crew as prisoners of war." At this Claude stared at the officer once more, utterly stupefied. "Mon Dieu!" he cried, at length. "Are you a Frenchman? Is your captain a French gentleman? Do you know, monsieur, what you are doing? We have saved some shipwrecked Frenchmen; we have carried them to a place of safety; and for this we are arrested! This honest man, the captain, might expect a reward for his generosity; and what does he get? Why, he is seized as a prisoner of war, and his schooner is made a prize! Is there any chivalry left in France? Are these the acts of Frenchmen? Great Heavens! Has it come to this?" "Monsieur," said the officer, "be calm, I implore you. All this gives me the most exquisite distress. But I must obey orders." "You are right," said Claude. "You are a subordinate. I am wasting words to talk with you. Take me to your captain, or to the Count de Cazeneau. Let me learn what it is that induces him to act towards us with such unparalleled baseness." "Monsieur, I shall be happy to do all that I can. I will take you to the Aigle,--under guard,--and you will be a prisoner there. I hope that his excellency will accord you the favor of an interview." All this time Zac had been a silent spectator of the scene. He had not understood the words that were spoken, but he had gathered the general meaning of this scene from the gestures and expression of the two speakers. The presence, also, of the armed guard was enough to show him that the blow which he dreaded had fallen. And now, since the worst had happened, all his uneasiness departed, and he resumed all the vigor of his mind. He at once decided upon the best course to follow, and that course was to be emphatically one of quiet, and calmness, and cool watchfulness. Claude had become excited at this event; Zac had become cool. "Wal," said he, advancing towards Claude, "it's just as I said. I allus said that these here frog-eatin' Frenchmen wan't to be trusted; and here, you see, I was right. I see about how it is. The poor, unfort'nate Parson's done for, an' I'm in for it, too, I s'pose." Claude turned, and gave Zac a look of indescribable distress. "There's some infernal villain at work, Zac," said he, "out of the common course, altogether. I'm arrested myself." "You? Ah!" said Zac, who did not appear to be at all surprised. "You don't say so! Wal, you've got the advantage of me, since you can speak their darned lingo. So they've gone an' 'rested you, too--have they?" "It's that infernal Cazeneau," said Claude; "and I haven't got the faintest idea why." "Cazeneau, is it? O, well," said Zac, "they're all alike. It's my opinion that it's the captain of the frigate, an' he's doin' it in Cazeneau's name. Ye see he's ben a cruisin' about, an' hankers after a prize; an' I'm the only one he's picked up. You're 'rested--course--as one of the belongin's of the Parson. You an' I an' the hull crew: that's it! We're all prisoners of war!" "O, no," said Claude. "It isn't that, altogether; there's some deeper game." "Pooh!" said Zac; "the game ain't a deep one, at all; it's an every-day game. But I must say it is hard to be done for jest because we had a leetle too much hooman feelin'. Now, ef we'd only let them Frenchies rot and drown on their raft,--or ef we'd a' taken them as prisoners to Boston,--we'd ben spared this present tribulation." Zac heaved a sigh as he said this, and turned away. Then a sudden thought struck him. "O, look here," said he; "jest ask 'em one thing, as a partiklar favor. You needn't mention me, though. It's this. Ask 'em if they won't leave me free--that is, I don't want to be handcuffed." "Handcuffed!" exclaimed Claude, grinding his teeth in futile rage. "They won't dare to do that!" "O, you jest ask this Moosoo, as a favor. They needn't object." Upon this Claude turned to the officer. "Monsieur," said he, "I have a favor to ask. I and my friend here are your prisoners, but we do not wish to be treated with unnecessary indignity or insult. I ask, then, that we may be spared the insult of being bound. Our offence has not been great. Wo have only saved the lives of six of your fellow-countrymen. Is it presumption to expect this favor?" "Monsieur," said the officer, "I assure you that, as far as I have anything to say, you shall not be bound. And as to this brave fellow, he may be at liberty to move about in this schooner as long as he is quiet and gives no offence--that is, for the present. And now, monsieur, I will ask you to accompany me on board the Aigle." With these words the officer prepared to quit the schooner. Before doing so he addressed some words to the six seamen, who were to be left in charge as a prize crew, with one midshipman at their head. He directed them to follow the frigate until further orders, and also, until further orders, to leave the captain of the schooner unbound, and let him have the run of the vessel. After this the officer returned to the Aigle, taking Claude with him. CHAPTER VIII. UNDER ARREST. By the time that Claude reached the Aigle, the evening of this eventful day was at hand. He was taken to a room on the gun-deck, which seemed as though used for a prison, from the general character of the bolts and bars, and other fixtures. Claude asked to see the captain, and the lieutenant promised to carry the message to him. After about an hour he came back with the message that the captain could not see him that evening. Upon this Claude begged him to ask Count de Cazeneau for an interview. The officer went off once more, and returned with the same answer. Upon this Claude was compelled to submit to his fate as best he might. It was a hard thing for him, in the midst of health, and strength, and joy, with all the bounding activity and eager energy of youth, to be cast down into a prison; but to be arrested and imprisoned under such circumstances; to be so foully wronged by the very man whose life he had saved; to have his own kindness and hospitality repaid by treachery, and bonds, and insult,--all this was galling in the highest degree, and well nigh intolerable. That night Claude did not sleep. He lay awake wondering what could be the cause of Cazeneau's enmity, and trying in vain to conjecture. All the next morning Claude waited for some message from Captain Ducrot; but none came. His breakfast was brought to him, consisting of the coarse fare of common seamen, and then his dinner; but the captain did not make his appearance. Even the officer who had arrested him, and who had hitherto shown himself sufficiently sympathetic, did not appear. The sailor who brought his meals gave no answer to his questions. It seemed to Claude as though his captors were unwilling to give him a hearing. At length, in about the middle of the afternoon, Claude heard the tramp of men approaching his prison; the door was opened, and he saw an officer enter, while three marines, with fixed bayonets, stood outside. "Have I the honor of speaking to Captain Ducrot?" asked Claude. "I am Captain Ducrot," said the other. He was a small, wiry man, dressed with extreme neatness, who looked rather like an attorney than a seaman. His voice was thin and harsh,--his manner cold and repulsive, with an air of primness and formality that made him seem more like a machine than a man. The first sight of him made Claude feel as though any appeal to his humanity or generosity, or even justice, would be useless. He looked like an automaton, fit to obey the will of another, but without any independent will of his own. Nevertheless, Claude had no other resource; so he began:-- "I have asked for this interview, monsieur," said he, "from a conviction that there must be some mistake. Listen to me for a moment. I have lived in Boston all my life. I was on my way to Louisbourg, intending to go to France from there, on business. I had engaged a schooner to take me to Louisbourg; and at sea I came across a portion of the wreck of the Arethuse, with six people on board, one of whom was the Count de Cazeneau. I saved them all--that is, with the assistance of the captain of the schooner. After I brought them on board the schooner, I treated them all with the utmost kindness; and finally, when I saw your ship in the distance, I voluntarily sailed towards you, for the purpose of allowing my passengers to go on board. I had designed coming on board myself also, if your destination suited my views. And now, monsieur, for all this I find myself arrested, held here in prison, treated as a common felon, and all because I have saved the lives of some shipwrecked fellow-beings. Monsieur, it is not possible that this can be done with your knowledge. If you want confirmation of my words, ask the good priest Père Michel, and he will confirm all that I have said." The captain listened to all this very patiently, and without any interruption. At length, as Claude ended, he replied,-- "But you yourself cannot suppose that you, as you say, are imprisoned merely for this. People do not arrest their benefactors merely because they are their benefactors; and if you have saved the life of his excellency, you cannot suppose that he has ordered your arrest for that sole reason. Monsieur has more good sense, and must understand well that there is some sort of charge against him." "Monsieur," said Claude, "I swear to you I not only know no reason for my arrest, but I cannot even imagine one; and I entreat you, as a man of honor, to tell me what the charge against me is." "Monsieur," said the captain, blandly, "we are both men of honor, of course. Of your honor I have no doubt. It is untouched. Every day men of honor, and of rank, too, are getting into difficulties; and whenever one meddles with political affairs it must be so." "Political affairs!" cried Claude. "What have I to do with political affairs?" The captain again smiled blandly. "_Parbleu_, monsieur, but that is not for me to say." "But is that the charge against me?" "Most certainly. How could it be otherwise?" "Politics, politics!" cried Claude. "I don't understand you! I must be taken for some other person." "O, no," said the captain; "there's no mistake." "Pardon me, monsieur, there must be." "Then, monsieur, allow me to indulge the hope that you may be able to show where the mistake is, at your trial." The captain made a movement now as though he was about to leave; but Claude detained him. "One moment, monsieur," said he. "Will you not tell me something more? Will you not tell me what these political charges are? For, I swear to you, I cannot imagine. How can I, who have lived all my life in Boston, be connected with politics in any way? Let me know, then, something about these charges; for nothing is more distressing than to be in a situation like this, and have no idea whatever of the cause of it." [Illustration: "Of Your Honor I Have No Doubt."] "_Eh bien_, monsieur," said the captain, "since you wish it, I have no objection whatever to state what they are; and if you can clear yourself and show your innocence, I shall be the first to congratulate you. His excellency will not object to my telling you, I am sure, for he is the soul of goodness, and is full of generous impulses. Very well, then. In the first place you call yourself Claude Motier. Now, this is said to be an assumed name. Your real name is said to be Claude de Montresor; and it is said that you are the son of a certain Eugene de Moutresor, who committed grave offences about twenty years ago, for which he would have been severely punished had he not fled from the country. His wife, also,--your mother, perhaps,--was proscribed, and would have been arrested and punished had she not escaped with her husband. They were then outlawed, and their estates were confiscated. The wife died, the husband disappeared. This is what happened to them." "That is all true," said Claude. "But my father and mother were both most foully wronged--" "Pardon, monsieur," said the captain. "That is very probable; but I am not here as judge; I am only giving you information about the charge against you. I have not time to listen to your answer; and I would advise you not to speak too hastily. You have already confessed to the assumed name. I would advise you to be careful in your statements. And now, monsieur, should you like to hear any more?" "Yes, yes!" cried Claude, eagerly; "tell me all that there is to know." "Very well," said the captain. "Now you, under an assumed name, engage a schooner to take you, not to Louisbourg, but to some place in the vicinity of Louisbourg. Being the son of two dangerous political offenders, who were both outlawed for grave crimes, you are found coming from Boston to Louisbourg under an assumed name, and upon a secret errand, which you keep to yourself. Under these circumstances the commandant could not overlook your case. It seemed to him one which was full of suspicion, and, in spite of the gratitude which he felt for your kind offices, he nevertheless was compelled, by a strong sense of public duty, to order your arrest. You will be accorded a fair trial; and, though appearances are against you, you may succeed in proving your innocence; in which case, monsieur, I am sure that no one will be more rejoiced than myself and his excellency. "You have also complained, monsieur, of the arrest of your captain. That was done on account of his unfortunate connection with you. He may be innocent, but that remains to be seen. At present appearances are against him, and he must take his share of the guilt which attaches to you. His arrest was a political necessity." After this the captain left; and, as Claude saw how useless it was to attempt to plead his cause to this man, he made no further attempt to detain him. Left once more to his own reflections, Claude recalled all that the captain had said, and at first was lost in wonder at the gravity of the charges that had been raised up against him. Nor could he conceal from himself that, though they were based on nothing, they still were serious and formidable. Even in France charges of a political kind would lead to serious consequences; and here in the colonies he felt less sure of justice. Indeed, as far as justice was concerned, he hardly hoped to experience anything of the kind, for his judge would be the very man who had got up these charges, and had treated him with such baseness and treachery. The fact was, that he would be called before a court where accuser, witness, and judge would all be one and the same person, and, what was more, the person who for some reason had chosen to become his bitterest enemy. Dark indeed and gloomy was the prospect that now lowered before him. Before an impartial court the charges against him might be answered or refuted; but where could he find such a court? Cazeneau had created the charges, and would know how to make them still more formidable. And now he felt that behind these charges there must lurk something more dangerous still. Already there had arisen in his mind certain suspicions as to Cazeneau's designs upon Mimi. These suspicions he had hinted at in conversation with her, and his present circumstances deepened them into convictions. It began now to seem to him that Cazeneau had designs to make the beautiful, high-born girl his wife. Everything favored him. He was supreme in authority out here; the old Laborde was under his influence; the daughter's consent alone was wanting. Of that consent, under ordinary circumstances, he could make sure. But he had seen a close and strong friendship arising between Mimi and her preserver. This Claude considered as a better and more probable cause for his hate. If this were indeed so, and if this hate grew up out of jealousy, then his prospects were indeed dark, for jealousy is as cruel as the grave. The more Claude thought of this, the greater was the importance which he attached to it. It seemed to be this which had made Cazeneau transform himself into an eavesdropper; this which had occasioned his dark looks, his morose words, and haughty reticence. In his eavesdropping he must have heard enough to excite his utmost jealousy; and Claude, in recalling his conversations with Mimi, could remember words which must have been gall and bitterness to such a jealous listener. CHAPTER IX. GRAND PRE. Nearly thirty years before this, the French government had been compelled to give up the possession of Acadie to the English, and to retire to the Island of Cape Breton. Here they had built a stronghold at Louisbourg, which they were enlarging and strengthening every year, to the great disgust and alarm of the New England colonies. But though Acadie had been given up to the English, it could hardly be said to be held by them. Only two posts were occupied, the one at Canso, in the strait that separated Cape Breton from Acadie, and the other at Annapolis Royal. At Canso there was a wooden block-house, with a handful of soldiers: while at Annapolis Royal, where the English governor resided, the fortifications were more extensive, yet in a miserable condition. At this last place there were a few companies of soldiers, and here the governor tried to perform the difficult task of transforming the French Acadians to loyal British subjects. But the French at Louisbourg never forgot their fellow-countrymen, and never relinquished their designs on Acadie. The French inhabitants of that province amounted to several thousands, who occupied the best portions of the country, while the English consisted of only a few individuals in one or two posts. Among the French Acadians emissaries were constantly moving about, who sought to keep up among them their old loyalty to the French crown, and by their pertinacity sorely disturbed the peace of the English governor at Annapolis Royal. The French governor at Louisbourg was not slow to second these efforts by keeping the Acadians supplied with arms and ammunition; and it was for this purpose that the Aigle had been sent to the settlements up the Bay of Fundy. Up the bays he now sailed, in accordance with the wish of Cazeneau. His reason for this course was, that he might see the people for himself, and judge how far they might be relied on in the event of war, which he knew must soon be declared. It was his intention to land at Grand Pré, the chief Acadian settlement, and thence proceed by land to Louisbourg. He had understood from Captain Ducrot that an Indian trail went all the way through the woods, which could be traversed on horseback. Such a course would impose more hardship upon the aged Laborde and Mimi than would be encountered on shipboard; but Cazeneau had his own purposes, which were favored, to a great extent, by the land route. Besides, he had the schooner with him, so that if, after all, it should be advisable to go by water, they could make the journey in her. The Aigle sailed, and the schooner followed. The wind had changed, and now blew more steadily, and from a favorable quarter. The currents delayed them somewhat; but on the third morning after the two vessels had met, they reached the entrance of the Basin of Minas. The scenery here was wild and grand. A few miles from the shore there rose a lofty rocky island, precipitous on all sides save one, its summit crested with trees, its base worn by the restless waves. Opposite this was a rocky shore, with cliffs crowned with the primeval forest. From this pond the strait began, and went on for miles, till it reached the Basin, forming a majestic avenue, with a sublime gateway. On one side of this gateway were rocky shores receding into wooded hills, while on the other was a towering cliff standing apart from the shore, rising abruptly from the water, torn by the tempest and worn by the tide. From this the precipitous cliff ran on for miles, forming one side of the strait, till it terminated in a majestic promontory. This promontory rose on one side, and on the other a lofty, wooded island, inside of which was a winding shore, curving into a harbor. Here the strait terminated, and beyond this the waters of the Basin of Minas spread away for many a mile, surrounded on every side by green, wooded shores. In one place was a cluster of small islands; in another, rivers rolled their turbid floods, bearing with them the sediment of long and fertile valleys. The blue waters sparkled in the sun under the blue sky; the sea-gulls whirled and screamed through the air; nowhere could the eye discern any of the works of man. It seemed like some secluded corner of the universe, and as if those on board the ship "were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea." But, though not visible from this point, the settlements of man were here, and the works of human industry lying far away on the slopes of distant hills and the edges of low, marshy shores. It was not without much caution that they had passed through the strait. They had waited for the tide to come in, and then, with a favorable wind, they had made the venture. Borne onward by wind and tide together, they sailed on far into the bay, and then, directing their course to the southward, they sailed onward for a few miles farther. The captain had been here before, and was anxious to find his former anchorage. On the former occasion he had waited outside and sent in for a pilot, but now he had ventured inside without one, trusting to his memory. He knew well the perils that attend upon navigation in this place, and was not inclined to risk too much. For here were the highest tides in the world to be encountered, and swift currents, and sudden gusts of wind, and far-spreading shoals and treacherous quicksands, among which the unwary navigator could come to destruction only too easily. But no accident happened on this occasion; the navigation was made with the utmost circumspection, the schooner being sent ahead to sound all the way, and the ship following. At length both came to anchor at a distance from the shore of about five miles. Nearer than that the captain did not dare to go, for fear of the sand-banks and shoals. Here a boat was lowered, and Cazeneau prepared to land, together with the aged Laborde and Mimi. The Abbé Michel also prepared to accompany them. Ever since Laborde had been saved from the wreck, he had been weak and listless. It seemed as though the exhaustion, and exposure, and privation of that event had utterly broken down his constitution. Since he had been taken to the ship, however, he had grown much worse, and was no longer able to walk. He had not risen from his berth since he had come on board the Aigle. Mimi's anxiety about him had been excessive, and she had no thought for anything else. The situation of Claude was unknown to her, and her distress about her father's increasing weakness prevented her from thinking much about him. Her only hope now was, that on reaching the shore her father would experience a change for the better, and be benefited by the land air. On removing Laborde from his berth, it was found that he not only had not strength to stand, but that he was even so weak that this motion served of itself to exhaust him fearfully. He had to be placed on a mattress, and carried in that way by four sailors to the ship's side, where he was carefully let clown into the boat. There the mattress was placed in the boat's stern, and Laborde lay upon this, with his head supported against Mimi, who held him encircled in her arms. In this way he was taken ashore. It was a long row, but the water was comparatively smooth, and the landing had been postponed until the flood tide, which made the boat's progress easier and swifter. The nearest shore was very low, and the landing-place was two or three miles farther on. In the distance the land rose higher, and was covered with trees, with here and there a clearing. The land which they first approached was well wooded on the water side, but on passing this the whole scene changed. This land was an island, about two miles distant from the shore, with its inner side cleared, and dotted with houses and barns. Between this and the shore there extended a continuous tract of low land, which had evidently once been a salt-water marsh, for along the water's edge the coarse grass grew luxuriantly; but a little distance back there was a dike, about six or eight feet high, which ran from the island to the shore, and evidently protected the intervening level from the sea. The island itself thus served as a dike, and the artificial works that had been made ran where the sea had the least possible effect. At length they approached the main land, and here they saw the low marsh-land all around them. Here a turbid river ran into the Basin, which came down a valley enclosed between wooded hills, and, with voluminous windings, terminated its course. At this place there was a convenient beach for landing, and here Laborde was removed from the boat and carried up on the bank, where he was laid on his mattress under a shadowy willow tree. This point, though not very elevated, commanded a prospect which, to these new comers who had suffered so much from the sea, might have afforded the highest delight, had they been sufficiently free from care to take it all in. All around them lay one of the most fertile countries in all the world, and one of the most beautiful. The slopes of the hills rose in gentle acclivities, cultivated, dotted with groves and orchards, and lined with rows of tall poplars. The simple houses of the Acadian farmers, with their out-buildings, gave animation to the scene. At their feet lay a broad extent of dike-land, green and glowing with the verdure of Juno, spreading away to that island, which acted as a natural dike against the waters of the sea. Beyond this lay the blue waters of Minas Basin, on whose bosom floated the ship and the schooner, while in the distance rose the cliff which marked the entrance into the Basin, and all the enclosing shores. But none of the party noticed this. Cazeneau was absorbed with his own plans; Laborde lay extended on the mattress, without any appearance of life except a faint breathing and an occasional movement; over him Mimi hung in intense anxiety, watching every change in his face, and filled with the most dreadful apprehensions; at a little distance stood Père Michel, watching them with sad and respectful sympathy. Captain Ducrot had come ashore in the boat, and, leaving Laborde, he accompanied Cazeneau to a house which stood not far away. It was rather larger than the average, with a row of tall poplars in front and an orchard on one side. A road ran from the landing, past this house, up the hill, to the rest of the settlement farther on. An old man was seated on a bench in the doorway. He rose as he saw the strangers, and respectfully removed his hat. "How do you do, Robicheau?" said Ducrot. "You see I have come back again sooner than I expected. I have brought with me his excellency the governor of Louisbourg, who will be obliged if you can make him comfortable for a few days. Also there are the Count de Laborde and his daughter, whom I should like to bring here; but if you cannot make them comfortable, I can take them to Comeau's." Upon this, Robicheau, with a low bow to Cazeneau, informed him that he thought there might be room for them all, if they would be willing to accept his humble hospitality. The old man spoke with much embarrassment, yet with sincere good will. He was evidently overwhelmed by the grandeur of his visitors, yet anxious to do all in his power to give them fitting entertainment. Ducrot now informed him that the Count de Laborde needed immediate rest and attention; whereupon Robicheau went in to summon his dame, who at once set to work to prepare rooms for the guests. Ducrot now returned to the landing, and ordered the sailors to carry Laborde to Robicheau's house. They carried him on the mattress, supporting it on two oars, which were fastened with ropes in such a way as to form a very easy litter. Mimi walked by her father's side, while Père Michel followed in the rear. In this way they reached Robicheau's house. The room and the bed were already prepared, and Laborde was carried there. As he was placed upon that bed, Mimi looked at him with intense anxiety and alarm, for his pale, emaciated face and weak, attenuated frame seemed to belong to one who was at the last verge of life. An awful fear of the worst came over her--the fear of bereavement in this distant land, the presentiment of an appalling desolation, which crushed her young heart and reduced her to despair. Her father, her only relative, her only protector, was slipping away from her; and in the future there seemed nothing before her but the very blackness of darkness. The good dame Robicheau saw her bitter grief, and shed tears of sympathy. She offered no word of consolation, for to her experienced eyes this feeble old man seemed already beyond the reach of hope. She could only show her compassion by her tears. Père Michel, also, had nothing to say; and to all the distress of the despairing young girl he could offer no word of comfort. It was a case where comfort could not be administered, and where the stricken heart could only be left to struggle with its own griefs--alone. A few hours after the first boat went ashore, a second boat landed. By this time, a large number of the inhabitants had assembled at the landing-place, to see what was going on; for to these people the sight of a ship was a rare occurrence, and they all recognized the Aigle, and wondered why she had returned. This second boat carried Claude, who had thus been removed from the ship to the shore for the purpose of being conveyed to Louisbourg. Captain Ducrot and Cazeneau had already succeeded in finding a place where he could be kept. It was the house of one of the fanners of Grand Pré, named Comeau, one of the largest in the whole settlement. Claude landed, and was committed to the care of Comeau, who had come down to receive his prisoner. It was not thought worth while to bind him, since, in so remote a place as this, there would be scarcely any inducement for him to try to escape. If he did so, he could only fly to the woods, and, as he could not support his life there, he would be compelled to return to the settlement, or else seek shelter and food among the Indians. In either case he would be recaptured; for the Acadians would all obey the order of the governor of Louisbourg, and deliver up to him any one whom he might designate; while the Indians would do the same with equal readiness, since they were all his allies. Under these circumstances, Claude was allowed to go with his hands free; and in this way he accompanied Comeau, to whose charge he was committed. He walked through the crowd at the landing without exciting any very particular attention, and in company with Comeau he walked for about half a mile, when he arrived at the house. Here he was taken to a room which opened into the general sitting-room, and was lighted by a small window in the rear of the house, and contained a bed and a chair. The door was locked, and Claude was left to his own reflections. Left thus to himself, Claude did not find his own thoughts very agreeable. He could not help feeling that he was now, more than ever, in the power of the man who had shown himself so relentless and persevering in his enmity. He was far away from any one whom he could claim as a friend. The people here were evidently all the creatures of Ducrot and Cazeneau. He saw that escape was useless. To get away from this particular place of imprisonment might be possible, for the window could be opened, and escape thus effected; but, if he should succeed in flying, where could he go? Annapolis Royal was many miles away; He did not know the way there; he could not ask; and even if he did know the way, he could only go there by running the gantlet of a population who were in league with Cazeneau. That evening, as old Comeau brought him some food, he tried to enter into conversation with him. He began in a gradual way, and as his host, or, rather, his jailer, listened, he went on to tell his whole story, insisting particularly on the idea that Cazeneau must be mistaken; for he thought it best not to charge him with deliberate malice. He hinted, also, that if he could escape he might bestow a handsome reward upon the man who might help him. To all this Comeau listened, and even gave utterance to many expressions of sympathy; but the end of it all was nothing. Either Comeau disbelieved him utterly, but was too polite to say so, or else he was afraid to permit the escape of the prisoner who had been intrusted to his care. Claude then tried another means of influencing him. He reminded him that the governor of Louisbourg had no jurisdiction here; that the Acadians of Grand Pré were subject to the King of England, and that all concerned in this business would be severely punished by the English as soon as they heard of it. But here Claude utterly missed his mark. No sooner had he said this, than old Comeau began to denounce the English with the utmost scorn and contempt. He told Claude that there were many thousands of French in Acadia, and only a hundred English; that they were weak and powerless; that their fort at Annapolis was in a ruinous state; and that, before another year, they would be driven out forever. He asserted that the King of France was the greatest of all kings; that France was the most powerful of all countries; that Louisbourg was the strongest fortress in the universe; and that the French would drive the English, not only out of Acadia, but out of America. In fact, Claude's allusion to the English proved to be a most unfortunate one; for, whereas at first the old man seemed to feel some sort of sympathy with his misfortunes, so, at the last, excited by this allusion, he seemed to look upon him as a traitor to the cause of France, and as a criminal who was guilty of all that Cazeneau had laid to his charge. CHAPTER X. ALONE IN THE WORLD. The condition of the old Count de Laborde grew steadily worse. The change to the land had done him no good, nor was all the loving care of Mimi of any avail whatever. Every one felt that he was doomed: and Mimi herself, though she struggled against that thought, still had in her heart a dark terror of the truth. This truth could at last be concealed no longer even from herself, for Père Michel came to administer the holy eucharist to the dying man, and to receive his last confession. Mimi could not be present while the dying man unfolded to his priest the secrets of his heart, nor could she hope to know what those secrets were. But dark indeed must they have been, and far, very far, beyond the scope of ordinary confessions, for the face of Père Michel, as he came forth from that room, was pale and sombre; and so occupied was he with his own thoughts that he took no notice of the weeping girl who stood there, longing to hear from him some word of comfort. But Père Michel had none to give. He left the house, and did not return till the next day. By that time all was over. Laborde had passed away in the night. The priest went in to look upon the form of the dead. Mimi was there, bowed down in the deepest grief, for she felt herself all alone in the world. The priest stood looking at the face of the dead for some time with that same gloom upon his face which had been there on the preceding day, when he left that bedside. At length he turned to Mimi. "Child," said he, in a voice full of pity, "I will not attempt to utter any words of condolence. I know well how the heart feels during the first emotions of sorrow over bereavement. Words are useless. I can only point you to Heaven, where all comfort dwells, and direct you to remember in your prayers him who lies here. The church is yours, with all her holy offices. The dearest friend must turn away from the dead, but the church remains, and follows him into the other world. Your heart may still be consoled, for you can still do something for the dear father whom you loved. You can pray for the soul of the departed, and thus it will seem to you as though you have not altogether lost him. He will seem near you yet when you pray for him; your spirit will seem to blend with his; his presence will seem about you. And besides, my dear child, this also I wish to say: you are not altogether alone in the world. I will watch over you till you go wherever you may wish. It is not much that I can do; but perhaps I can do for you all that you may now wish to be done for yourself. Think of this, then, dear child, and whenever you wish to have a friend's advice or assistance, come to me." To this Mimi listened with streaming eyes; and as the priest ended, she pressed his hand gratefully, and uttered some unintelligible words. His offer had come to her like balm. It did not seem now as though she was so desolate, for she had learned already to love the good priest with something of a daughter's feelings, and to trust in him profoundly. Laborde was buried in the little churchyard of Grand Pré; and now, in addition to the pangs of bereavement, Mimi began to feel other cares about her future. What was she to do? Could she go back to France? That was her only present course. But how? She could not go in the Aigle, for that frigate had left the day after her arrival, not having any time to spare. There was no other way of going to France now, except by going first to Louisbourg, and taking a ship from that place. But she was not left very long in suspense, for, two or three days after her father's burial, the Count de Cazeneau came to see her. "I hope," he began, "that it is not necessary for me to say to you how deeply I sympathize with you in your bereavement, for I myself have my own bereavement to mourn over--the loss of my best, my only friend, the friend of a lifetime, the high-minded, the noble Laborde. The loss to me is irrevocable, and never can I hope to find any mere friend who may fill his place. We were always inseparable. We were congenial in taste and in spirit. My coming to America was largely due to his unfortunate resolve to come here, a resolve which I always combated to the best of my ability, and over which you and I must now mourn. But regrets are useless, and it remains for both of us to see about the future." This somewhat formal opening was quite characteristic of Cazeneau, who, being of a distant, reserved nature, very seldom allowed himself to unbend; and, though he threw as much softness into his voice and manner as he was capable of using, yet Mimi felt repelled, and dreaded what might be coming. "When we were first picked up by the Aigle," he continued, "it was in my power either to go direct to Louisbourg, or to come here, and then go on by land. I chose to come here, for two reasons; first, because I hoped that my dear friend would be benefited by reaching the land as soon as possible, and I thought that the pure, fresh air, and genial climate, and beautiful scenery of this lovely place would exercise upon him an immediate effect for the better. Another purpose which I had was an official one. I wished to see this place and this people with reference to my own administration and designs for the future. Unhappily, my hopes for my friend have proved unfounded, and my only consolation is that, though I have been disappointed as a private man in my affections, yet, as a public official, I have been able, during my short stay here, to do good service to my country, in a way which my country's enemies shall feel at a vital point before another year has passed away." To this Mimi had nothing to say, for it was all preliminary, and she expected something more. She therefore waited in silence, though with much trepidation, to see what it might be that this man had in view with regard to her. Cazeneau then continued:-- "As I have now done all that I intended to do in this place, it is my intention to set forth for Louisbourg by land. I have some faithful Indians as guides, and the journey is not very fatiguing. In Louisbourg you will be able to obtain every comfort, and there will be friends and associates for you, your own social equals, who may make your life pleasanter than it has been for a long time." By this Cazeneau directly stated his intention of taking Mimi with him to Louisbourg--a statement which did not surprise Mimi, for it was what she had expected. Now, however, that he said this, and in this way, without pretending to ask her consent, her trepidation increased, and she thought with terror over that long and lonely journey, which she would have to make with this man and a band of savages. There was nothing else, however, to be done. She could neither hope nor desire to remain in Grand Pré. Her position was a painful one, and the only hope remaining was that of returning to France. And to go to Louisbourg was the surest way of doing that. One thing, however, she could not help asking, for this she felt to be a matter of extreme importance. "Is Père Michel going?" "He is," said Cazeneau. "He has asked permission to go with our party, and I have granted it." At this answer a great relief was felt by Mimi, and the future seemed less dark. "I have granted it," said Cazeneau, "because he seems a harmless man, and may be useful in various ways to me, hereafter, in my plans. He seems to know the people about here. I dare say he's been here before. "Your position at Louisbourg," continued Cazeneau, "will be one which will be most honorable: as the daughter of the Count de Laborde, you will receive universal attention, and my influence shall be exerted to make everything contribute to your happiness. As commandant, I shall, of course, be supreme; my house will be like a small vice-regal court, and the little world of Louisbourg will all do homage to any one whom I may hold up before them as a worthy object." Cazeneau paused after he had said this. It was a speech which was uttered slowly and with emphasis, but its meaning was not altogether apparent to Mimi. Still there was enough of it intelligible to her to make it seem excessively unpleasant. What he exactly meant was of no importance, the general meaning being certainly this: that he designed for her some prolonged stay there, during which he intended to secure homage and respect for her. Now, that was a thing that Mimi recoiled from with distaste. She had always detested this man, she had always shrunk from him. Her present position of dependence was most bitter; but to have that position continue was intolerable. It was as though he tried to put himself into the place of her beloved father,--he, whom she regarded as her father's evil genius,--as though he intended to make himself her guardian, and introduce her as his ward. "You speak," said she, in a trembling voice, "just as--as if--I--you supposed that I was going to live at Louisbourg." "And where else do you wish to live?" asked Cazeneau, placidly. "I want to go home," said Mimi, her eyes filling with tears, and her voice sounding like the wail of a child that has lost its way. "My poor child," said Cazeneau, more tenderly than he had yet spoken, "you evidently do not understand your position as yet. I did not intend to say anything about it; but, since you feel this way, and have spoken so, I suppose I must make some explanation. Well, then, my poor child, when your father left France on this unfortunate errand, he turned all his property into money, expecting to use that money in America in some way, in that mysterious design of his which brought him out here. All this money was on board the Arethuse with him, and it is hardly necessary to say that it was all lost. I know that his grief over this, and the thought that he was leaving you penniless, did more to shorten his life than the sufferings which he had on the sea. He sank under it. He told me that he could not rally from it; and it was his utter hopelessness that made him give way so completely. So, my poor child, this is your present situation: your father's estates are sold, and are now in the hands of strangers; your father's money is now at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean; so that to return to France is, for the present, at least, not to be thought of. "For my part," continued Cazeneau, as Mimi sat there dumb with horror at hearing this fresh and crushing news, "I do not see anything in your situation which need give you one moment's uneasiness. You have lost your father, but your father's best friend still lives, and he will never see the daughter of his friend know one single trouble, if he can help it. We were more than brothers. Suppose you try to think of me with something of the same confidence that your father felt. I, for my part, will put you in his place. You shall never know a care. You may consider yourself rich. You shall have no trouble except that deep sorrow which you feel as a fond daughter." "I cannot live in America," moaned Mimi, despairingly, recoiling in her heart from Cazeneau, and dreading him more than ever. "I cannot. I want to go home; or, if I have no home, I want to go to France. I will enter a convent." Cazeneau smiled at this. "Such a wish, dear child," said he, "is quite natural now, in the first freshness of your bereavement; but time alleviates all sorrow, and you may think differently hereafter. As to returning to France, you shall most certainly do that. I intend to go back after a time; and you will once more live in our dear, native land. But, for the present, let us not talk of these things. Louisbourg is now our destination. Fear nothing. You shall not know a care. You shall be guarded from every want, and every wish shall be gratified. You shall find yourself surrounded by the most anxious, and tender, and solicitous care for your happiness." These last words were spoken in a warmer and more impassioned manner than Cazeneau had thus far used, and their effect upon Mimi was so much the more unpleasant. He then raised her hand to his lips with respectful affection, and took his departure. Mimi was for a time quite overwhelmed. The sorrow which she had experienced for her father gave way to a new feeling--one of terror, deep, dark, and irremovable--about herself and her own future. All Cazeneau's words recurred to her, and the more she thought of them, the more hateful did they seem. Out of them all several things appeared plain to her mind. First, that she was a pauper. Of Cazeneau's words she did not doubt the truth. It seemed in the highest degree probable. She had all along known that her father had come to America to search after some of the Montresors, and to made reparation. Cazeneau now had informed her that he had turned all his property into money. It must have been for that purpose. The thought had never occurred to her before; but, now that it was stated, she did not dream of doubting it. It seemed too true. Secondly, she saw that Cazeneau, for some reason or other, was determined to keep her under his control. He was determined not to allow her to return to France, and not to enter a convent. He was bent upon associating her with his own life, and causing her to be admired in Louisbourg. Added to this was his promise to take her back to France with himself. All this showed that he would on no account allow her to part with him. What was the meaning of it all? And now the thought could no longer be kept out of her mind: Cazeneau's purpose was to make her his wife. His wife! The thought was to her most odious; but, having once presented itself, she could not argue it away, nor could she get rid of it at all. Yes, that was the meaning that lurked behind his words all the time. That was the meaning of his promise to make her admired and happy. Finally, she remembered how he had stated to her the fact that he was supreme in Louisbourg, and that through his grandeur she was to receive homage from all the lesser throng. To her this seemed like a plain statement that she was in his power, and entirely at his mercy. And now, what could she do? The future was worse than ever. She was completely in the power of a man whom she detested--a man upon whom she looked as her father's evil genius, as one whose evil counsel had long ago led her father to that act which he had atoned for by remorse and death. She was now in the hands of this villain. Escape seemed impossible. He was supreme here. From him there was no appeal. And she was a beggar. But, even if she were rich, what hope could she have against him? As she asked herself this question, there was no answer. She did not know what she could do, and could scarcely hope that she would ever know. It was in this state of mind that Père Michel found her, on the evening of that day. Mimi saw his arrival with intense delight. Here seemed one who might relieve her in her distress. Accordingly she proceeded to tell him her whole story, all the words of Cazeneau, with all their implied meaning, and all her own fears, from beginning to end. The priest heard her narration in profound silence, and after she had told him all, he remained in deep thought for some time, while Mimi sat anxiously awaiting what he might say. "My dear child," said the priest, at length, "it is difficult for me to give you advice, for your situation is most unpleasant, and most distressing to me. I can only entreat you to put your trust in that Heaven who never deserts the innocent. You must go to Louisbourg--there is no hope of escaping that. Besides, you yourself wish to go there. The Count de Cazeneau certainly has the chief power there; but whether he is omnipotent remains to be seen. Who knows what other powers may be there? I have known cases where the commandant has had powerful rivals,--such as the admiral of the fleet, or some subordinate who had influence at court at home. I have known places where the bishop could interfere and prevent his doing wrong. So, be calm, my daughter, put your trust in Heaven, and recollect that the commandant cannot break through all restraints, but that there must be some barriers that he cannot force. If you wish the protection of the church, that will always be yours. Beware how you do anything rashly. Confide in me. Perhaps, after all, these troubles may have a good end." CHAPTER XI. A FRIEND IN NEED. For more than a week Claude had been kept in confinement, and had seen nothing of any of his former acquaintances. The confinement was not so close as it might have been, and escape was not absolutely impossible, for the window which lighted the chamber was merely a wooden sash, with four panes of glass, which Claude could have removed, had he been so disposed; but this he was not inclined to do, and for two reasons. One reason was, because, if he did get out, he had no idea where to go. Annapolis Royal was the nearest settlement belonging to the English; but he did not know in which direction it lay. He knew, however, that between Grand Pré and that place the country was settled by the French, among whom he could not go without being captured by his pursuers, while if he took to the woods he would be sure to fall into the hands of the Indians, who were the zealous allies of the French. Such a prospect was of itself sufficient to deter him from the attempt to escape. But there was also another reason. He could not bear the thought of leaving Mimi forever, and never seeing her again. If he should succeed in escaping to Annapolis Royal, it would be an eternal separation between her and himself. Grand Pré seemed pleasant to him since she was here; and he thought it better to be a prisoner here than a free man elsewhere. He, therefore, deliberately preferred to run any risk that might be before him, with the faint hope of seeing Mimi again, rather than to attempt flight. What had happened since he had come here he did not know very clearly. From conversation which he had overheard he had gathered that Labordo was dead; but, when he asked any of them about it, they refused to tell him anything at all. Claude was, therefore, left to make the most that he could out of this vague information. But the intelligence caused him to feel much anxiety about Mimi. He remembered well all that she had ever told him, and could not help wondering what she would do under present circumstances. Would she be willing to remain in the neighborhood of Cazeneau? But how could she help it? Would not Cazeneau take advantage of her present loneliness to urge forward any plans that he might have about her? Already the suspicion had come to Claude that Cazeneau had certain plans about Mimi. What he thought was this: that Laborde was rich, that Mimi was his heiress, and that Cazeneau was a man of profligate life and ruined fortunes, who was anxious to repair his fortunes by marrying this heiress. To such a man the disparity in their years would make no difference, nor would he particularly care whether Mimi loved him or not, so long as he could make her his wife, and gain control over her property. What had given him this idea about Cazeneau's position and plans it is difficult to say; but it was probably his own jealous fears about Mimi, and his deep detestation of his enemy. And now he began to chafe against the narrow confines of his chamber with greater impatience. He longed to have some one with whom he could talk. He wondered whether Cazeneau would remain here much longer, and, if he went away, whether he would take Mimi or leave her. He wondered, also, whether he would be taken to Louisbourg. He felt as if he would rather go there, if Mimi was to go, even at the risk of his life, than remain behind after she had left. But all his thoughts and wonders resulted in nothing whatever, for it was impossible to create any knowledge out of his own conjectures. He was in the midst of such thoughts as these when his ears were attracted by the sound of a familiar voice. He listened attentively. It was the voice of Père Michel. No sooner had Claude satisfied himself that it was indeed the priest, than he felt sure that he had come here to visit him; and a little longer waiting showed that this was the case. There were advancing footsteps. Madame Comeau opened the door, and Père Michel entered the chamber. The door was then shut, and the two were alone. So overcome was Claude by joy that he flung himself into the priest's arms and embraced him. The good priest seemed to reciprocate his emotion, for there were tears in his eyes, and the first words that he spoke were in tremulous tones. "My son," the priest commenced, in gentle, paternal tones, and in a voice that was tremulous with emotion, "you must calm yourself." Then, suddenly speaking in English, he said, "It is necessaire dat we sall spik Ingeles, for ze peuple of ze house may suspeck--" Upon this Claude poured forth a torrent of questions in English, asking about Laborde, Cazeneau, Zac, and Mimi. It will not be necessary to report the words of the priest in his broken English, but rather to set them down according to the sense of them. So the priest said,-- "You speak too fast, my son. One thing at a time. The poor Laborde is dead and buried. The Count Cazeneau is about to go to Louisbourg. Mimi is going with him." "Mimi going with him!" cried Claude, in deep agitation. "Be calm, my son. Do not speak so loud. I have told the people of this house that your life is in danger, and that I have come as a priest, to hear your last confession. I do not wish them to suspect my real errand. We may talk as we wish, only do not allow yourself to be agitated." "But tell me," said Claude, in a calmer voice, "how is it possible that Mimi can trust herself with Cazeneau?" "_Ma foi_," said the priest, "it is possible, for she cannot help it. But do not fear. I am going to accompany them, and, as far as my feeble power can do anything, I will watch over her, and see that she suffers no injustice. I hope that Heaven will assist her innocence and my protection; so do not allow yourself to be uneasy about her; but hope for the best, and trust in Heaven." At this Claude was silent for a few moments. At length he said,-- "O, Père Michel, must I stay here when she goes? Can you tell me what they are going to do with me?" "It is about yourself that I am going to speak, and it was for this that I came," said the priest. "Can I go with the others to Louisbourg?" asked Claude, eagerly; for he thought only of being near Mimi. "Heaven forbid!" said the priest. "It is in a for different way that you are to go. Listen to me. The Count de Cazeneau is going to set out to-morrow, with a party of Indians as escort. Mimi is to be taken with him. I am going, too. It is his intention to leave you here for a time, till his escort can return. They will then take you to Louisbourg. If he can find any Indians on the way whom he can make use of, he will send them here for you. But meantime you are to be kept imprisoned here. "Now, I am acquainted with the Indians better than most men. I lived in Acadie formerly, long enough to be well known to the whole tribe. I am also well known to the Acadians. Among the Indians and the Acadians there are many who would willingly lay down their lives for me. I could have delivered you before this, but I saw that you were not in any immediate danger; so I preferred postponing it until the Count de Cazeneau had left. I do not wish him to suspect that I have any interest in you; and when he hears of your escape, I do not wish him to think that I had anything to do with it. But I have already made all the plans that are necessary, and the men are in this neighborhood with whom I have arranged for your escape." "What is the plan?" asked Claude, eagerly. "I will tell you," said the priest. "There are six Indians, all of them devoted to me. They will guide you to a place of safety, and will be perfectly faithful to you as long as they are with you. They are ready to go anywhere with you, to do anything for you, even to the extent of laying down their lives for you. It is for my sake that they are willing to show this devotion. I have presented you to them as my representative, and they look upon you as they would look upon me. But, first of all, you are to get out of this. Can you open that window?" "It was fastened tight when I first came," said Claude; "but I have loosened it, so that I can take it out very quickly." "Very good. Now, one of these Indians will be here to-morrow night. We shall leave to-morrow morning; and I do not want you to be rescued till after our departure. At midnight, to-morrow, then, the Indian will be here. He will give a sound like a frog, immediately outside, under the window. You must then open the window. If you see him, or hear him, you must then get out, and he will take you to the woods. After that he and the rest of the Indians will take you through the woods to Port Royal, which they call Annapolis Royal. Here you will be safe from Cazeneau until such time as may suit you to go back to Boston. Annapolis Royal is about twenty-four leagues from this place, and you can easily go there in two days." Claude listened to all this without a word; and, after the priest had ended, he remained silent for some time, with his eyes fixed on the floor. "The Indians will be armed," said the priest, "and will have a rifle and a sword for you. So you need have no trouble about anything." "My dear Père Michel," said Claude, at last, "you lay me under very great obligations; but will you not add to them by allowing me to select my own route?" "Your own route?" asked the priest. "What do you mean? You don't know the country, especially the woods, while these Indians will be at home there." "What I mean is this," said Claude: "will you not allow me the use of this Indian escort in another direction than the one you mention?" "Another direction? Why, where else can you possibly go? Annapolis is the nearest place for safety." "I should very much prefer," said Claude "to go to Canso." "To Canso!" said the priest, in great surprise; "to Canso! Why, you would come on our track!" "That is the very reason why I wish to go there. Once in Canso, I should be as safe as in Annapolis." The priest shook his head. "From what I hear, Canso cannot be a safe place for you very long. England and France are on the eve of war, and Cazeneau expects to get back Acadie--a thing that is very easy for him to do. But why do you wish to venture so near to Louisburg? Cazeneau will be there now; and it will be a very different place from what it would have been had you not saved Cazeneau from the wreck, and made him your enemy." "My dear Père Michel," said Claude, "I will be candid with you. The reason why I wish to go in that direction is for the sake of being near to Mimi, and on account of the hope I have that I may rescue her." "Mimi! Rescue her!" exclaimed the priest, astonished, not at the young man's feelings towards Mimi, for those he had already discovered, but rather at the boldness of his plan,--"rescue her! Why how can you possibly hope for that, when she will be under the vigilant eye of Cazeneau?" "I will hope it, at any rate," said Claude. "Besides, Cazeneau will not be vigilant, as he will not suspect that he is followed. His Indians will suspect nothing. I may be able, by means of my Indians, to entice her away, especially if you prepare her mind for my enterprise." The priest was struck by this, and did not have any argument against it; yet the project was evidently distasteful to him. "It's madness," said he. "My poor boy, it may cost you your life." "Very well," said Claude; "let it go. I'd rather not live, if I can't have Mimi." The priest looked at him sadly and solemnly. "My poor boy," said he, "has it gone so far as that with you?" "As far as that--yes," said Claude, "and farther. Recollect I saved her life. It seems to me as if Heaven threw her in my way; and I'll not give her up without striking a blow. Think of that scoundrel Cazeneau. Think of the danger she is in while under his power. There is no hope for her if he once gets her in Louisbourg; the only hope for her is before she reaches that place; and the only one who can save her is myself. Are my Indians faithful for an enterprise of that kind?" "I have already told you," said the priest, "that they would all lay down their lives for you. They will go wherever you lead. And now, my dear son," continued the priest, "I did not think that you would dream of an enterprise like this. But, since you have made the proposal, and since you are so earnest about it, why, I make no opposition. I say, come, in Heaven's name. Follow after us; and, if you can come up with us, and effect a communication with Mimi, do so. Your Indians must be careful; and you will find that they can be trusted in a matter of this kind. If I see that you are coming up with us, and find any visitors from you, I will prepare Mimi for it. But suppose you succeed in rescuing her," added the priest; "have you thought what you would do next?" "No," said Claude; "nor do I intend to think about that. It will depend upon where I am. If I am near Canso, I shall go there, and trust to finding some fisherman; if not, I shall trust to my Indians to take us back through the woods to Annapolis. But there's one thing that you might do." "What?" "Zac--is he on board the schooner, or ashore?" "The skipper?" said the priest. "No. I have not seen him. I think he must be aboard the schooner. It is my intention to communicate with him before I leave this place." "Do so," said Claude, eagerly; "and see if you can't get him free, as you have managed for me; and if you can persuade him, or beg him for me, to sail around to Canso, and meet me there, all will be well. That is the very thing we want. If he will only promise to go there, I will push on to Canso myself, at all hazards." The priest now prepared to go. A few more words were exchanged, after which Claude and Père Michel embraced. The priest kissed him on both cheeks. "Adieu, my dear son," said he. "I hope we may meet again." "Adieu, dear Père Michel," said Claude. "I shall never forget your kindness." With this farewell the two separated; the priest went out, and the door was fastened again upon Claude. For the remainder of that night, Claude did not sleep much. His mind was filled with the new prospect that the priest's message had opened before him. The thought of being free once more, and at the head of a band of devoted followers, on the track of Mimi, filled him with excitement. That he would be able to overtake the party of Cazeneau, he did not doubt; that he would be able to rescue Mimi, he felt confident. The revulsion from gloom and despondency to hope and joy was complete, and the buoyant nature of Claude made the transition an easy one. It was with difficulty that he could prevent himself from bursting forth into songs. But this would have been too dangerous, since it would have attracted the attention of the people of the house, and led them to suspect that the priest had spoken other words to him than those of absolution; or they might report this sudden change to Cazeneau, and thereby excite his suspicions. The next day came. Claude knew that on this day Cazeneau and his party had left, for he overheard the people of the house speaking about it. According to their statements, the party had left at about four in the morning. This filled Claude with a fever of impatience, for he saw that this first day's march would put them a long way ahead, and make it difficult for him to catch up with them. But there was only one day, and he tried to comfort himself with the thought that he could travel faster than the others, and also that the priest and Mimi would both manage to retard their progress, so as to allow him to catch up. The day passed thus, and evening came at last. Hour after hour went by. All the family retired, and the house was still. Claude then slowly, and carefully, and noiselessly removed the window from its place. Then he waited. The hours still passed on. At last he know that it must be about midnight. Suddenly he heard, immediately outside, a low, guttural sound--the well-known sound of a frog. It was the signal mentioned by the priest. The time had come. He put his head cautiously outside. Crouched there against the wall of the house, close underneath, he saw a dusky figure. A low, whispered warning came up. Claude responded in a similar manner. Then, softly and noiselessly, he climbed out of the window. His feet touched the ground. No one had heard him. He was saved. CHAPTER XII. THE PARSON AMONG THE PHILISTINES. A map of this part of America, in this year, 1743, would show a very different scene from that which is presented by one of the present date. The country held by the English did not reach beyond the Kennebec, although claimed by them. But north of this river it was all in the virtual possession of the French, and on the map it was distinguished by the French colors. A line drawn from the mouth of the Penobscot, due north, to the River St. Lawrence, divided New England from the equally extensive territory of New Scotland, or Nova Scotia. This New England was bordered on the east by Nova Scotia, on the north by the River St. Lawrence, and on the west by the province of New York. But in New England the French colors prevailed over quite one half of this territory; and in Nova Scotia, though all was claimed by the English, every part was actually held by the French, except one or two points of a most unimportant character. Looking over such a map, we perceive the present characteristics all gone, and a vast wilderness, full of roaming tribes of Indians, filling the scene. North of Boston there are a few towns; but beyond the little town of Falmouth, the English settlements are all called Fort this and Fort that. Up the valley of the Kennebec is the mark of a road to Quebec; and about half way, at the head waters of the Kennebec, a point is marked on the map with these words: "_Indian and French rendezvous. Extremely proper for a fort, which mould restrain the French and curb the Abenakki Indians_." And also: "_From Quebec to Kennebek River mouth, not much above half way to Boston, and one third to New York, thence by that R. and ye Chaudiere ye road to Canada is short_." North of the St. Lawrence is a vast country, which is called New France. As Old France and Old England struggle for the supremacy in the old world, so New France and New England struggle for the supremacy in the new world, and the bone of contention is this very district alluded to,--this border-ground,--called by the French L'Acadie, but claimed by the English as Nova Scotia, which bordered both on New England and New France. This debatable territory on the map is full of vast waste spaces, together with the names of savage tribes never heard of before or since, some of which are familiar names, merely spelled in an unusual manner, while others owe their origin, perhaps, to the imagination of the map-maker or his informant. Thus, for example, we have Massasuk, Arusegenticook, Saga Dahok, and others of equally singular sound. In this debatable territory are numerous forts, both French and English. These are situated, for the most part, in the valleys of rivers, for the very good reason that these valleys afford the best places for settlement, and also for the further reason that they are generally used as the most convenient routes of travel by those who go by land from one post to another. These forts are numerous on the west of New England; they also stud the map in various places towards the north. The valley of the St. John, in Nova Scotia, is marked by several of these. Farther on, the important isthmus which connects the peninsula of Nova Scotia with the main land is protected by the strong post called Fort Beausejour. In this peninsula of Nova Scotia, various settlements are marked. One is named Minas, which is also known as Grand Pré, a large and important community, situated in one of the most beautiful and fertile valleys in America. In the neighborhood of this are a half dozen points, marked with the general name of French settlements, while the vacant places between and beyond are marked with the name Mic Macs, which is the title of the Indians who inhabit Nova Scotia. One post here, however, possesses a singular interest in the eyes of the good people of Boston. It is marked on the map by the name of Annapolis, once the French Port Royal, but now the only English post of any consequence in all Nova Scotia. Here resides the handful of Englishmen who claim to rule the province. But the government is a mockery, and the French set it at defiance. If England wishes to assert her power here, she must have a far different force in the country from the handful of ragged and ill-armed soldiers who mount guard on the tumble-down forts at Annapolis. Beyond all these, at the extreme east of the peninsula, is an island called by the French Ile Royale, and by the English Cape Breton. This is held by the French. Here is their greatest stronghold in America, except Quebec, and one, too, which is regarded by Boston with greater jealousy and dread than the latter, since it is actually nearer, is open winter and summer, and can strike a more immediate blow. This was the extreme eastern outpost of French power in America. Here the French colonies reached out their arms to the mother country. Here began that great chain of fortresses, which ran up the valleys of navigable rivers, and connected with the great fortress of Quebec the almost impregnable outpost of Ticonderoga, and the posts of Montreal Island. From these the chain of military occupation extended itself towards the south, through the valleys of the Ohio and the Mississippi, until they were connected with the flourishing colony at New Orleans. Thus it was, and with these advantages, that the French engaged in the great and momentous conflict with the English for the possession of America, and on the side of the former were the greater part of the wild and warlike Indians. And now let us return to our friend Zac, who for some time has been lost sight of. When the Aigle came to anchor, the schooner did the same, and lay under her guns some miles out from the shore. Zac had been allowed a certain amount of freedom, for, as the lieutenant had promised, his hands had not been bound. The same liberty was allowed to the others on board. Six French seamen were on board, who navigated the schooner, and acted as her guard. These were armed, while Zac and his friends were all unarmed. While sailing up the bay this guard was hardly necessary, as the schooner was under the guns of the frigate; but afterwards the necessity was more apparent. The Aigle could not wait at Grand Pré longer than was requisite to land those who were going ashore. The boat that landed these brought back a half dozen Acadians from Grand Pré, whom it left on board the schooner. Then, taking back again her own seamen, the Aigle spread her white wings and sailed away for _La Belle France_. Zac saw this change in affairs with varied feelings. First of all, he had half hoped that he might be let off, after all; partly because it was not a time of formal war, and partly because the schooner had saved some important lives, and therefore, at the very least, ought to be let off. But this change in her masters dispelled Zac's hope, and made him see that there was not at all any prospect of an immediate release. From that moment Zac gave up all hope of any release whatever, and began to see that, if escape were to be made, it must be effected by his own skill and daring. The new comers seemed willing to maintain the old state of things, and showed no inclination to keep their prisoners in bonds. They were a good-natured lot, with simple, unsophisticated faces, and looked with amiable smiles upon the schooner and its company. Still, they were all stout, able-bodied fellows, and all were armed. The leader was a man of about forty, who seemed to be regarded by the rest with considerable respect. He was also able to speak a few words of English. They contented themselves with keeping a general lookout over the schooner and its crew, and taking turns at the night watch. In fact, the simple confidence of the Acadians in the security of their guard seemed to be justified by circumstances. These six stout men wore armed; Zac and his followers were unarmed. All the floating craft in the Basin belonged to the Acadians, and all the settlements. For Zac to escape by water was scarcely possible, and to get off by land was not to be thought of. The nearest English settlement was many miles away, and to reach it he would have to run the gantlet of a population of French and Indians. Day after day passed, and Zac spent most of the time in meditating over his situation and keeping his eyes and ears on the alert. He understood pretty well that to the villany of Cazeneau were due both his own captivity and the more serious danger which threatened his friend. It was from Margot that he had first heard of Cazeneau as an enemy, and little more had he been able to find out beyond what she had told him in the brief conversation already related. The illness of Laborde had necessitated her attendance on her master and mistress, and prevented any further confidences. Only a few occasional greetings were possible after that. Then followed the arrival of the Aigle, and the transfer of Margot, with the rest, to the French frigate. Zac had consequently been left in the dark as to the particular villany of Cazeneau towards Laborde and Mimi. But he had seen enough and felt enough to be sure that his enmity, from whatever cause it arose, was of no common kind, that Claude was in great danger, and that he himself was involved in the same peril, though to a less degree. This conviction served, therefore, to keep his mind continually on the alert, so as to find out what was the present situation of Claude, and also to devise and lay hold of some plan of action for himself. In his thoughts the good Père Michel was suggested as the only one who could do anything for either of them. What his influence might be, he could not guess; but he at least believed in his friendliness and good faith, and he could not help feeling that the priest would do all that was possible. It seemed to him not unlikely that the priest might come out to see him, and convey to him some information about the present state of affairs in Grand Pré. And besides this, he could not help feeling a vague hope that, even if the priest were unable to do anything, he might receive some sort of a message from one whom he could not help as regarding in the light of a friend--namely, the amiable Margot. The situation had been accepted by the rest of the ship's company without any great display of emotion. Biler's melancholy remained unchanged, and still, as of yore, he passed much of his time at the mast-head, contemplating the universe, and eating raw turnips. Jericho remained as busy as ever, and cared for his pots, and his kettles, and his pans, without apparently being conscious that his master was a slave now, as well as himself. Upon Terry, also, the yoke of captivity lay but lightly. It was not in the nature of Terry to be downcast or sullen; and the simple expedients which had led him to fraternize with the shipwrecked sailors had afterwards enabled him to fraternize equally well with the crew of the Aigle that had been put on board. These had gone, and it remained now for him to come to an understanding with the Acadians. Constant practice had made him more capable, and, in addition to his own natural advantages, he had also learned a few French words, of which he made constant use in the most efficient way. The Acadians responded to Terry's advances quite as readily as any of the others had done; and before they had been on board one day they were all singing and laughing with the merry Irish lad, and going into fits of uproarious mirth at Terry's incessant use of the few French words which he had learned; for it was Terry's delight to stop each one of them, and insist on shaking hands, whenever he met them, saying at the same time, with all the gravity in the world,-- "_Commy voo party voo, bong tong. Bon jure, moosoo_!" Thus nearly a week passed, and during all that time Zac had heard nothing about the fate of his friends ashore. Neither the priest nor Margot sent him any message whatever. The Acadians themselves did not hold any communication with the shore, but remained on board quite placidly, in a state of calm content--as placidly, indeed, as though they had been living on board the Parson all their lives. During all the time Zac had been meditating over his situation, and trying to see his way out of it. At length a ray of light began to dawn into his mind, which illuminated his present position, and opened up to him a way of action. One day after dinner, while the Acadians were lolling in the sun, and while Terry was smoking his pipe forward, Zac sauntered up to him in a careless fashion, and placing himself near Terry, where he could not be overheard, he began to talk in an easy tone with the other, "Terry, lad," said he, "I'm getting tired o' this here." "Faix, an' it's mesilf that's been waitin' to hear ye say that same for a week an' more--so it is." [Illustration: "I Think We Can Manage To Get The Schooner From These Chaps."] "Wal, ye see, I ben a turnin' it over in my mind, and hain't altogether seen my way clear afore; but now it seems to me as how it's a burnin' shame to stand this here any longer." "Thrue for you; an' so it is," said Terry. "An' so, ef ye've got anythin' on yer mind that ye want to do, why, out with it, for I'm your man." "Wal, ye see," resumed Zac, "it's this here; I don't want to go away out o' this jest yet." "Not go away! Tare an ages," cried Terry; "d'ye want to be a prisoner?" "Course not. I mean this: I don't want to go an' leave my friend here, Motier, in the hands of the Philistines." "Sure ye can't do anythin' for him; an' he's among his own kin--so he is; for he jabbers French ayqual to the best of thim." "No, I can't do anything for him as I am; that's a fact; and so I'm bound to put myself in a position whar I can do somethin'; that is, I'm bound to seize this here schewner, an' bring the old Parson back to the fold." "Arrah, sure, an' that's the right sort of talk--so it is; an' it's mesilf that's glad to hear ye. An' so, what is it, captain dear? Out with it. Tell me what yer plan is, an' I'm wid ye--so I am." "I think, Terry, that we can manage to get the schewner from these chaps--can't we?" "Sure we can. Sure, an' I'd ingage to do it alone, almost." "They don't watch much." "Not a bit of it." "The two that watch at night sleep half the time." "Sure, an' that's thrue for you, for I've seed thim at it whin I was asleep mesilf." "We can git Jericho to bar down the cabin door, Terry, an' then you an' I can seize the two on deck." "Aisy enough--so it is. They'll all be dead asleep--so they will." "Wal, thar we'll have them; an' then I hope to be able to bring a pressure on the natyves of these regions by which I may git my friend out of their clutches." "Sure, an' I don't onderstand ye at all, at all." "Why, I'll have these six Acadians prisoners, an' then I'll sail up off Grand Pré, an' threaten to cut the throats of all of them if they don't send off Motier to me in ten minutes." "Tare an' ages!" cried Terry. "Whoroo! but isn't that the plan? It is. It bates the wurruld--so it does. An whin'll ye begin, captain darlint?" "To-night," said Zac. CHAPTER XIII. A STROKE FOE LIBERTY. Zac and Terry talked for a long time over the plan, trying to chat in an off-hand and careless manner, so as not to excite any suspicion. No suspicion appeared to be raised among the Acadians, who took no notice of them whatever. So Zac and Terry had sufficient opportunity to arrange all the details of the plan, and it was decided that Terry should indicate to Jericho what was to be done by him. It was agreed that the best time would be about three o'clock in the morning; for then the Acadians below would all be in their soundest sleep, while those who kept watch on deck would probably, in accordance with their usual careless fashion, be sunk into a slumber no less sound. Terry at length left Zac, and moved about in a desultory fashion, after which he finally settled down among the Acadians, and began to sing to them the immortal strain of St. Patrick. Although Zac had upon his mind the weight of such an important enterprise, yet it did not at all interfere with his usual slumbers. He went to bed at nine, and slept soundly. At about half past two he awoke, and waited a little longer. Then he roused Terry and Jericho. Terry then went upon deck noiselessly, and reconnoitred. It was as they had hoped it would be. Two men were on deck as a watch, but both were crouched under the taffrail fast asleep. Terry proposed to go and shut down the cabin door, where the rest of the Acadians were; but Zac concluded that it would be best for Jericho to do this, so that in case the noise should wake the watch, he and Terry might be on hand to deal with them. Jericho was now sent aft, charged with the burden of an important commission. He went softly and swiftly, like a spirit of night. His whole nature seemed changed by the purpose before him. In an instant he had ceased to be the lowly slave intent on cookery, and had started up into the attitude of an African warrior. As he glided along, Zac and Terry, with equal noiselessness, moved towards the slumbering watch, and then waited. It was necessary that the cabin should first be closed, so that those within, if alarmed by the outcry of their friends, should not be able to help them. All went on well. Jericho reached the cabin, and then swiftly, and with as little noise as possible, shut the door and fastened it. Upon this, Zac and Terry each seized one of the slumbering Acadians, and before they were fairly awake they were disarmed. Zac and Terry both scorned to bind them, partly out of kindly feeling towards them, partly because they themselves had not been bound, and partly out of the pride of their manhood. The Acadians at first stood stupefied, and then, recognizing the whole truth, they slunk forward, and stood dejectedly in the bows, where they awaited with fear the further action of their late prisoners. Both Terry and Zac made friendly signs to them, pressing their hands on their hearts, smiling, nodding, and so forth; while Terry even went so far as to whistle one of their favorite melodies. But the Acadians were not to be reassured. They looked upon themselves as lost men, and evidently regarded Terry as a traitor of the deepest dye. They now waited till the others in the cabin should make some sign. Jericho had armed himself with an axe, with which he stood ready to act in case of a fight. It was evident that the Acadians in the cabin had heard nothing whatever, and not one of them awaked before the usual time. Then, of course, the painful discovery was made by them. At first, loud cries and threats were made; but these were stilled by Zac, who in a voice of thunder awed them into silence. "You are prisoners!" said he. "Give up your arms." The one who understood a little English was able to comprehend this. The command was followed by an excited debate among the four, which was at last ended by a second mandate from Zac, accompanied by a threat to fire upon them. At this a hurried answer was given:-- "We render. We render. Fire not." A small skylight was then opened, and all the arms and equipments of the prisoners were passed up. These were appropriated by Zac. The door of the cabin was then unfastened and opened, and the prisoners called upon to come forth. They came looking fearful and dejected, as though apprehending the worst. Zac, Terry, and Jericho, each with his musket, stood at the stern, and as they came out they motioned to them to go to the bows. The Acadians obeyed in silence, and soon joined their two companions. Some time was now occupied by Zac in talking over with Terry the best course to be pursued. They at length decided to allow the Acadians to remain unbound by day, and to shut them down at night, or while sailing. As long as these men were unarmed and themselves armed, they had not the slightest fear of any trouble arising. For the Acadians, though stout, muscular fellows, were all so good-natured and phlegmatic in their faces that no danger of anything so desperate as an attack on their part was to be anticipated. It was decided, however, while they were on deck, to keep them confined to the forward part of the schooner. This Zac succeeded in making known to them. "We won't do you no harm," said he. "We won't tie you or bind you. At night you must go below to sleep. If any of you make an attack, we won't show you any mercy. So you'd best keep quiet." The chief Acadian understood this as well by the signs with which it was accompanied as from the words, and he explained it to his followers. He then informed Zac that they would be quiet; whereupon Terry went forward and shook hands with each and all of them. "_Commy porty-voo? Bon jure, moosoo_," said he; to which the Acadians, however, made no response. They did indeed allow him to shake their hands; but they would not say anything, and evidently regarded him as a perjured villain, and traitor to their cause. "Biler!" roared Zac. "Whar are you, you young cuss of life?" Upon this the young cuss of life slowly emerged from the forecastle, holding a cold potato in his hand. The scene on deck made no impression on him, but he walked aft with his eyes fixed on Zac. "Stand there!" commanded Zac; and Biler stood. "Feller seamen and comrades at arms," said Zac, stretching out his arm in the oratorical fashion which he had seen used at town meetings "to hum." "This is a gellorious day for his great and gracious majesty King George, whose loyal subjects we air, as we have proved by this rescoo of his ship from the hands of the Philistines. It air all very well for the king to send out his red-coats; but I tell you what it is, I ain't seen a red-coat that lives that's equal to the natyve pro-vincial. Who air the ones that doos the best fightin' out here? The pro-vincials! Who air the men that's druv the wild and bloodthusty Injin back to his natyve woods? The pro-vincial! And who air the men that's goin' to settle the business of Moosoo, an' make America too hot to hold him an' his'n? The red-coats? Nay; but rayther the pro-vincials, the men that's fit the catamounts, an' bars, an' Injins, an' turned the waste an' howlin' wilderness into a gardin', an' made the desert blossom like a rose. So, I say, Hooray for the pro-vincials!" At this Zac removed his hat. Terry did the same; so did Jericho. Biler had none to remove, but he raised his potato in the air. Zac led off--"Hip, hip, hip, h-o-o-o-r-a-a-a-y!" "Arrah, captain, darlint, an' while yo's about it, sure ye won't be forgettin' ould Ireland," cried Terry, as the ringing cheers died away over the waters. "Certingly," said Zac. "Course. Here goes!" And three cheers in the same fashion followed for Terry's native land. "Tare an' ages!" cried Terry; "an' while we're about it, sure an' we's ought to give three chairs for Africa, in honor of Jericho." "Hooray!" cried Zac. "Here goes!" And three cheers followed for Africa. Whether Jericho knew much about Africa, may be a question; but he understood at least that this honor was offered to himself, and accepted it accordingly. It almost overwhelmed him. A wild chuckle of spasmodic delight burst from him, which threatened to end in a convulsion. And though he rallied from this, yet he was quite demoralized, and it was a long time before he settled down into that sedate old darky which was his normal condition. And now Zac waited. Finding himself in command of his own schooner again, he felt more able to act in case of necessity. He was so far out from the shore that he was easily able to guard against the unexpected arrival of any boat. By day he lay at anchor; but when night came the Acadians were sent below, the anchor was raised, and the schooner cruised about the bay. The strong tides and currents caused a little trouble, but Zac soon got the run of them, at least in a general way, and several nights were thus passed. At length he began to grow impatient, and felt quite at a loss what to do. He was half inclined to send one of the Acadians ashore with a message, but as yet concluded to wait a little longer. The Acadians, whether from fear or policy, did as they promised, and kept quiet. They kept by themselves always, and refused to accept the advances of Terry, though they were frequently made. They all appeared listless and dejected, and the smiles, the laughter, and the singing which had characterized their first days on board had all passed away, and given place to low, murmured conversation or silence. At length, one evening at about six o'clock, Zac saw a solitary boat coming from the shore. It was a long way off when he first saw it, and it seemed to be coming towards the schooner. The tide was unfavorable, so that the progress was quite slow; but its course lay steadily towards him, and Zac, who watched it intently, was turning over in his mind his best plan of action. It did not seem large enough to contain any very formidable force; but Zac thought best to take every precaution, and so sent all the Acadians below, while Terry and Jericho stood ready for action. The time passed away, and the boat drew steadily nearer. At length it came near enough for Zac to see that it was rowed by two men, which sight was most welcome, since it assured him that no danger was to be apprehended. As he watched it, the boat drew nearer and nearer. He said nothing, but waited for them to speak first. He could see that both of the men were unarmed. At last the boat touched the schooner's side. One of the men leaped on board, securing the boat, and the other followed immediately. They were both dressed like all the Acadians, but the second boatman had a slouched hat, which concealed his face. Zac, who carelessly regarded him, noticed that he was a smooth-faced boy, while the first boatman was a grizzled old man. Both of these looked around, and seemed surprised. At length the boy advanced towards Zac. "Capitaine," said this boy, "what ees dees? You no seem a preesonaire. You haf a gun. Air you free?" At the sound of this voice Zac started back a step or two in utter amazement. Could it be possible? Yet that voice could not belong to any other. It must be. And even as he stood thus bewildered, the boy raised his hat with a shy smile, with which there was also much sadness mingled, and revealed the face of the little Margot. "Wal," exclaimed Zac, "this doos beat creation!" Zac then caught both her hands, and held them in a tight grip, and for a few moments could not speak. "I do feel good, little one," said he, in a tremulous voice. "This here's what I ben a waitin' for--to see you--an' you only--though I skurse dared to hope it. At any rate, I did hope and feel that you wouldn't go off without a word, and no more you heven't; an' I feel so happy that I could cry." It was not exaggerated. Honest Zac was unused to such emotions, and hardly understood them. His eyes were moist as he looked upon Margot, and she saw that his simple confession was true. Her own emotion was as great as his. Tears started to her own eyes, and in her sadness she leaned on his arm and wept. Whereupon Zac's tears fell in spite of him, and he began to call himself a darned fool, and her a dear little pet; till the scolding of himself and the soothing of Margot became so hopelessly intermingled that he called her a darned old pet, and himself a dear little fool. Whereupon Margot burst into a laugh, dashed her tears away, and started off from Zac's grasp. And now Margot proceeded to tell Zac the reason of her journey. From her he learned for the first time the events that had taken place on shore. First, she informed him that Claude was in confinement, and that Cazeneau intended to take him or send him to Louisbourg; that Cazeneau himself was bitterly hostile to him. She informed him that Laborde was dead; that Mimi was in terrible distress, and in mortal terror of Cazeneau; and finally, that she was to be taken to Louisbourg. All this filled Zac with concern and apprehension. She informed Zac that she and her mistress were to be taken away early on the following morning, and that she had slipped off thus in disguise, with the consent of her mistress, to let him know the danger of his friend; for Claude was to remain in Grand Pré for some time longer, and her mistress thought that after Cazeneau had departed, it might be possible to do something to save him. This occupied some time, and Zac interrupted her with many questions. At length, having told her story, Margot turned away. This startled Zac. "What!" said he; "you're not a goin' to leave me!" and poor Zac's voice was like a wail of despair. "Why, what ees eet posseeble to do? I moos go to ma maitresse." "But-but what'll become of me?" mourned Zac. "I may never see you again." Margot sighed. "I moos go to ma maitresse," she murmured. "O, don't! don't now!" cried Zac. "She ain't half as fond of you as me. She can take care of herself. The priest'll watch over her. O, don't go, don't! I declar I feel like droundin' myself at the bare idee." Zac, upon this, seized her hand, and begged, and coaxed, and prayed her to stay; till poor little Margot began to cry bitterly, and could only plead in broken tones her love for her dear mistress, who was in such danger, and how base it would be to desert her at such a time. "Wal, wal--would you--would you come with me if--if it warn't for her?" mourned Zac. Margot looked up at his face with a slight smile shining through her tears, which seemed to reassure poor Zac. "We sall meet again," said Margot, in a more cheerful voice. Zac shook his head disconsolately. "And so, adieu," said Margot, in a low voice. Zac said nothing, but with an expression of despair he took her in his arms, kissed her, and then turned away and wept. Margot cried bitterly, and got into the boat. The old Acadian followed. The boat rowed away. "_Adieu, et au revoir, cher Zac_," said Margot, calling back and waving her hat. "Goo-oo-d by-ye," said Zac, in a wail of despair. For hours Zac stood looking after the boat in perfect silence. At last he turned away, gulping down a sigh. "Darned ef I know what on airth's the matter with me," he murmured. CHAPTER XIV. MANOEUVRES OF ZAC. Zac slept but little that night. There were two causes for wakefulness. The first was Margot, who had wrought such mischief with his thoughts and feelings that he did not know what was the matter with him. The second cause was the condition of Claude. Gradually Margot's image faded away, and he began to turn his thoughts towards the problem of delivering Claude. How was that to be done? Over this he thought for the greater part of that night. Towards morning he called Terry, who was to watch for the remainder of the night, and proceeded to hold a council of war. First of all he acquainted Terry with the general state of affairs. Part of Margot's information had been overheard by him; but Terry, seeing how things were, had discreetly withdrawn aft, and kept up a loud whistle, so as to prevent himself from overhearing their words; so that now the greater part of this information was news to the Irish boy. "And have ye thought of anythin' at all, at all?" he asked. "Wal, I've thought over most everythin'," said Zac. "You see, the state of the case is this: they've got one of us a prisoner ashore over there, but we've got six of them a prisoner out here." "Thrue for you," said Terry. "Wal, now, you see, if this Cazeneau was here, he hates Motier so like pison that he'd sacrifice a hundred Frenchmen rayther'n let him go--an' in my 'pinion he's worth a hundred Frenchmen, an' more. But now, bein' as Cazeneau's goin' away to-morrer, we'll be in a position to deal with the people here that's a keepin' Motier; an' when it comes to them--why, they won't feel like losin' six of their men for the sake of one stranger." "I wonder," said Terry, "whether the owld boy that came out in the boat found out anythin'. 'Deed, if he'd had his wits about him, an' eyes in his head, he'd have seen it all,--so he would." "Wal, we'll hev to let 'em know, right straight off." "To-morra'd be best." "Yes; an' then Cazeneau'll be off. I'd rayther wait till then; it'll be better for us to have him out of the way." "What'll ye do?" "Wal, I'll sail up, and send word ashore." "How'll you sind word? We can't spake a word of the lingo." "Wal, I ben a thinkin' it over, an' I've about come to the conclusion that the old Frenchman down thar in the cabin'll be the best one to send." "Sure, an' ye won't sind the Frenchman ashore in yer own boat!" "Why not?" "He'll niver bring it back; so he won't." "Then we'll keep the other five Frenchmen." "Sure, an' it's a hard thing altogether, so it is, to hev to thrust him. He'll be after rousin' the country, an' they'll power down upon us in five hundred fishin' boats; so they will." "Wal, if I staid here to anchor, that might be dangerous," said Zac; "but I ain't got no idee of standin' still in one place for them to attack me." "Sure, an' it'll be best to let him see that if he don't come back wid Misther Motier, the whole five'll hev their brains blown out." "Sartin. He'll have to go with that in his mind; an' what's more, I'll make him swear an oath to come back." "Sure, an' it'll be the hard thing to do when neither of yez ondherstan' enough of one another's lingo to ax the time af day." "Wal, then I'll have to be satisfied with the other five Moosoos. If the first Moosoo runs for it, he'll leave the other five, an' I ain't goin' to b'lieve that the farmers here air goin' to let five of their own relatives and connections perish, rayther'n give up one stranger." A few more words followed, and then Zac retired below, leaving Terry on deck. A few hours' sleep sufficed for Zac, and not long after sunrise he was all ready for action. But the tide was not quite high enough for his purposes. The long-extended mud flats lay bare in the distance for miles, and Zac had to wait until a portion, at least, of this space should be covered. At length the water had spread over as much of the red mud as seemed desirable, while every hour the schooner would have a greater depth beneath her; so Zac concluded to start. Up then went the anchor, the sails were set, and yielding to the impulse of a favorable breeze, the Parson turned her head towards the landing-place at Grand Pré. Various preparations had to be made, and these now engaged the attention of Zac, who committed the care of the helm to Terry. The first was the composition of a letter. It was to be short and to the point. Zac had already settled in his own mind about the wording of this, so that the writing of it now occupied but a little time. It was as follows:-- "_To any Magistrate at Grand Pré_:-- "Know all men by this, that the six Acadians sent to take charge of the schooner 'Rev. Amos Adams,' are now held by me as my prisoners until such time as Mr. Claude Motier shall be delivered free from prison. And if Mr. Claude Motier shall not be set free, these six shall be carried to prison to Boston. And if Mr. Claude Motier be put to death, these six shall one and all be put to death likewise. "An answer is required within three hours. "Zion Awake Cox, "Master of the schooner 'Rev. Amos Adams.' "Minas Basin, May 28, 1743." This Zac folded and addressed, thinking that if no one in Grand Pré could read English, it would be taken to Claude himself for translation. He next prepared to hoist a large British ensign. It was not often that the Parson showed her colors, but on this occasion it was necessary, and Zac saw that this display of English colors would be an act which would tell its own story, and show Moosoo that the schooner had once more changed masters. The colors lay on deck, ready to be hoisted at the proper moment. What that moment was to be he had already decided. Zac, in his preparations on this occasion, showed that he possessed a line eye for dramatic effect, and knew how to create a sensation. There was a small howitzer amidships,--Zac's joy and pride,--which, like the ensign, was made use of only on great and rare occasions, such as the king's birthday, or other seasons of general rejoicing. This he determined to make use of at the present crisis, thinking that it would speak in tones that would strike terror to the heart of Moosoo, both on board and ashore. Last of all, it remained to explain to the Acadians on board the purposes upon which he was bent. They were still below. Jericho had supplied them with their breakfast there, but Zac had not allowed them on deck. Now, however, he summoned forth their chief man, leaving the others behind, and proceeded to endeavor, as far as possible, to explain to this man what he wished. The Acadian's stock of English words was but small, yet Zac was able, after all, by the help of signs, to give him some idea of his purpose. The letter also was shown him, and he seemed able to gather from it a general idea of its meaning. His words to Zac indicated a very lively idea of the danger which was impending over the prisoners. "Me go," he said. "Put me 'shore. Me go _tout de suite_; me deliver M. Motier; make come here _tout de suite--bon_!" "All right," said Zac; "but mind you, he must be here in three hours--three," he repeated, holding up three fingers; "three hours." "O, _oui_--yes--_certainement_--tree hour." "These others will be all prisoners if he don't come." "O, _oui_--yes; all personaire; _mais_ he vill come, _tout certainement_." "You und'stand now, Moosoo, sure?" "O, _oui_; me _comprends_--ond'stand--_certainement_." "Well, then, you wait up here till we get nearer, and then you can go ashore in the boat." But Zac's preparations were destined to undergo some delay, for the wind died out, and the schooner lay idle upon the surface of the water. For several hours Zac waited patiently, hoping for a change; but no change came. At length the tide turned, and after a time the schooner, which had already been drifting helplessly, now began to be carried back towards the place from which she had started. Zac was now left to his own invention, and could only decide that on the following day, if the wind should fail him, he would send the boat ashore from his present anchorage, and wait the result. For various reasons, however, he preferred going nearer; and therefore he had refrained from sending the boat ashore that day. The next day came. There was a fresh breeze and a favorable one. The waters began to rise. Zac was all ready. Up went the anchor, the sails were set, and once more the Parson was turned towards the landing. The breeze now blew steadily, and in course of time Zac found himself sufficiently near for his purposes, and he began to act. First of all, up went the British ensign. Then, the howitzer was fired. The noise of the report did not fail of the effect which Zac had anticipated. He saw the people turning out from their houses, some standing still and looking, others running towards the landing. Again and again the gun was fired, each report serving to increase the excitement among the people ashore. The British ensign was fully visible, and showed them what had taken place. After this Zac sent Jericho ashore in the boat, along with the chief Acadian. The others were confined below. Zac saw the Acadian land, and Jericho return. Then he waited. But it was not possible for him to wait here, nor was it safe. The tide would soon fall, leaving, as it retreated, a vast expanse of bare mud flats. He did not wish to run any risk of the schooner grounding in a place like this, and therefore allowed her to fall with the tide, and gradually move back to the bay without. All the time, however, he kept one eye on the shore. The three hours passed. He had drifted down again for several miles, and it was no longer easy to discern objects. But at length he saw a boat sailing from the shore to the schooner. As the boat came nearer, he saw that Claude was not on board. Two men were in her, one of whom was the man whom he had sent away, and the other was a stranger. This stranger was an elderly man, of venerable appearance. They came up, and both went on board. The elderly man was one of the chief men of the settlement, and spoke English sufficiently well to carry on a conversation. The information which he gave Zac was not at all to the satisfaction of the latter. It was to the following effect:-- That M. Motier had been kept in confinement at the house of Comeau; that early on the previous day M. Cazeneau had departed for Louisbourg, with the Abbé Michel, and the Countess de Laborde and her maid; that M. Motier, however, on the previous night, had somehow effected his escape. Then the old man tried to induce Zac to set the Acadians free, except one, arguing that one life was enough to hold against that of Motier. But to this Zac sternly responded that one hundred Acadians would not be of sufficient value to counterbalance the sacred life of his friend. The only thing that Zac conceded was the liberty of the Acadian whom he had sent ashore; for he felt touched by the plucky conduct of this man in returning to the schooner. To his amazement, however, this man refused to go, declaring that he had come back to stand by his friends, and one of the others might be freed instead. On referring the matter to them, one was found who was weak enough to take advantage of this offer, and he it was who rowed the old man ashore. Towards evening a canoe came gliding over the water, containing a single Indian. This Indian held aloof at a certain distance, scanning the schooner curiously. Zac, seeing this, sprang upon the taffrail, and called and beckoned to him; for a sudden thought came to him that the Indian might have been despatched by Claude to tell him something, and not knowing that he was no longer a prisoner, might be hesitating as to the best way of approaching. His conjecture seemed to be right, for this Indian, on seeing him, at once drew near, and came on board. The Indian said not a word, but handed Zac a letter. Zac opened it, and read the following:-- "Claude Motier is free. Indians hafe safed him, and guide him to Louisbourg on the trail of Cazeneau. He wishes that you go to Canso, where you will be useful. He hope to safe Comtesse de Laborde, and want you to help to safe she. Go, then, to Canso; and if you arrive immediately, you sall see Indians, and must tell. They sall bing the intelligence to us. "The Père Michel." On reading this, Zac understood all. He saw that Père Michel had been a friend, and had engaged the Indians to help Claude. He at once determined to go to Canso. That very night he sent the Acadians ashore, and set sail. CHAPTER XV. FLIGHT. On leaving the house, the Indian led the way in silence for some distance. In the immediate neighborhood of the house were open fields, while in front of it was the road which ran down to the river. The house was on the declivity of a hill, at the foot of which were broad dike-lands, which ran far out till they terminated at the island already mentioned. Beyond this lay the Basin of Minas, and in the distance the shadowy outline of the surrounding shores. The Indian led the way for some distance across the fields, and then turned into the road. Along this he passed till he reached the river. It was the Gaspereaux, at the mouth of which was the place where Claude had landed. Here the Indian crossed, and Claude followed, the water not being much above their knees. On reaching the other side, the Indian walked down the stream, keeping in the open as much as possible. At length they left the river, and went on where the ground rose gradually. Here they soon entered the woods. It was a broad trail, and though in the shadow of the trees it was rather dark, yet the trail was wide enough to allow of Claude following his guide without any difficulty whatever. For about an hour they walked on in this way, ascending steadily most of the time, until at length Claude found himself upon an open space overgrown with shrubbery, and altogether bare of trees. Here several dusky figures appeared, and the guide conversed with them for some time. Claude now seated himself on the ground. He felt so fatigued already from this first tramp, that he began to experience a sense of discouragement, and to think that his confinement had affected his strength. He gazed wearily and dreamily upon the scene before him. There, spread out at his feet, was a magnificent prospect. The land went sloping down to the water. Towards the left were the low dike-lands running out to the island; beyond this the waters of Minas Basin lay spread out before him. Thus far there had been no moonlight; but now, as he looked towards the east, he noticed that the sky was already flushing with the tints of dawn. But even this failed to rouse him.. A profound weariness and inertness settled slowly over every sense and limb, and falling back, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awaked, he saw that it was broad day, and that the sun was already high up in the sky. He started to his feet, and his first thought was one of joy at finding that his strength had all returned. At his question, the Indian who was the spokesman told him that Louisbourg was more than twelve days' journey away, and that the path lay through the woods for the whole distance. Before setting forth, the Indian gave him a rifle and a sword, which he said Père Michel had requested him to give him. There was also a sufficient supply of powder and ball. Taking these, Claude then set out on his long tramp. There were six Indians. Of these, three went in front, and three in the rear, the whole party going in single file. The trail was a wide one, and comparatively smooth. The guide drew Claude's attention to tracks on the ground, which could easily be recognized as the prints of horse hoofs. To Claude's inquiry how many there were, the Indian informed him that there were four. By this it seemed to Claude that Mimi and her maid had each one, while the other two were used by Cazeneau and the priest. After several hours they at length came to a river. It was like the Gaspereaux in one respect, for it was turbid, and rolled with a swift current. The banks also were lined with marshes, and the edges were composed of soft mud. No way of crossing it appeared, and as they approached it, the Indians turned away to go up the stream. The prospect of a long detour was very unpleasant to Claude; and when at length he came to a place where the tracks of the horses went towards the river, he asked why this was. The Indians informed him that the horses had crossed here, but that they would have to go farther up. It did not turn out so bad as Claude had feared, for after about half an hour's further walk, they stopped at the bank of the river, and waited. To Claude's question why they waited, an extraordinary answer was given. It was, that they were waiting till the water ran out. This reminded him of the old classic story about the fool who came to a river bank and waited for the water to run out, so that he might cross. Claude could not understand it; but, supposing that his guides knew what they were about, he waited for the result, taking advantage of this rest to fortify his inner man with a sound repast. After this was over, he rose to examine the situation; and the first sight showed him an astonishing change. He had lingered over his repast, now eating, now smoking, for about an hour, and in that time there had been wrought what seemed to him like a wonder of Nature. The water of the river had indeed been running out, as the Indian said; and there before him lay the channel, running low, with its waters still pouring forward at a rate which seemed to threaten final emptiness. And as he looked, the waters fell lower and lower, until at length, after he had been there three hours, the channel was almost empty. This particular spot was not so muddy as other parts of the river bed, and therefore it had been chosen as the best place for crossing. It was quite hard, except in the middle, where the mud and water together rose over their knees; and thus this mighty flood was crossed as though it had been some small brook. A few hours more served to bring them to the foot of some hills; and here the party halted. They had once more picked up the trail, and Claude was encouraged by the sight of the horse tracks. He now unfolded to the Indian his design. To his great pleasure he found that Père Michel had already anticipated him, and that the Indian understood very well what was wanted. He assured Claude that he could easily communicate with the others so as not to be suspected, and lead back Père Michel and the women to him. His plan was to make a _detour_, and get ahead of them, approaching them from that direction, so as to avoid suspicion, while Claude might remain with the other Indians in some place where they could be found again. This plan seemed to Claude so simple and so feasible that he grew exultant over the prospect, forgetting the many difficulties that would still be before him, even if this first enterprise should succeed. Their repast was simple and easily procured. The woods and waters furnished all that they required. A hare and some snipe and plover, with a few trout and a salmon, were the result of a short excursion, that did not extend much farther than a stone's throw from the encampment. The next day they resumed their journey. It lay over the hills, which were steep, though not very high. The trail now grew rougher, being covered with stones in many places, so as to resemble the dry channel of a mountain torrent, while in other places the roots of trees which ran across interfered with rapid progress. This Claude saw with great satisfaction, for he knew that horses could go but slowly over a path like this; and therefore every step seemed to lessen the distance between him and Mimi. All that day they were traversing these hills. The next day their journey lay through a gentle, undulating country, where the towering trees of the forest rose high all around, while at their feet were mosses, and wild grasses, and ferns, and flowers of a kind that were utterly strange to Claude. It was the month of June, the time when all nature in Acadie robes herself in her fairest charms. Thus day after day passed, each day being the counterpart of the other in its cloudless skies, its breath from the perfumed woods, and the song of birds. On the sixth day the tracks of the horses seemed to be fresher than usual; and to Claude's question the Indian replied that they must be close by them. At this Claude hurried on more vigorously, and kept up his march later than usual. He was even anxious to go forward all night; but the Indian was unwilling. He wished to approach them by day rather than by night, and was afraid of coming too suddenly upon them, and thus being discovered, if they went on while the others might be resting. Thus Claude was compelled to restrain his impatient desires, and wait for the following day. When it came they set forth, and kept up a rapid pace for some hours. At length they came to an opening in the woods where the scene was no longer shut in by trees, but showed a wide-extended prospect. It was a valley, through which ran a small stream, bordered on each side with willows. The valley was green with the richest vegetation. Clusters of maples appeared like groves, here and there interspersed with beech and towering oaks, while at intervals appeared the magnificent forms of grand elms all covered with drooping foliage, and even the massive trunks green with the garlands of tender and gracefully-bending shoots. For a moment Claude stood full of admiration at this lovely scene, and then hurried on after his guide. The guide now appeared desirous of slackening his pace, for he saw that if the other party were not far away he would be more liable to discovery in this open valley; but it was not very wide. About half a mile farther on, the deep woods arose once more; and, as there were no signs of life here, he yielded to Claude's impatient entreaty, and went on at his usual pace. Half way across the valley there was a grove of maple trees; the path ran close beside it, skirting it, and then going beyond it. Along this they went, and were just emerging from its shelter, when the guide made a warning movement, and stood still. The next instant Claude was at his side. The Indian grasped Claude's arm, and made a stealthy movement backward. That very instant Claude saw it all. A man was there--a European. Two Indians were with him. He was counting some birds which the Indians were carrying. It seemed as though they had been shooting through the valley, and this was their game. They could not have been shooting very recently, however, as no sound had been heard. This was the sight that met Claude's eyes as he stood by the Indian, and as the Indian grasped his arm. It was too late. The European looked up. It was Cazeneau! For a moment he stood staring at Claude as though he was some apparition. But the Indians who were behind, and who came forward, not knowing what was the matter, gave to this vision too practical a character; and Cazeneau saw plainly enough that, however unaccountable it might be, this was in very deed the man whom he believed to be in safe confinement at Grand Pré. A bitter curse escaped him. He rushed towards Claude, followed by his Indians. "Scoundrel," he cried, "you have escaped! Aha! and do you dare to come on my track! This time I will make sure of you." He gnashed his teeth in his fury, and, snatching a rifle from one of his Indians who were near him, aimed it at Claude, and pulled the trigger. But the trigger clicked, and that was all. It was not loaded. With another curse Cazeneau dashed the rifle to the ground, and turned towards the other Indian. All this had been the work of a moment. The next moment Claude sprang forward with drawn sword. "Villain," he cried, "and assassin! draw, and fight like a man!" At these words Cazeneau was forced to turn, without having had time to get the other Indian's rifle, for Claude was close to him, and the glittering steel flashed before his eyes. He drew his sword, and retreating backward, put himself on guard. "Seize this fellow!" he cried to his Indians; "seize him! In the name of your great father, the King of France, seize him, I tell you!" The Indians looked forward. There, behind Claude, they saw six other Indians--their own friends. They shook their heads. "Too many," said they. "You fellows!" cried Cazeneau to Claude's Indians, "I am the officer of your great father, the King of France. This man is a traitor. I order you to seize him, in the king's name." Claude's Indians stood there motionless. They did not seem to understand. All this time Cazeneau was keeping up a defence, and parrying Claude's attack. He was a skilful swordsman, and he wished to take Claude alive if possible, rather than to fight with him. So he tried once more. He supposed that Claude's Indians did not understand. He therefore told his Indians to tell the others in their language what was wanted. At this the two walked over to the six, and began talking. Caseneau watched them earnestly. He saw, to his infinite rage, that his words had no effect whatever on Claude's Indians. "Coward," cried Claude, "coward and villain! you must fight. My Indians are faithful to me. You hate to fight,--you are afraid,--but you must, or I will beat you to death with the blade of my sword." At this Cazeneau turned purple with rage. He saw how it was. He determined to show this colonist all his skill, and wound him, and still take him alive. So, with a curse, he rushed upon Claude. But his own excitement interfered with that display of skill which he intended to show; and Claude, who had regained his coolness, had the advantage in this respect. A few strokes showed Cazeneau that he had found his master. But this discovery only added to his rage. He determined to bring the contest to a speedy issue. With this intent he lunged forward with a deadly thrust. But the thrust was turned aside, and the next instant Claude's sword passed through the body of Cazeneau. CHAPTER XVI. REUNION. The wounded man fell to the ground, and Claude, dropping his sword, sank on his knees beside him. In that one instant all his anger and his hate fled away. It was no longer Cazeneau, his mortal enemy, whom he saw, but his fellow-creature, laid low by his hand. The thought sent a quiver through every nerve, and it was with no ordinary emotion that Claude sought to relieve his fallen enemy. But Cazeneau was unchanged in his implacable hate; or, if possible, he was even more bitter and more malignant now, since he had thus been beaten. "Away!" he cried, in a faint voice. "Away! Touch me not. Do not exult yet, Montresor. You think you have--avenged--your cursed father--and your mother. Do not exult too soon; at least you are--a pauper--a pauper--a pauper! Away! My own people--will care for me." Claude rose at this, and motioned to Cazeneau's Indians. They came up. One of them examined the wound. He then looked up at Claude, and solemnly shook his head. "May Heaven have mercy on his soul!" murmured Claude. "I thank Heaven that I do not know all the bitter wrong that he has done to my parents. What he has done to me I forgive." Then, by a sudden impulse, he bent down over the fallen man. "Cazeneau," said he, "you're a dying man. You have something on your conscience now. What you have done to me I forgive. May others whom you have injured do the same." At this magnanimous speech Cazeneau rolled his glaring eyes furiously towards the young man, and then, supplied with a sudden spasmodic strength by his own passion, he cried out, with bitter oaths and execrations,-- "Curse you! you and all your race!" He raised himself slightly as he said this. The next instant he fell back, senseless. For a moment Claude stood looking at the lifeless form, undecided what to do. Should he remain here longer? If Cazeneau should revive, it would only be to curse him; if he died, he could do nothing. Would it not be better to hurry forward after the rest of the party, who could not be very far away? If so, he could send back the priest, who would come in time either for life or death. The moment that he thought of this he decided that he would hurry forward for the priest. He then explained to his guide what he wished, and asked the Indians of Cazeneau how far the rest of the party were. They could speak but very little French, but managed to make Claude understand that they were not far. To his Indian they said more, and he told his employer. What they said was to this effect: that on this morning Cazeneau had left the party with these two Indians, for the sake of a little recreation in hunting. The rest had gone forward, with the understanding that they should not go more than two or three hours. Then they were to halt and wait. Cazeneau was just about to go after them as Claude came up. [Illustration: "Curse You And All Your Race."] This information showed Claude that the rest of the party were within easy distance, and that the priest could be reached and sent back before evening. Accordingly he hesitated no longer, but set forth at once in the greatest haste. The thought that Mimi was so near inspired Claude with fresh energy. Although he had been on the tramp all day, and without rest,--although he had received a severe and unparalleled shock in the terrible fate of Cazeneau,--yet the thought of Mimi had sufficient power over him to chase away the gloom that for a time had fallen over his soul. It was enough to him now that a priest was within reach. Upon that priest he could throw all the responsibility which arose out of the situation of his enemy. These were the thoughts that animated him, and urged him forward. The Indians of Cazeneau had made him understand that they were only a few hours ahead; but Claude thought that they were even nearer. He thought it unlikely that Cazeneau would let them go very far, and supposed that he had ordered the other Indians to go slowly, and halt after about three or four miles. He therefore confidently expected to come up with them after traversing about that distance. With this belief he urged on his attendants, and himself put forth all his powers, until at length, after nearly two hours, he was compelled to slacken his speed. This showed that they were not so near as he had expected; yet still he believed that they were just ahead, and that he would come up with them every moment. Thus his mind was kept upon a constant strain, and he was always on the lookout, watching both with eyes and ears either to see some sign of them, or to hear them as they went on before him. And this constant strain of mind and of sense, and this sustained attitude of expectation, made the way seem less, and the time seem short; and thus, though there was a certain disappointment, yet still the hope of seeing them every next minute kept up his spirits and his energies. Thus he went on, like one who pursues an _ignis fatuus_, until at length the light of day faded out, and the shades of night settled down over the forest. He would certainly have thought that he had missed the way, had it not been for one fact; and that was, that the track of the party whom he was pursuing was as plain as ever, and quite fresh, showing that they had passed over it this very day. The Indians with him were all certain of this. It showed him that however fast he had gone, they had been going yet faster, and that all his eagerness to catch up with them had not been greater than their eagerness to advance. Why was this? Suddenly the whole truth flashed upon his mind. The priest had unexpectedly shaken off Cazeneau. He had evidently resolved to try to escape. His strange influence over the Indians had, no doubt, enabled him to make them his accomplices. With the hope, therefore, of shaking off Cazeneau, he had hurried on as fast as possible. Still there was one thing, and that was, that they would have to bring up somewhere. It was more than probable that the priest would try to reach Canso. In that case Claude had only to keep on his track, and he would get to that place not very long after him; sufficiently soon, at any rate, to prevent missing him. As to Louisbourg, if the priest should go there, he also could go there, and with impunity now, since his enemy was no more. As for the unhappy Cazeneau, he found himself no longer able to send him the priest; but he did not feel himself to blame for that, and could only hope that he might reach the priest before it should be altogether too late. A slight repast that night, which was made from some fragments which he had carried in his pocket, a few hours' sleep, and another slight repast on the following morning, made from an early bird which he had shot when it was on its way to get its worm, served to prepare him for the journey before him. The Indians informed him that the Strait of Canso was now not more than a day and a half distant. The news was most welcome to Claude. The Strait of Canso seemed like a place where the priest would be compelled to make some sort of a halt, either while waiting for a chance to cross or while making a detour to get to Canso. For his part, he would have one great advantage, and that was, that he would not be compelled to think about his course. All that he had to do was to follow the track before him as rapidly and as perseveringly as possible. All that day Claude hurried onward without stopping to halt, being sustained by his own burning impatience, and also by that same hope which had supported him on the preceding day. But it was, as before, like the pursuit of an _ignis fatuus_, and ever the objects of his pursuit seemed to elude him. At length, towards the close of the day, they reached a river, and the trail ran along by its side for miles, sometimes leaving it, and again returning to it. The path was broad, the woods were free from underbrush, and more open than usual. Suddenly the guide stopped and looked forward, with the instinct of his Indian caution. But Claude had one idea only in his mind, and knowing well that there could be no enemy now, since Cazeneau was out of the way, he hurried onward. Some moving figures attracted his gaze. Then he saw horses, and some men and women. Then he emerged from the trees, bursting forth at a run into an open place which lay upon the river bank. One glance was sufficient. It was the priest and his party. With a cry of joy he rushed forward. The others saw him coming. The priest turned in amazement; for he had no idea that Claude was so near. Before he could speak a word, however, the young man had flung himself into his arms, and the priest returned his embrace with equal warmth. Claude then turned to Mimi, who was standing near, and in the rapture of that meeting was on the point of catching her in his arms also; but Mimi saw the movement, and retreated shyly, while a mantling blush over her lovely features showed both joy and confusion. So Claude had to content himself with taking her hand, which he seized in both of his, and held as though he would never let go. After these first greetings, there followed a torrent of questions from both sides. The priest's story was but a short one. On the day when Cazeneau had left them, he had gone on a short hunting excursion, simply for the sake of relieving the monotony of the long tramp. He had charged the Indians not to go farther than two hours ahead. His intention was to make a circuit, and join them by evening. But the Indians were altogether under the influence of Père Michel, and were willing to do anything that he wished. The "Great Father,"--the French king,--with whom Cazeneau thought he could overawe them, was in truth a very shadowy and unsubstantial personage. But Père Michel was one whom they knew, and for some reason regarded with boundless veneration. When, therefore, he proposed to them to go on, they at once acceded. For Père Michel caught at this unexpected opportunity to escape, which was thus presented, and at once set forth at the utmost possible speed. He travelled all that day and far into the night, until he thought that a sufficient distance had been put between himself and Cazeneau to prevent capture. He would have gone much farther on this day had it not been for Mimi, who, already fatigued by her long journey, was unable to endure this increased exertion, and after trying in vain to keep up, was compelled to rest. They had been encamping here for about three hours, and were already deliberating about a night journey, when Claude came up. The time had been spent in constructing a sort of litter, which the priest intended to sling between two horses, hoping by this means to take Mimi onward with less fatigue. He had made up his mind, as Claude indeed had suspected, to make for Canso, so as to put himself out of the reach of Cazeneau. Claude then told the priest his story, to which the latter listened with deep emotion. He had not anticipated anything like this. Amazed as he had been at the sudden appearance of Claude, he had thought that by some happy accident the young man had eluded Cazeneau, and he now learned how it really was. For some time he said not a single word, and indeed there was nothing that he could say. He knew well that Claude had been deeply and foully wronged by Cazeneau, and he knew also that this last act was hardly to be considered as anything else than the act of Cazeneau himself, who first attacked Claude, and forced him to fight. But there still remained to be considered what might now be done. Claude's first thought was the one which had been in his mind during the past day; that is to say, he still thought of sending the priest back to Cazeneau, without thinking of the distance, and the time that now lay between. His excitement had prevented him from taking this into consideration. The priest, however, at once reminded him of it. "I do not see," said he, "what I can do. You forget how long it is since you left him. He must be dead and buried by this time. Even if he should linger longer than you expected, I could not hope to reach that place in time to do anything, not even to bury him. It is a good two days' journey from here to there. It is two days since you left him. It would take two days more for me to reach him. That makes four days. By that time, if he is dead, he would already be buried; and if he is living, he would be conveyed by the Indians to some place of rest and shelter. "As long as I thought that Cazeneau was pursuing us," continued the priest, "I tried to advance as rapidly as possible, and intended to go to Canso, where I should be safe from him. But now that he can trouble us no more, there is no reason why we should not go to Louisbourg. That will be better for Mimi, and it will also suit my views better. You, too, may as well go there, since you will be able to carry out your own plans, whatever they are, from that place better than from any other." The result of this conversation was, that they decided to go to Louisbourg. CHAPTER XVII. AMONG FRIENDS. In order to make their escape the more certain, the priest had carried off the horse which Cazeneau had used, so that now Claude was no more obliged to go on foot. Mimi no longer complained of fatigue, but was able to bear up with the fatigues of the rest of the journey in a wonderful way. Claude did not seem inclined to make much use of the spare horse, for he walked much of the way at Mimi's side, and where there was not room, he walked at her horse's head. The remainder of the journey occupied about four days, and it was very much like what it had been; that is, a track through the woods, sometimes rough, sometimes smooth. The whole track showed marks of constant use, which the priest explained to Claude as being caused by droves of cattle, which were constantly being sent from Grand Pré to Louisbourg, where they fetched a handsome price. The Indian trails in other places were far rougher and narrower, besides being interrupted by fallen trees. The only difficulty that they had to encounter was in crossing the Strait of Canso; but after following the shore for a few miles, they came to a place where there was a barge, used to transport cattle. Two or three French fishermen lived here, and they took the whole party over to the opposite side. After this they continued their journey. That journey seemed to Claude altogether too short. Each day passed away too rapidly. Wandering by the side of Mimi through the fragrant forests, under the clear sky, listening to her gentle voice, and catching the sweet smile of her innocent face, it seemed to him as though he would like to go on this way forever. A cloud of sadness rested on her gentle brow, which made her somewhat unlike the sprightly girl of the schooner, and more like the despairing maid whom he had rescued on the raft. But there was reason for this sadness. Mimi was a fond and loving daughter. She had chosen to follow her father across the ocean, when she might have lived at home in comfort; and the death of that father had been a terrible blow. For some time the blow had been alleviated by the terrors which she felt about Cazeneau and his designs. But now, since he and his designs were no more to be thought of, the sorrow of her bereavement returned. Still, she was not without consolation, and even joy. It was joy to her to have escaped from the man and from the danger that she dreaded. It was also joy to her to find herself once more in company with Claude, in whom she had all along taken a tender interest. Until she heard his story from his own lips she had not had any idea that he had been the victim of Cazeneau. She had supposed that he was in the schooner all the time, and had wondered why he did not make his appearance. And her anxiety about her father, and grief over his death, prevented her from dwelling much upon this. At length they came in sight of the sea. The trees here were small, stunted, and scrubby; the soil was poor, the grass coarse and interspersed with moss and stones. In many places it was boggy, while in others it was rocky. Their path ran along the shore for some miles, and then entered the woods. For some distance farther they went on, and then emerged into an open country, where they saw before them the goal of their long journey. Open fields lay before them, with houses and barns. Farther on there lay a beautiful harbor, about five or six miles long and one mile wide, with a narrow entrance into the outer sea, and an island which commanded the entrance. Upon this island, and also on one side of the entrance, were batteries, while on the side of the harbor on which they were standing, and about two miles away, was another battery, larger than either of these. At the farthest end of the harbor were small houses of farmers or fishermen, with barns and cultivated fields. In the harbor were some schooners and small fishing vessels, and two large frigates. But it was upon the end of the harbor nearest to themselves that their eyes turned with the most pleasure. Here Louisbourg stood, its walls and spires rising before them, and the flag of France floating from the citadel. The town was about half a mile long, surrounded by a stockade and occasional batteries. Upon the highest point the citadel stood, with the guns peeping over the parapet. The path here entered a road, which ran towards the town; and now, going to this road, they went on, and soon reached the gate. On entering the gate, they were stopped and questioned; but the priest, who seemed to be known, easily satisfied his examiners, and they were allowed to go on. They went along a wide street, which, however, was unpaved, and lined on each side with houses of unpretending appearance. Most of them were built of wood, some of logs, one or two of stone. All were of small size, with small doors and windows, and huge, stumpy chimneys. The street was straight, and led to the citadel, in which was the governor's residence. Other streets crossed at right angles with much regularity. There were a few shops, but not many. Most of these were lower down, near the water, and were of that class to which the soldiers and sailors resorted. Outside the citadel was a large church, built of undressed stone, and without any pretensions to architectural beauty. Beyond this was the entrance to the citadel. This place was on the crest of the hill, and was surrounded by a dry ditch and a wall. A drawbridge led across the ditch to the gate. On reaching this place the party had to stop, and the priest sent in his name to the governor or commandant. After waiting some time, a message came to admit them. Thereupon they all passed through, and found themselves inside the citadel. They found this to be an irregular space, about two hundred feet in length and width, surrounded by walls, under which were arched cells, that were used for storage or magazines, and might also serve as casemates in time of siege. There were barracks at one end, and at the other the governor's residence, built of stone. Upon the parade troops were exercising, and in front of the barracks a band was playing. The whole scene was thus one of much animation; indeed, it seemed very much so to the eyes of these wanderers, so long accustomed to the solitude of the sea, or of the primeval forest. However, they did not wait to gaze upon the scene, but went on at once, without delay, to the commandant. The commandant--Monsieur Auguste de Florian--received them with much politeness. He was a man of apparently about forty years of age, medium stature, and good-natured face, without any particular sign of character or talent in his general expression. This was the man whom Cazeneau was to succeed, whose arrival he had been expecting for a long time. He received the new comers politely, and, after having heard the priest's account of Mimi,--who she was, and how he had found her,--he at once sent for his wife, who took her to her own apartments, and informed her that this must be her home as long as she was at Louisbourg. The commandant now questioned the priest more particularly about the Arethuse. Père Michel left the narration to Claude. He had been introduced under the name of M. Motier, and did not choose to say anything about his real name and rank, for fear that it might lead him into fresh difficulties. So Claude gave an account of the meeting between the schooner and the raft, and also told all that he knew about the fate of the Arethuse. The priest added something more that he had learned, and informed the commandant that he could learn all the rest from Mimi. The governor's polite attention did not end with this visit. He at once set about procuring a place where Claude might stay, and would have done the same kind office to Père Michel, had not the priest declined. He had a place where he could stay with one of the priests of the town, who was a friend; and besides, he intended to carry on the duties of his sacred office. Claude, therefore, was compelled to separate himself from the good priest, who, however, assured him that he would see him often. Before evening he found himself in comfortable quarters in the house of the naval storekeeper, who received him with the utmost cordiality as the friend of the commandant. The next day Claude saw Père Michel. He seemed troubled in mind, and, after some questions, informed him that he had come all the way to Louisbourg for the express purpose of getting some letters which he had been expecting from France. They should have been here by this time, but had not come, and he was afraid that they had been sent out in the Arethuse. If so, there might be endless trouble and confusion, since it would take too long altogether to write again and receive answers. It was a business of infinite importance to himself and to others; and Père Michel, who had never before, since Claude had known him, lost his serenity, now appeared quite broken down by disappointment. His present purpose was to go back and see about the burial of Cazeneau; but he would wait for another week, partly for the sake of rest, and partly to wait until Cazeneau's Indians had been heard from. He had sent out two of the Indians who had come with him to make inquiries; and when they returned, he would go. He was also waiting in the hope that another ship might arrive. There was some talk of a frigate which was to bring out some sappers and engineers for the works. It was the Grand Monarque. She had not come as yet, nor had she left by last advices; but still she was liable to leave at any moment. "Still," said the priest, "it is useless to expect anything or to hope for anything. The king is weak. He is nothing. How many years has he been a _roi fainéant_? Fleury was a fit minister for such a king. Weak, bigoted, conceited, Fleury had only one policy, and that was, to keep things quiet, and not suffer any change. If wrongs had been done, he refused to right them. Fleury has been a curse to France. But since his death his successors may be even worse. The state of France is hopeless. The country is overwhelmed with debt, and is in the hands of unprincipled vagabonds. The king has said that he would govern without ministers; but that only means that he will allow himself to be swayed by favorites. Fleury has gone, and in his place there comes--who? Why, the Duchesse de Chateauroux. She is now the minister of France." The priest spoke with indescribable bitterness; so much so, indeed, that Claude was amazed. "The latest news," continued Père Michel, "is, that England is going to send an army to assist Austria. The queen, Maria Theresa, will now be able to turn the scales against France. This means war, and the declaration must follow soon. Well, poor old Fleury kept out of war with England till he died. But that was Walpole's doing, perhaps. They were wonderful friends; and perhaps it was just as well. But this new ministry--this woman and her friends--they will make a change for France; and I only hope, while they are reversing Fleury's policy in some things, they'll do it in others. "France," continued Père Michel, in a gloomy tone, "France is rotten to the core--all France, both at home and abroad. Why, even out here the fatal system reigns. This commandant," he went on, dropping his voice, "is as deeply implicated as any of them. He was appointed by a court favorite; so was Cazeneau. He came out with the intention of making his fortune, not for the sake of building up a French empire in America. "It's no use. France can't build up an empire here. The English will get America. They come out as a people, and settle in the forest; but we come out as officials, to make money out of our country. Already the English are millions, and we are thousands. What chance is there for us? Some day an English army will come and drive us out of Ile Royale, and out of Canada, as they've already driven us out of Acadie. Our own people are discouraged; and, though they love France, yet they feel less oppressed under English rule. Can there be a worse commentary on French rule than that? "And you, my son," continued the priest, in a milder tone, but one which was equally earnest, "don't think of going to France. You can do nothing there. It would require the expenditure of a fortune in bribery to get to the ears of those who surround the king; and then there would be no hope of obtaining justice from them. All are interested in letting things remain as they were. The wrong done was committed years ago. The estates have passed into other hands, and from one owner to another. The present holders are all-powerful at court; and if you wore to go there, you would only wear out your youth, and accomplish nothing." CHAPTER XVIII. LOUISBOURG. There was a little _beau monde_ at Louisbourg, which, as might be expected, was quite gay, since it was French. At the head stood, of course; the commandant and his lady; then came the military officers with their ladies, and the naval officers without their ladies, together with the unmarried officers of both services. As the gentlemen far outnumbered the ladies, the latter were always in great demand; so that the ladies of the civilians, though of a decidedly inferior grade, were objects of attention and of homage. This being the case, it will readily be perceived what an effect was produced upon the _beau monde_ at Louisbourg by the advent of such a bright, particular star as Mimi. Young, beautiful, accomplished, she also added the charms of rank, and title, and supposed wealth. The Count de Laborde had been prominent at court, and his name was well known. His daughter was therefore looked upon as one of the greatest heiresses of France, and there was not a young officer at Louisbourg who did not inwardly vow to strive to win so dazzling a prize. She would at once have been compelled to undergo a round of the most exhaustive festivities, had it not been for one thing--she was in mourning. Her bereavement had been severe, and was so recent that all thoughts of gayety were out of the question. This fact lessened the chances which the gallant French cavaliers might otherwise have had, but in no respect lessened their devotion. Beauty in distress is always a touching and a resistless object to every chivalrous heart; and here the beauty was exquisite, and the distress was undeniably great. The commandant and his lady had appropriated Mimi from the first, and Mimi congratulated herself on having found a home so easily. It was pleasant to her, after her recent imprisonment, to be among people who looked up to her with respectful and affectionate esteem. Monsieur de Florian may not have been one of the best of men; indeed, it was said that he had been diligently feathering his nest at the expense of the government ever since he had been in Louisbourg; but in spite of that, he was a kindhearted man, while his wife was a kind-hearted woman, and one, too, who was full of tact and delicacy. Mimi's position, therefore, was as pleasant as it could be, under the circumstances. After one or two days had passed, Claude began to be aware of the fact that life in Louisbourg was much less pleasant than life on the road. There he was all day long close beside Mimi, or at her horse's bridle, with confidential chat about a thousand things, with eloquent nothings, and shy glances, and tender little attentions, and delicate services. Here, however, it was all different. All this had come to an end. The difficulty now was, to see Mimi at all. It is true there was no lack of friendliness on the part of the commandant, or of his good lady; but then he was only one among many, who all were received with the same genial welcome by this genial and polished pair. The chivalry of Louisbourg crowded to do homage to the beautiful stranger, and the position of Claude did not seem to be at all more favorable than that of the youngest cadet in the service. His obscurity now troubled Claude greatly. He found himself quite insignificant in Louisbourg. If he had possessed the smallest military rank, he would have been of more consequence. He thought of coming out in his true name, as the Count de Montresor, but was deterred by the thought of the troubles into which he had already fallen by the discovery of his name. How much of that arrest was due to the ill will of Cazeneau, and how much to the actual dangers besetting him as a Montresor, he could not know. He saw plainly enough that the declaration of his name and rank might lead to a new arrest at the hands of this commandant, in which case escape could hardly be thought of. He saw that it was better far for him to be insignificant, yet free, than to be the highest personage in Louisbourg, and liable to be flung into a dungeon. His ignorance of French affairs, and of the actual history of his family, made him cautious; so that he resolved not to mention the truth about himself to any one. Under all these circumstances, Claude saw no other resource but to endure as best he could the unpleasantness of his personal situation, and live in the hope that in the course of time some change might take place by which he could be brought into closer connection with Mimi. Fortunately for him, an opportunity of seeing Mimi occurred before he had gone too deep down into despondency. He went up one day to the citadel, about a week after he had come to Louisbourg. Mimi was at the window, and as he came she saw him, and ran to the door. Her face was radiant with smiles. "O, I am so glad," she said, "that you have come! I did so want to see you, to ask you about something!" "I never see you alone now," said Claude, sadly, holding her hand as though unwilling to relinquish it. "No," said Mimi, with a slight flush, gently withdrawing her hand, "I am never alone, and there are so many callers; but M. Florian has gone out, taking the madame, on an affair of some importance; and so, you see, we can talk without interruption." "Especially if we walk over into the garden," said Claude. Mimi assented, and the two walked into the garden that was on the west side of the residence, and for some time neither of them said a word. The trees had just come into leaf; for the season is late in this climate, but the delay is made good by the rapid growth of vegetation after it has once started; and now the leaves were bursting forth in glorious richness and profusion, some more advanced than others, and exhibiting every stage of development. The lilacs, above all, were conspicuous for beauty; for they were covered with blossoms, with the perfume of which the air was loaded. "I never see you now," said Claude, at length. "No," said Mimi, sadly. "It is not as it used to be," said Claude, with a mournful smile, "when I walked by your side day after day." Mimi sighed, and said nothing. "It is different with you," said Claude; "you are the centre of universal admiration, and everybody pays you attention. The time never passes heavily with you; but think of me--miserable, obscure, friendless!" Mimi turned, and looked at him with such a piteous face that Claude stopped short. Her eyes were fixed on his with tender melancholy and reproach. They were filled with tears. "And do you really believe that?" she said--"that the time never passes heavily with me? It has been a sad time ever since I came here. Think how short a time it is since poor, dear papa left me! Do you think I can have the heart for much enjoyment?" "Forgive me," said Claude, deeply moved; "I had forgotten; I did not think what I was saying; I was too selfish." "That is true," said Mimi. "While you were suffering from loneliness, you should have thought that I, too, was suffering, even in the midst of the crowd. But what are they all to me? They are all strangers. It is my friends that I want to see; and you are away, and the good Père Michel never comes!" "Were you lonely on the road?" asked Claude. "Never," said Mimi, innocently, "after you came." As she said this, a flush passed over her lovely face, and she looked away confused. Claude seized her hand, and pressed it to his lips. They then walked on in silence for some time. At last Claude spoke again. "The ship will not leave for six weeks. If I were alone, I think I should go back to Boston. But if you go to France, I shall go, too. Have you ever thought of what you will do when you get there?" "I suppose I shall have to go to France," said Mimi; "but why should you think of going to Boston? Are you not going on your family business?" "I am not," said Claude. "I am only going because you are going. As to my family business, I have forgotten all about it; and, indeed, I very much doubt whether I could do anything at all. I do not even know how I am to begin. But I wish to see you safe and happy among your friends." Mimi looked at him in sad surprise. "I do not know whether I have any friends or not," said she. "I have only one relative, whom I have never seen. I had intended to go to her. I do not know what I shall do. If this aunt is willing to take me, I shall live with her; but she is not very rich, and I may be a burden." "A burden!" said Claude; "that is impossible! And besides, such a great heiress as you will be welcome wherever you go." He spoke this with a touch of bitterness in his voice; for Mimi's supposed possessions seemed to him to be the chief barrier between himself and her. "A great heiress!" said Mimi, sadly. "I don't know what put that into your head. Unfortunately, as far as I know, I have nothing. My papa sold all his estates, and had all his money on board the Arethuse. It was all lost in the ship, and though I was an heiress when I left home, I shall go back nothing better than a beggar, to beg a home from my unknown aunt. Or," she continued, "if my aunt shows no affection, it is my intention to go back to the convent of St. Cecilia, where I was educated, and I know they will be glad to have me; and I could not find a better home for the rest of my life than among those dear sisters who love me so well." "O, Mimi," he cried, "O, what joy it is to hear that you are a beggar! Mimi, Mimi! I have always felt that you were far above me--too far for me to raise my thoughts to you. Mimi, you are a beggar, and not an heiress! You must not go to France. I will not go. Let us remain together. I can be more to you than any friend. Come with me. Be mine. O, let me spend my life in trying to show you how I love you!" He spoke these words quickly, feverishly, and passionately, seizing her hand in both of his. He had never called her before by her name; but now he called her by it over and over, with loving intonations. Mimi had hardly been prepared for this; but though unprepared, she was not offended. On the contrary, she looked up at him with a face that told him more than words could convey. He could not help reading its eloquent meaning. Her glance penetrated to his heart--her soul spoke to his. He caught her in his arms, and little Mimi leaned her head on his breast and wept. But from this dream of hope and happiness they were destined to have a sudden and very rude awakening. There was a sound in the shrubbery behind them, and a voice said, in a low, cautious tone,-- "H-s-s-t!" At this they both started, and turned. It was the Père Michel. Both started as they saw him, partly from surprise, and partly, also, from the shock which they felt at the expression of his face. He was pale and agitated, and the calmness and self-control which usually characterized him had departed. "My dear friend," said Claude, hurriedly, turning towards him and seizing his hand, "what is the matter? Are you not well? Has anything happened? You are agitated. What is the matter?" "The very worst," said Père Michel--"M. de Cazeneau!" "What of him? Why, he is dead!" "Dead? No; he is alive. Worse--he is here--here--in Louisbourg. I have just seen him!" "What!" cried Claude, starting back, "M. de Cazeneau alive, and here in Louisbourg! How is that possible?" "I don't know," said the priest. "I only know this, that I have just seen him!" "Seen him?" "Yes." "Where? You must be mistaken." "No, no," said the priest, hurriedly. "I know him--only too well. I saw him at the Ordnance. He has just arrived. He was brought here by Indians, on a litter. The commandant is even now with him. I saw him go in. I hurried here, for I knew that you were here, to tell you to fly. Fly then, at once, and for your life. I can get you away now, if you fly at once." "Fly?" repeated Claude, casting a glance at Mimi. "Yes, fly!" cried the priest, in earnest tones. "Don't think of her, --or, rather, do you, Mimi, if you value his life, urge him, entreat him, pray him to fly. He is lost if he stays. One moment more may destroy him." Mimi turned as pale as death. Her lips parted. She would have spoken, but could say nothing. "Come," cried the priest, "come, hasten, fly! It may be only for a few weeks--a few weeks only--think of that. There is more at stake than you imagine. Boy, you know not what you are risking--not your own life, but the lives of others; the honor of your family; the hope of the final redemption of your race. Haste--fly, fly!" The priest spoke in tones of feverish impetuosity. At these words Claude stood thunder-struck. It seemed as though this priest knew something about his family. What did he know? How could he allude to the honor of that family, and the hope of its redemption? "O, fly! O, fly! Haste!" cried Mimi, who had at last found her voice. "Don't think of me. Fly--save yourself, before it's too late." "What! and leave you at his mercy?" said Claude. "O, don't think of me," cried Mimi; "save yourself." "Haste--come," cried the priest; "it is already too late. You have wasted precious moments." "I cannot," cried Claude, as he looked at Mimi, who stood in an attitude of despair. "Then you are lost," groaned the priest, in a voice of bitterest grief. [Illustration: "Mimi Suddenly Caught Claude By The Arm."] CHAPTER XIX. THE CAPTIVE AND THE CAPTORS. Further conversation was now prevented by the approach of a company of soldiers, headed by the commandant. Mimi stood as if rooted to the spot, and then suddenly caught Claude by the arm, as though by her weak strength she could save him from the fate which was impending over him; but the priest interposed, and gently drew her away. The soldiers halted at the entrance to the garden, and the commandant came forward. His face was clouded and somewhat stern, and every particle of his old friendliness seemed to have departed. "I regret, monsieur," said he, "the unpleasant necessity which forces me to arrest you; but, had I known anything about your crime, you would have been put under arrest before you had enjoyed my hospitality." "O, monsieur!" interrupted Mimi. The commandant turned, and said, severely, "I trust that the Countess de Laborde will see the impropriety of her presence here. Monsieur L'Abbé, will you give the countess your arm into the house?" Père Michel, at this, led Mimi away. One parting look she threw upon Claude, full of utter despair, and then, leaning upon the arm of the priest, walked slowly in. Claude said not a word in reply to the address of the commandant. He knew too well that under present circumstances words would be utterly useless. If Cazeneau was indeed alive, and now in Louisbourg, then there could be no hope for himself. If the former charges which led to his arrest should be insufficient to condemn him, his attack upon Cazeneau would afford sufficient cause to his enemy to glut his vengeance. The soldiers took him in charge, and he was marched away across the parade to the prison. This was a stone building, one story in height, with small grated windows, and stout oaken door studded with iron nails. Inside there were two rooms, one on each side of the entrance. These rooms were low, and the floor, which was laid on the earth, was composed of boards, which were decayed and moulded with damp. The ceiling was low, and the light but scanty. A stout table and stool formed the only furniture, while a bundle of mouldy straw in one corner was evidently intended to be his bed. Into this place Claude entered; the door was fastened, and he was left alone. On finding himself alone in this place, he sat upon the stool, and for some time his thoughts were scarcely of a coherent kind. It was not easy for him to understand or realize his position, such a short interval had elapsed since he was enjoying the sweets of an interview with Mimi. The transition had been sudden and terrible. It had cast him down from the highest happiness to the lowest misery. A few moments ago, and all was bright hope; now all was black despair. Indeed, his present situation had an additional gloom from the very happiness which he had recently enjoyed, and in direct proportion to it. Had it not been for that last interview, he would not have known what he had lost. Hope for himself there was none. Even under ordinary circumstances, there could hardly have been any chance of his escape; but now, after Cazeneau had so nearly lost his life, there could be nothing in store for him but sure and speedy death. He saw that he would most undoubtedly be tried, condemned, and executed here in Louisbourg, and that there was not the slightest hope that he would be sent to France for his trial. Not long after Claude had been thrust into his prison, a party entered the citadel, bearing with them a litter, upon which reclined the form of a feeble and suffering man. It was Cazeneau. The wound which Claude had given him had not been fatal, after all; and he had recovered sufficiently to endure a long journey in this way; yet it had been a severe one, and had made great ravages in him. He appeared many years older. Formerly, he had not looked over forty; now he looked at least as old as Père Michel. His face was wan; his complexion a grayish pallor; his frame was emaciated and weak. As he was brought into the citadel, the commandant came out from his residence to meet him, accompanied by some servants, and by these the suffering man was borne into the house. "All is ready, my dear count," said the commandant. "You will feel much better after you have some rest of the proper kind." "But have you arrested him?" asked Cazeneau, earnestly. "I have; he is safe now in prison." "Very good. And now, Monsieur Le Commandant, if you will have the kindness to send me to my room--" "Monsieur Le Commandant, you reign here now," said the other. "My authority is over since you have come, and you have only to give your orders." "At any rate, _mon ami_, you must remain in power till I get some rest and sleep," said Cazeneau. Rest, food, and, above all, a good night's sleep, had a very favorable effect upon Cazeneau, and on the following morning, when the commandant waited on him, he congratulated him on the improvement in his appearance. Cazeneau acknowledged that he felt better, and made very pointed inquiries about Mimi, which led to the recital of the circumstances of Claude's arrest in Mimi's presence. Whatever impression this may have made upon the hearer, he did not show it, but preserved an unchanged demeanor. A conversation of a general nature now followed, turning chiefly upon affairs in France. "You had a long voyage," remarked the commandant. "Yes; and an unpleasant one. We left in March, but it seems longer than that; for it was in February that I left Versailles, only a little while after the death of his eminence." "I fancy there will be a great change now in the policy of the government." "O, of course. The peace policy is over. War with England must be. The king professes now to do like his predecessor, and govern without a minister; but we all know what that means. To do without a minister is one thing for Louis Quatorze, but another thing altogether for Louis Quinze. The Duchesse de Chateauroux will be minister--for the present. Then we have D'Aguesseau, D'Argenson, and Maurepas. O, there'll be war at once. I dare say it has already been declared. At any rate, it's best to act on that principle." "Well, as to that, monsieur, we generally do act on that principle out here. But Fleury was a wonderful old man." "Yes; but he died too soon." "Too soon! What, at the age of ninety?" "O, well, I meant too soon for me. Had he died ten years ago, or had he lived two years longer, I should not have come out here." "I did not know that it was a matter of regret to monsieur." "Regret?" said Cazeneau, in a querulous tone--"regret? Monsieur, one does not leave a place like Versailles for a place like Louisbourg without regrets." "True," said the other, who saw that it was a sore subject. "With Fleury I had influence; but with the present company at Versailles, it is--well, different; and I am better here. Out of sight, out of mind. It was one of Fleury's last acts--this appointment. I solicited it, for certain reasons; chiefly because I saw that he could not last long. Well, they'll have enough to think of without calling me to mind; for, if I'm not mistaken, the Queen of Hungary will find occupation enough for them." After some further conversation of this kind, Cazeneau returned to the subject of Mimi, asking particularly about her life in Louisbourg, and whether Claude had seen her often. The information which he received on this point seemed to give him satisfaction. "Does this young man claim to be a Montresor?" asked the commandant, "or is he merely interesting himself in the affairs of that family by way of au intrigue?" "It is an intrigue," said Cazeneau. "He does not call himself Montresor openly, but I have reason to know that he is intending to pass himself off as the son and heir of the Count Eugene, who was outlawed nearly twenty years ago. Perhaps you have heard of that." "O, yes; I remember all about that. His wife was a Huguenot, and both of them got off. His estates were confiscated. It was private enmity, I believe. Some one got a rich haul. Ha, ha, ha!" At this Cazeneau's face turned as black as a thundercloud. The commandant saw that his remark had been an unfortunate one, and hastened to change the conversation. "So this young fellow has a plan of that sort, you think. Of course he's put up by others--some wirepullers behind the scenes. Well, he's safe enough now, and he has that hanging over him which will put an end to this scheme, whoever may have started it." At this Cazeneau recovered his former calmness, and smiled somewhat grimly. "I can guess pretty well," said Cazeneau, "how this plot may have originated. You must know that when the Count de Montresor and his countess fled, they took with them a servant who had been their steward. This man's name was Motier. Now, both the count and countess died shortly after their arrival in America. The countess died first, somewhere in Canada, and then the count seemed to lose his reason; for he went off into the wilderness, and has never been heard of since. He must have perished at once. His steward, Motier, was then left. This man was a Huguenot and an incorrigible rascal. He found Canada too hot to hold him with his infidel Huguenot faith, and so he went among the English. I dare say that this Motier, ever since, has been concocting a plan by which he might make his fortune out of the Montresor estates. This Claude Motier is his son, and has, no doubt, been brought up by old Motier to believe that he is the son of the count; or else the young villain is his partner. You see his game now--don't you? He hired a schooner to take him here. He would have began his work here by getting some of you on his side, and gaining some influence, or money, perhaps, to begin with. Very well; what then? Why, then off he goes to France, where he probably intended to take advantage of the change in the ministry to push his claims, in the hope of making something out of them. And there is no doubt that, with his impudence, the young villain might have done something. And that reminds me to ask you whether you found anything at his lodgings." "No, nothing." "He should be searched. He must have some papers." "He shall be searched to-night." "I should have done that before. I left word to have that done before sending him from Grand Pré; but, as the fellow got off, why, of course that was no use. And I only hope he hasn't thought of destroying the papers. But if he has any, he won't want to destroy them--till the last moment. Perhaps he won't even think of it." "Do you suppose that this Motier has lived among the English all his life?" "I believe so." "Impossible!" "Why so?" "His manner, his accent, and his look are all as French as they can possibly be." "How he has done it I am unable to conjecture. This Motier, père, must have been a man of superior culture, to have brought up such a very gentlemanly young fellow as this." "Well, there is a difficulty about that. My opinion of the New Englanders is such that I do not think they would allow a man to live among them who looked so like a Frenchman." "Bah! his looks are nothing; and they don't know what his French accent may be." "Do you think, after all, that his own story is true about living in New England? May he not be some adventurer, who has drifted away from France of late years, and has come in contact with Motier? Or, better yet, may he not have been prepared for his part, and sent out by some parties in France, who are familiar with the whole Montresor business, and are playing a deep game?" Cazeneau, at this, sat for a time in deep thought. "Your suggestion," said he, at length, "is certainly a good one, and worth consideration. Yet I don't see how it can be so. No--for this reason: the captain of the schooner was certainly a New Englander, and e spoke in my hearing, on several occasions, as though this Motier was, like himself, a native of New England, and as one, too, whom he had known for years. Once he spoke as though he had known him from boyhood. I know enough English to understand that. Besides, this fellow's English is as perfect as his French. No, it cannot be possible that he has been sent out by any parties in France. He must have lived in New England nearly all his life, even if he was not born there; and I cannot agree with you." "O, I only made the suggestion. It was merely a passing thought." "Be assured this steward Motier has brought him up with an eye to using him for the very purpose on which he is now going." "Do you suppose that Motier is alive?" "Of course." "He may be dead." "And what then?" "In that case this young fellow is not an agent of anybody, but is acting for himself." "Even if that were so, I do not see what difference it would make. He has been educated for the part which he is now playing." "Do you think," asked the commandant, after a pause, "that the Count de Montresor had a son?" "Certainly not." "He may have had, and this young fellow may be the one." "That's what he says," said Cazeneau; "but he can never prove it; and, besides, it was impossible, for the count would never have left him as he did." CHAPTER XX. EXAMINATIONS. Cazeneau improved in health and strength every day. A week passed, during which period he devoted all his attention to himself, keeping quietly to his room, with the exception of an occasional walk in the sun, when the weather was warm, and letting Nature do all she could. The wound had been severe, though not mortal, and hardly what could be called even dangerous. The worst was already past on the journey to Louisbourg; and when once he had arrived there, he had but to wait for his strength to rally from the shock. While thus waiting, he saw no one outside of the family of the commandant. Mimi was not interfered with. Claude received no communications from him for good or evil. Père Michel, who expected to be put through a course of questioning, remained unquestioned; nor did he assume the office of commandant, which now was his. At the end of a week he found himself so much better that he began to think himself able to carry out the various purposes which lay in his mind. First of all, he relieved the late commandant of his office, and took that dignity upon himself. All this time Mimi had been under the same roof, a prey to the deepest anxiety. The poignant grief which she had felt for the loss of her father had been alleviated for a time by the escape of Claude; but now, since his arrest, and the arrival of the dreaded Cazeneau, it seemed worse than ever; the old grief returned, and, in addition, there were new ones of equal force. There was the terror about her own future, which looked dark indeed before her, from the purposes of Cazeneau; and then there was also the deep anxiety, which never left her, about the fate of Claude. Of him she knew nothing, having heard not one word since his arrest. She had not seen Père Michel, and there was no one whom she could ask. The lady of the commandant was kind enough; but to Mimi she seemed a mere creature of Cazeneau, and for this reason she never dreamed of taking her into her confidence, though that good lady made several unmistakable attempts to enter into her secret. Such was her state of mind when she received a message that M. Le Comte de Cazeneau wished to pay his respects to her. Mimi knew only too well what that meant, and would have avoided the interview under any plea whatever, if it had been possible. But that could not be done; and so, with a heart that throbbed with painful emotions, she went to meet him. After waiting a little time, Cazeneau made his appearance, and greeted her with very much warmth and earnestness. He endeavored to infuse into his manner as much as possible of the cordiality of an old and tried friend, together with the tenderness which might be shown by a father or an elder brother. He was careful not to exhibit the slightest trace of annoyance at anything that had happened since he last saw her, nor to show any suspicion that she could be in any way implicated with his enemy. But Mimi did not meet him half way. She was cold and repellent; or, rather, perhaps it may with more truth be said, she was frightened and embarrassed. In spite of Cazeneau's determination to touch on nothing unpleasant, he could not help noticing Mimi's reserve, and remarking on it. "You do not congratulate me," said he. "Perhaps you have not heard the reason why I left your party in the woods. It was not because I grew tired of your company. It was because I was attacked by an assassin, and narrowly escaped with my life. It has only been by a miracle that I have come here; and, though I still have something of my strength, yet I am very far from being the man that I was when you saw me last." At these words Mimi took another look at Cazeneau, and surveyed him somewhat more closely. She felt a slight shock at noticing now the change which had taken place in him. He looked so haggard, and so old! She murmured a few words, which Cazeneau accepted as expressions of good will, and thanked her accordingly. The conversation did not last much longer. Cazeneau himself found it rather too tedious where he had to do all the talking, and where the other was only a girl too sad or too sullen to answer. One final remark was made, which seemed to Mimi to express the whole purpose of his visit. "You need not fear, mademoiselle," said he, "that this assassin will escape. That is impossible, since he is under strict confinement, and in a few days must be tried for his crimes." What that meant Mimi knew only too well; and after Cazeneau left, these words rang in her heart. After his call on Mimi, Cazeneau was waited on by the ex-commandant, who acquainted him with the result of certain inquiries which he had been making. These inquiries had been made by means of a prisoner, who had been put in with Claude in order to win the young man's confidence, and thus get at his secret; for Cazeneau had been of the opinion that there were accomplices or allies of Claude in France, of whom it would be well to know the names. The ex-commandant was still more eager to know. He had been very much struck by the claim of Claude to be a De Montresor, and by Cazeneau's own confession that the present _régime_ was unfavorable to him; and under these circumstances the worthy functionary, who always looked out for number one, was busy weighing the advantages of the party of Claude as against the party of Cazeneau. On the evening of the day when he had called on Mimi, Cazeneau was waited on by Père Michel. He himself had sent for the priest, whom he had summoned somewhat abruptly. The priest entered the apartment, and, with a bow, announced himself. As Cazeneau looked up, he appeared for a moment struck with involuntary respect by the venerable appearance of this man, or there may have been something else at work in him; but, whatever the cause, he regarded the priest attentively for a few moments, without saying a word. "Père Michel," said he, at length, "I have called you before me in private, to come to an understanding with you. Had I followed my own impulses, I would have ordered your arrest, on my entrance into Louisbourg, as an accomplice of that young villain. I thought it sufficient, however, to spare you for the present, and keep you under surveillance. I am, on the whole, glad that I did not yield to my first impulse of anger, for I can now, in perfect calmness, go with you over your acts during the journey here, and ask you for an explanation." The priest bowed. "Understand me, Père Michel," said Cazeneau; "I have now no hard feeling left. I may say, I have almost no suspicion. I wish to be assured of your innocence. I will take anything that seems like a plausible excuse. I respect your character, and would rather have you as my friend than--than not." The priest again bowed, without appearing at all affected by these conciliatory words. "After I was assassinated in the woods," said Cazeneau, "I was saved from death by the skill and fidelity of my Indians. It seems to me still, Père Michel, as it seemed then, that something might have been done by you. Had you been in league with my enemy, you could not have done worse. You hastened forward with all speed, leaving me to my fate. As a friend, you should have turned back to save a friend; as a priest, you should have turned back to give me Christian burial. What answer have you to make to this?" "Simply this," said the priest, with perfect calmness: "that when you left us you gave orders that we should go on, and that you would find your way to us. I had no thought of turning back, or waiting. I knew the Indians well, and knew that they can find their way through the woods as easily as you can through the streets of Paris. I went forward, then, without any thought of waiting for you, thinking that of course you would join us, as you said." "When did Motier come up with you?" asked Cazeneau. "On the following day," answered the priest. "Did he inform you what had taken place?" "He did." "Why, then, did you not turn back to help me?" "Because Motier informed me that you were dead." "Very good. He believed so, I doubt not; but, at any rate, you might have turned back, if only to give Christian burial." "I intended to do that at some future time," said Père Michel; "but at that time I felt my chief duty to be to the living. How could I have left the Countess Laborde? Motier would not have been a proper guardian to convey her to Louisbourg, and to take her back with me was impossible. I therefore decided to go on, as you said, and take her first to Louisbourg, and afterwards to return." "You showed no haste about it," said Cazeneau. "I had to wait here," said the priest. "May I ask what could have been the urgent business which kept you from the sacred duty of the burial of the dead?" "A ship is expected every day, and I waited to get the letters of my superiors, with reference to further movements on my mission." "You say that Motier informed you about my death. Did he tell you how it had happened?" "He said that you and he had fought, and that you had been killed." "Why, then, did you not denounce him to the authorities on your arrival here?" "On what charge?" "On the charge of murder." "I did not know that when one gentleman is unfortunate enough to kill another, in fair fight, that it can be considered murder. The duel is as lawful in America as in France." "This was not a duel!" cried Cazeneau. "It was an act of assassination. Motier is no better than a murderer." "I only knew his own account," said the priest. "Besides," continued Cazeneau, "a duel can only take place between two equals; and this Motier is one of the _canaille_, one not worthy of my sword." "Yet, monsieur," said the priest, "when you arrested him first, it was not as one of the _canaille_, but as the son of the outlawed Count de Montresor." "True," said Cazeneau; "but I have reason to believe that he is merely some impostor. He is now under a different accusation. But one more point. How did Motier manage to escape?" "As to that, monsieur, I always supposed that his escape was easy enough, and that he could have effected it at once. The farm-houses of the Acadians are not adapted to be very secure prisons. There were no bolts and bars, and no adequate watch." "True; but the most significant part of his escape is, that he had external assistance. Who were those Indians who led him on my trail? How did he, a stranger, win them over?" "You forget, monsieur, that this young man has lived all his life in America. I know that he has been much in the woods in New England, and has had much intercourse with the Indians there. It was, no doubt, very easy for him to enter into communication with Indians here. They are all alike." "But how could he have found them? He must have had them at the house, or else friends outside must have sent them." "He might have bribed the people of the house." "Impossible!" "Monsieur does not mean to say that anything is impossible to one who has gold. Men of this age do anything for gold." Cazeneau was silent. To him this was so profoundly true that he had nothing to say. He sat in silence for a little while, and then continued:-- "I understand that at the time of the arrest of Motier, he was in the garden of the residence, with the Countess de Laborde, and that you were with them. How is this? Did this interview take place with your sanction or connivance?" "I knew nothing about it. It was by the merest accident, as far as I know." "You did not help them in this way?" "I did not." "Monsieur L'Abbé," said Cazeneau, "I am glad that you have answered my questions so fully and so frankly. I confess that, in my first anger, I considered that in some way you had taken part against me. To think so gave me great pain, as I have had too high an esteem for you to be willing to think of you as an enemy. But your explanations are in every way satisfactory. T hope, monsieur, that whatever letters you receive from France, they will not take you away from this part of the world. I feel confident that you, with your influence over the Indians here, will be an invaluable ally to one in my position, in the endeavors which I shall make to further in these parts the interests of France and of the church." CHAPTER XXI. A RAY OF LIGHT. After leaving Cazeneau, Père Michel went to the prison where Claude was confined. The young man looked pale and dejected, for the confinement had told upon his health and spirits; and worse than the confinement was the utter despair which had settled down upon his soul. At the sight of the priest, he gave a cry of joy, and hurried forward. "I thought you had forgotten all about me," said Claude, as he embraced the good priest, while tears of joy started to his eyes. "I have never forgotten you, my son," said the priest, as he returned his embrace; "that is impossible. I have thought of you both night and day, and have been trying to do something for you." "For me," said Claude, gloomily, "nothing can be done. But tell me about her. How does she bear this?" "Badly," said the priest, "as you may suppose." Claude sighed. "My son," said the priest, "I have come to you now on important business; and, first of all, I wish to speak to you about a subject that you will consider most important. I mean that secret which you wish to discover, and which drew you away from your home." "Do you know anything about it?" "Much. Remember I was with Laborde in his last hours, and received his confession. I am, therefore, able to tell you all that you wish to know; and after that you must decide for yourself another question, which will grow out of this. "About twenty years ago there was a beautiful heiress, who was presented at court. Her name was the Countess de Besançon. She was a Huguenot, and therefore not one whom you would expect to see amid the vicious circles at Versailles. But her guardians were Catholic, and hoped that the attractions of the court might weaken her faith. She became the admired of all, and great was the rivalry for her favor. Two, in particular, devoted themselves to her--the Count de Montresor and the Count de Laborde. She preferred the former, and they were married. After this, the count and countess left the court, and retired to the Chateau de Montresor. "Laborde and Montresor had always been firm friends until this; but now Laborde, stung by jealousy and hate, sought to effect the ruin of Montresor. At first his feeling was only one of jealousy, which was not unnatural, under the circumstances. Left to himself, I doubt not that it would have died a natural death; but, unfortunately, Laborde was under the influence of a crafty adventurer, who now, when Montresor's friendship was removed, gained an ascendency over him. This man was this Cazeneau, who has treated you so shamefully. "I will not enlarge upon his character. You yourself know now well enough what that is. He was a man of low origin, who had grown up amid the vilest court on the surface of the earth. At that time the Duke of Orleans and the Abbé Dubois had control of everything, and the whole court was an infamous scene of corruption. Cazeneau soon found means to turn the jealousy of Laborde into a deeper hate, and to gain his co-operation in a scheme which he had formed for his own profit. "Cazeneau's plan was this: The laws against the Huguenots were very stringent, and were in force, as, indeed, they are yet. The Countess de Montresor was a Huguenot, and nothing could make her swerve from her faith. The first blow was levelled at her, for in this way they knew that they could inflict a deeper wound upon her husband. She was to be arrested, subjected to the mockery of French justice, and condemned to the terrible punishment which the laws inflicted upon heretics. Had Montresor remained at court, he could easily have fought off this pair of conspirators; but, being away, he knew nothing about it till all was ready; and then he had nothing to do but to fly, in order to save his wife. "Upon this, fresh charges were made against him, and lettres de cachet were issued. These would have flung him into the Bastile, to rot and die forgotten. But Montresor had effectually concealed himself, together with his wife, and the emissaries of the government were baffled. It was by that time too late for him to defend himself in any way; and the end of it was, that he decided to fly from France. He did so, and succeeded in reaching Quebec in safety. Here he hoped to remain only for a time, and expected that before long a change in the ministry might take place, by means of which he might regain his rights. "But Fleury was all-powerful with the king, and Cazeneau managed somehow to get into Fleury's good graces, so that Montresor had no chance. The Montresor estates, and all the possessions of his wife, were confiscated, and Laborde and Cazeneau secured much of them. But Montresor had other things to trouble him. His wife grew ill, and died not long after his arrival, leaving an infant son. Montresor now had nothing which seemed to him worth living for. He therefore left his child to the care of the faithful Motier, and disappeared, as you have told me, and has never been heard of since. "Of course Laborde knew nothing of this, and I only add this to the information which he gave, in order to make it as plain to you as it is to me. Laborde asserted that after the first blow he recoiled, conscience-stricken, and refused further to pursue your father, though Cazeneau was intent upon his complete destruction; and perhaps this is the reason why Montresor was not molested at Quebec. A better reason, however, is to be found in the merciful nature of Fleury, whom I believe at bottom to have been a good man. "After this, years passed. To Laborde they were years of remorse. Hoping to get rid of his misery, he married. A daughter was born to him. It was of no use. His wife died. His daughter was sent to a convent to be educated. He himself was a lonely, aimless man. What was worse, he was always under the power of Cazeneau, who never would let go his hold. This Cazeneau squandered the plunder of the Montresors upon his own vices, and soon became as poor as he was originally. After this he lived upon Laborde. His knowledge of Laborde's remorse gave him a power over him which his unhappy victim could not resist. The false information which Laborde had sworn to against the Count de Montresor was perjury; and Cazeneau, the very man who had suggested it, was always ready to threaten to denounce him to Fleury. "So time went on. Laborde grew older, and at last the one desire of his life was to make amends before he died. At length Fleury died. The new ministry were different. All of them detested Cazeneau. One of them--Maurepas--was a friend to Laborde. To this Maurepas, Laborde told his whole story, and Maurepas promised that he would do all in his power to make amends. The greatest desire of Laborde was to discover some one of the family. He had heard that the count and countess were both dead, but that they had left an infant son. It was this that brought him out here. He hoped to find that son, and perhaps the count himself, for the proof of his death was not very clear. He did, indeed, find that son, most wonderfully, too, and without knowing it; for, as you yourself see, there cannot be a doubt that you are that son. "Now, Laborde kept all this a profound secret from Cazeneau, and hoped, on leaving France, never to see him again. What, however, was his amazement, on reaching the ship, to learn that Cazeneau also was going! He had got the appointment to Louisbourg from Fleury before his death, and the appointment had been confirmed by the new ministry, for some reason or other. I believe that they will recall him at once, and use his absence to effect his ruin. I believe Cazeneau expects this, and is trying to strengthen his resources by getting control of the Laborde estates. His object in marrying Mimi is simply this. This was the chief dread of Laborde in dying, and with his last words he entreated me to watch over his daughter. "Cazeneau's enmity to you must be accounted for on the ground that he discovered, somehow, your parentage. Mimi told me afterwards, that he was near you one day, concealed, while you were telling her. He was listening, beyond a doubt, and on the first opportunity determined to put you out of the way. He dreads, above all things, your appearance in France as the son of the unfortunate Count de Montresor. For now all those who were once powerful are dead, and the present government would be very glad to espouse the Montresor cause, and make amends, as far as possible, for his wrongs. They would like to use you as a means of dealing a destructive blow against Cazeneau himself. Cazeneau's first plan was to put you out of the way on some charge of treason; but now, of course, the charge against you will be attempt at murder." To all this Claude listened with much less interest than he would have felt formerly. But the sentence of death seemed impending, and it is not surprising that the things of this life seemed of small moment. "Well," said he, with a sigh, "I'm much obliged to you for telling me all this; but it makes very little difference to me now." "Wait till you have heard all," said the priest. "I have come here for something more; but it was necessary to tell you all this at the first. I have now to tell you that--your position is full of hope; in fact--" Here the priest put his head close to Claude's ear, and whispered, "I have come to save you." "What!" cried Claude. The priest placed his hand on Claude's mouth. "No one is listening; but it is best to be on our guard," he whispered. "Yes, I can save you, and will. This very night you shall be free, on your way to join your friend, the captain. To-day I received a message from him by an Indian. He had reached Canso. I had warned him to go there. The Indians went on board, and brought his message. He will wait there for us." At this intelligence, which to Claude was unexpected and amazing, he could not say one word, but sat with clasped hands and a face of rapture. But suddenly a thought came to his mind, which disturbed his joy. "Mimi--what of her?" "You must go alone," said the priest. Claude's face grew dark. He shook his head. "Then I will not go at all." "Not go! Who is she--do you know? She is the daughter of Laborde, the man who ruined your father." Claude compressed his lips, and looked with fixed determination at the priest. "She is not to blame," said he, "for her father's faults. She has never known them, and never shall know them. Besides, for all that he did, her father suffered, and died while seeking to make atonement. My father himself, were he alive, would surely forgive that man for all he did; and I surely will not cherish hate against his memory. So Mimi shall be mine. She is mine; we have exchanged vows. I will stay here and die, rather than go and leave her." "Spoken like a young fool, as you are!" said the priest. "Well, if you will not go without her, you shall go with her; but go you must, and to-night." "What? can she go too, after all? O, my best Père Michel, what can I say?" "Say nothing as yet, for there is one condition." "What is that? I will agree to anything. Never mind conditions." "You must be married before you go." "Married!" cried Claude, in amazement. "Yes." "Married! How? Am I not here in a dungeon? How can she and I be married?" "I will tell you how presently. But first, let me tell you why. First of all, we may all get scattered in the woods. It will be very desirable that she should have you for her lawful lord and master, so that you can have a right to stand by her to the last. You can do far more for her than I can, and I do not wish to have all the responsibility. This is one reason. "But there is another reason, which, to me, is of greater importance. It is this, my son: You may be captured. The worst may come to the worst. You may--which may Heaven forbid--yet you may be put to death. I do not think so. I hope not. I hope, indeed, that Cazeneau may eventually fall a prey to his own machinations. But it is necessary to take this into account. And then, my son, if such a sad fate should indeed be yours, we must both of us think what will be the fate of Mimi. If you are not married, her fate will be swift and certain. She will be forced to marry this infamous miscreant, who does not even pretend to love her, but merely wants her money. He has already told her his intention--telling her that her father left nothing, and that he wishes to save her from want, whereas her father left a very large estate. Such will be her fate if she is single. But if she is your wife, all will be different. As your widow, she will be safe. He would have to allow her a decent time for mourning; and in any case he would scarce be able so to defy public opinion as to seek to marry the widow of the man whom he had killed. Besides, to gain time would be everything; and before a year would be over, a host of friends would spring up to save her from him. This, then, is the reason why I think that you should be married." "I am all amazement," cried Claude, "I am bewildered. Married! Such a thing would be my highest wish. But I don't understand all this. How is it possible to think of marriage at such a time as this?" "Well, I will now explain that," said the priest. "The late commandant is a friend of mine. We were acquainted with each other years ago in France. As soon as Cazeneau made his appearance here, and you were arrested, I went to him and told him the whole story of your parents, as I have just now told you. He had heard something about their sad fate in former years, and his sympathies were all enlisted. Besides, he looks upon Cazeneau as a doomed man, the creature of the late regime, the fallen government. He expects that Cazeneau will be speedily recalled, disgraced, and punished. He also expects that the honors of the Count de Montresor will be restored to you. He is sufficient of an aristocrat to prefer an old and honorable name, like Montresor, to that of a low and unprincipled adventurer, like Cazeneau, and does not wish to see the Countess Laborde fall a victim to the machinations of a worn-out scoundrel. And so the ex-commandant will do all that he can. Were it not for him, I do not think I could succeed in freeing both of you, though I still might contrive to free you alone." "O, my dear Père Michel! What can I say? I am dumb!" "Say nothing. I must go now." "When will you come?" "At midnight. There will be a change of guards then. The new sentry will be favorable; he will run away with us, so as to save himself from punishment." "And when shall we be married?" "To-night. You will go from here to the commandant's residence, and then out. But we must haste, for by daybreak Cazeneau will discover all--perhaps before. We can be sure, however, of three hours. I hope it will be light. Well, we must trust to Providence. And now, my son, farewell till midnight." CHAPTER XXII. ESCAPE. Claude remained alone once more, with his brain in a whirl from the tumult of thought which had arisen. This interview with the priest had been the most eventful hour of his life. He had learned the secret of his parentage, the wrongs and sufferings of his father and mother, the villany of Cazeneau, the true reason for the bitter enmity which in him had triumphed over gratitude, and made him seek so pertinaciously the life of the man who had once saved his own. It seemed like a dream. But a short time before, not one ray of hope appeared to illuminate the midnight gloom which reigned around him and within him. Now all was dazzling brightness. It seemed too bright; it was unnatural; it was too much to hope for. That he should escape was of itself happiness enough; but that he should also join Mimi once more, and that he should be joined to her, no more to part till death, was an incredible thing. Mimi herself must also know this, and was even now waiting for him, as he was waiting for her. Claude waited in a fever of impatience. The monotonous step of the sentry sounded out as he paced to and fro. At times Claude thought he heard the approach of footsteps, and listened eagerly; but over and over again he was compelled to desist, on finding that his senses deceived him. Thus the time passed, and as it passed, his impatience grew the more uncontrollable. Had it been possible, he would have burst open the door, and ventured forth so as to shorten his suspense. At length a sound of approaching footsteps did in reality arise. This time there was no mistake. He heard voices outside, the challenge and reply of the changing guard. Then footsteps departed, and the tramp died away, leaving only the pacing of the sentinel for Claude to hear. What now? Was this the sentinel who was to be his friend? He thought so. He believed so. The time passed--too long a time, he thought, for the sentinel gave no sign: still he kept up his monotonous tramp. Claude repressed his impatience, and waited till, to his astonishment, what seemed an immense time had passed away; and the sentinel came not to his aid. Still the time passed. Claude did not know what to think. Gradually a sickening fear arose--the fear that the whole plan had been discovered, and that the priest had failed. Perhaps the commandant had played him false, and had pretended to sympathize with him so as to draw out his purpose, which he would reveal to Cazeneau, in order to gain his gratitude, and lay him under obligation. The priest, he thought, was too guileless to deal with men of the world like these. He had been caught in a trap, and had involved himself with all the rest. His own fate could be no worse than it was before, but it was doubly bitter to fall back into his despair, after having been for a brief interval raised up to so bright a hope. Such were the thoughts that finally took possession of Claude, and, with every passing moment, deepened into conviction. Midnight had passed; the sentry had come, and there he paced mechanically, with no thought of him. Either the ex-commandant or the sentinel had betrayed them. Too many had been in the secret. Better never to have heard of this plan than, having heard of it, to find it thus dashed away on the very eve of its accomplishment. Time passed, and every moment only added to Claude's bitterness; time passed, and every moment only served to show him that all was over. A vague thought came of speaking to the sentinel; but that was dismissed. Then another thought came, of trying to tear away the iron grating; but the impossibility of that soon showed itself. He sank down upon his litter of straw in one corner, and bade adieu to hope. Then he started up, and paced up and down wildly, unable to yield so calmly to despair. Then once more he sank down upon the straw. Thus he was lying, crouched down, his head in his hands, overwhelmed utterly, when suddenly a deep sound came to his ears, which in an instant made him start to his feet, and drove away every despairing thought, bringing in place of these a new wave of hope, and joy, and amazement. It was the single toll of the great bell, which, as he knew, always sounded at midnight. Midnight! Was it possible? Midnight had not passed, then. The change of sentry had been at nine o'clock, which he, deceived by the slow progress of the hours, had supposed to be midnight. He had been mistaken. There was yet hope. He rushed to the grating, and listened. There were footsteps approaching--the tramp of the relieving guard. He listened till the guard was relieved, and the departing footsteps died away. Then began the pace of the new sentry. What now? Was there to be a repetition of his former experience? Was he again to be dashed down from this fresh hope into a fresh despair? He nerved himself for this new ordeal, and waited with a painfully throbbing heart. At the grating he stood, motionless, listening, with all his soul wrapped and absorbed in his single sense of hearing. There were an inner grating and an outer one, and between the two a sash with two panes of glass. He could hear the sentry as he paced up and down; he could also hear, far away, the long, shrill note of innumerable frogs; and the one seemed as monotonous, as unchangeable, and as interminable as the other. But at length the pacing of the sentry ceased. Claude listened; the sentinel stopped; there was no longer any sound. Claude listened still. This was the supreme hour of his fate. On this moment depended all his future. What did this mean? Would the sentry begin his tramp? He would; he did. In despair Claude fled from the grating, and fell back upon the straw. For a time he seemed unconscious of everything; but at length he was roused by a rattle at the door of his cell. In a moment he was on his feet, listening. It was the sound of a key as it slowly turned in the lock. Claude moved not, spoke not; he waited. If this was his deliverer, all well; if not, he was resolved to have a struggle for freedom. Then he stole cautiously to the door. It opened. Claude thrust his hand through, and seized a human arm. A man's voice whispered back,-- "H-s-s-t! _Suivez moi_." A thrill of rapture unutterable passed through every nerve and fibre of Claude. At once all the past was forgotten; forgotten, also, were all the dangers that still lay before him. It was enough that this hope had not been frustrated, that the sentinel had come to deliver him from the cell at the midnight hour. The cool breeze of night was wafted in through the open door, and fanned the fevered brow of the prisoner, bearing on its wings a soothing influence, a healing balm, and life, and hope. His presence of mind all came back: he was self-poised, vigilant, cool: all this in one instant. All his powers would be needed to carry him through the remainder of the night; and these all were summoned forth, and came at his bidding. And so Claude followed his guide. The sentinel led the way, under the shadow of the wall, towards the Residency. At one end of this was the chapel. Towards this the sentinel guided Claude, and, on reaching it, opened the door. A hand seized his arm, a voice whispered in his ear,-- "Welcome, my son. Here is your bride." And then a soft hand was placed in his. Claude knew whose hand it was. He flung his arms around the slender figure of Mimi, and pressed her to his heart. "Come," said the priest. He drew them up towards the altar. Others were present. Claude could not see them; one, however, he could see, was a female, whom he supposed to be Margot. The moonlight shone in through the great window over the altar. Here the priest stood, and placed Claude and Mimi before him. Then he went through the marriage service. It was a strange wedding there at midnight, in the moonlit chapel, with the forms of the spectators so faintly discerned, and the ghostly outline of priest, altar, and window before them as they knelt. But they were married; and Claude once more, in a rapture of feeling, pressed his wife to his heart. They now left the chapel by another door in the rear. The priest led the way, together with the sentinel. Here was the wall. A flight of steps led to the top. On reaching this they came to a place where there was a ladder. Down this they all descended in silence, and found themselves in the ditch. The ladder was once more made use of to climb out of this, and then Claude saw a figure crouched on the ground and creeping towards them. It was an Indian, with whom the priest conversed in his own language for a moment. "All is well," he whispered to Claude. "The captain is waiting for us many miles from this. And now, forward!" The Indian led the way; then went the priest; then Claude with Mimi; then Margot; last of all came the sentinel, who had deserted his post, and was now seeking safety in flight under the protection of Père Michel. Such was the little party of fugitives that now sought to escape from Louisbourg into the wild forest around. After walking for about a mile, they reached a place where five horses were bound. Here they proceeded to mount. "I sent these out after sundown," said the priest to Claude. "There are not many horses in Louisbourg. These will assist us to escape, and will be lost to those who pursue. Here, my son, arm yourself, so as to defend your wife, in case of need." With these words the priest handed Claude a sword, pointing also to pistols which were in the holster. The Indian alone remained on foot. He held the bridle of the priest's horse, and led the way, sometimes on what is called an "Indian trot," at other times on a walk. The others all followed at the same pace. The road was the same one which had been traversed by Claude and Mimi when they first came to Louisbourg--a wide trail, rough, yet serviceable, over which many pack-horses and droves of cattle had passed, but one which was not fitted for wheels, and was rather a trail than a road. On each side the trees arose, which threw a deep shade, so that, in spite of the moon which shone overhead, it was too dark to go at any very rapid pace. "We must make all the haste we can," said the priest. "In three hours they will probably discover all. The alarm will be given, and we shall be pursued. In these three hours, then, we must get so far ahead that they may not be able to come up with us." At first the pathway was wide enough for them all to move at a rapid pace; but soon it began to grow narrower. As they advanced, the trees grew taller, and the shadows which they threw were darker. The path became more winding, for, like all trails, it avoided the larger trees or stones, and wound around them, where a road would have led to their removal. The path also became rougher, from stones which protruded in many places, or from long roots stretching across, which in the darkness made the horses stumble incessantly. These it was impossible to avoid. In addition to these, there were miry places, where the horses sank deep, and could only extricate themselves with difficulty. Thus their progress grew less and less, till at length it dwindled to a walk, and a slow one at that. Nothing else could be done. They all saw the impossibility of more rapid progress, in the darkness, over such a path. Of them all, Claude was the most impatient, as was natural. His sense of danger was most keen. The terror of the night had not yet passed away. Already, more than once, he had gone from despair to hope, and back once more to despair; and it seemed to him as though his soul must still vibrate between these two extremes. The hope which was born out of new-found freedom was now rapidly yielding to the fear of pursuit and re-capture. In the midst of these thoughts, he came forth suddenly upon a broad, open plain, filled with stout underbrush. Through this the trail ran. Reaching this, the whole party urged their horses at full speed, and for at least three miles they were able to maintain this rapid progress. At the end of that distance, the trail once more entered the woods, and the pace dwindled to a walk. But that three-mile run cheered the spirits of all. "How many miles have we come, I wonder?" asked Claude. "About six," said the priest. "How many miles is it to the schooner?" "About forty." Claude drew a long breath. "It must be nearly three o'clock in the morning now," said he. "I dare say they are finding it out now." "Well, we needn't stop to listen," said the priest. "No; we'll hear them soon enough." "At any rate, the dawn is coming," said the priest. "The day will soon be here, and then we can go on as fast as we wish." CHAPTER XXIII. PURSUIT. As they hurried on, it grew gradually lighter, so that they were able to advance more rapidly. The path remained about the same, winding as before, and with the same alternations of roots, stones, and swamp; but the daylight made all the difference in the world, and they were now able to urge their horses at the top of their speed. The Indian who was at their head was able to keep there without much apparent effort, never holding back or falling behind, though if the ground had been smoother he could scarcely have done so. With every step the dawn advanced, until at last the sun rose, and all the forest grew bright in the beams of day. A feeling of hope and joy succeeded to the late despondency which had been creeping over them; but this only stimulated them to redoubled exertions, so that they might not, after all, find themselves at last cheated out of these bright hopes. That they were now pursued they all felt confident. At three o'clock the absence of the sentry must have been discovered, and, of course, the flight of Claude. Thereupon the alarm would at once be given. Cazeneau would probably be aroused, and would proceed to take action immediately. Even under what might be the most favorable circumstances to them, it was not likely that there would be a delay of more than an hour. Besides, the pursuer had an advantage over them. They had a start of three hours; but those three hours were spent in darkness, when they were able to go over but little ground. All that they had toiled so long in order to traverse, their pursuers could pass over in one quarter the time, and one quarter the labor. They were virtually not more than one hour in advance of the enemy, who would have fresher horses, with which to lessen even this small advantage. And by the most favorable calculation, there remained yet before them at least thirty miles, over a rough and toilsome country. Could they hope to escape? Such were the thoughts that came to Claude's mind, and such the question that came to him. That question he did not care to discuss with himself. He could only resolve to keep up the flight till the last moment, and then resist to the bitter end. But now there arose a new danger, which brought fresh difficulties with it, and filled Claude with new despondency. This danger arose from a quarter in which he was most assailable to fear and anxiety--from Mimi. He had never ceased, since they first left, to watch over his bride with the most anxious solicitude, sometimes riding by her side and holding her hand, when the path admitted it, at other times riding behind her, so as to keep her in view, and all the time never ceasing to address to her words of comfort and good cheer. To all his questions Mimi had never failed to respond in a voice which was full of cheerfulness and sprightliness, and no misgivings on her account entered his mind until the light grew bright enough for him to see her face. Then he was struck by her appearance. She seemed so feeble, so worn, so fatigued, that a great fear came over him. "O, Mimi, darling!" he cried, "this is too much for you." "O, no," she replied, in the same tone; "I can keep up as long as you wish me to." "But you look so completely worn out!" "O, that's because I've been fretting about you--you bad boy; it's not this ride at all." "Are you sure that you can keep up?" "Why, of course I am; and I must, for there's nothing else to be done." "O, Mimi, I'm afraid--I'm very much afraid that you will break down." At this Mimi gave a little laugh, but said nothing, and Claude found himself compelled to trust to hope. Thus they went on for some time longer. But at length Claude was no longer able to conceal the truth from himself, nor was Mimi able any longer to maintain her loving deception. She was exceedingly weak; she was utterly worn out; and in pain Claude saw her form sway to and fro and tremble. He asked her imploringly to stop and rest. But at the sound of his voice, Mimi roused herself once more, by a great effort. "O, no," she said, with a strong attempt to speak unconcernedly; "O, no. I acknowledge I am a little tired; and if we come to any place where we may rest, I think I shall do so; but not here, not here; let us go farther." Claude drew a long breath. Deep anxiety overwhelmed him. Mimi was, in truth, right. How could they dare to pause just here? The pursuer was on their track! No; they must keep on; and if Mimi did sink, what then? But he would not think of it; he would hope that Mimi would be able, after all, to hold out. But at length what Claude had feared came to pass. He had been riding behind Mimi for some time, so as to watch her better, when suddenly he saw her slender frame reel to one side. A low cry came from her. In an instant Claude was at her side, and caught her in his arms in time to save her from a fall. Mimi had not fainted, but was simply prostrated from sheer fatigue. No strength was left, and it was impossible for her to sit up any longer. She had struggled to bear up as long as possible, and finally had given way altogether. "I cannot help it," she murmured. "O, my darling!" cried Claude, in a voice of anguish. "Forgive me, dear Claude. I cannot help it!" "O, don't talk so," said Claude. "I ought to have seen your weakness before, and given you assistance. But come now; I will hold you in my arms, and we will still be able to go on." "I wish you would leave me; only leave me, and then you can be saved. There is no danger for me; but if you are captured, your life will be taken. O, Claude, dearest Claude, leave me and fly." "You distress me, Mimi, darling, by all this. I cannot leave you; I would rather die than do so. And so, if you love me, don't talk so." At this, with a little sob, Mimi relapsed into silence. "Courage, darling," said Claude, in soothing tones. "Who knows but that they are still in Louisbourg, and have not yet left? We may get away, after all; or we may find some place of hiding." The additional burden which he had been forced to assume overweighted very seriously Claude's horse, and signs of this began to appear before long. No sooner, however, had Claude perceived that it was difficult to keep with the rest of the party, than he concluded to shift himself, with Mimi, to the horse which Mimi had left. This was one of the best and freshest of the whole party, and but a slight delay was occasioned by the change. After this they kept up a good rate of speed for more than two hours, when Claude once more changed to another horse. This time it was to Margot's horse, which had done less thus far than any of the others. Margot then took the horse which Claude had at first, and thus they went on. It was a good contrivance, for thus by changing about from one to another, and by allowing one horse to be led, the endurance of the whole was maintained longer than would otherwise have been possible. But at length the long and fatiguing journey began to tell most seriously on all the horses, and all began to see that further progress would not be much longer possible. For many hours they had kept on their path; and, though the distance which they had gone was not more than twenty-five miles, yet, so rough had been the road that the labor had been excessive, and all the horses needed rest. By this time it was midday, and they all found themselves face to face with a question of fearful import, which none of them knew how to answer. The question was, what to do. Could they stop? Dare they? Yet they must. For the present they continued on a little longer. They now came to another open space, overgrown with shrubbery, similar to that which they had traversed in the night. It was about two miles in extent, and at the other end arose a bare, rocky hill, beyond which was the forest. "We must halt at the top of that hill," said Claude. "It's the best place. We can guard against a surprise, at any rate. Some of the horses will drop if we go on much farther." "I suppose we'll have to," said the priest. "We must rest for half an hour, at least," said Claude. "If they come up, we'll have to scatter, and take to the woods." With these words they rode on, and at length reached the hill. The path wound up it, and in due time they reached the top. But scarcely had they done so, than a loud cry sounded out, which thrilled through all hearts. Immediately after, a figure came bounding towards them. "Hooray! Hip, hip, hooray!" shouted the new comer. "Heavens! Zac!" cried Claude; "you here?" "Nobody else," replied Zac, wringing his hand. "But what are you going to do?" "Our horses are blown; we are pursued, but have to halt for a half hour or so. If they come up, we'll have to scatter, and take to the woods, and start the horses ahead on the path. This is a good lookout place." With these words Claude began to dismount, bearing his beloved burden. The priest assisted him. Zac, after his first hurried greeting, had moved towards Margot, around whom he threw his arms, with an energetic clasp, and lifted her from the saddle to the ground. Then he shook hands with her. "I'm ver mooch glad to see you," said Margot. "Ees your sheep far off?" "So, they're after you--air they?" said he. "Wal, little one, when they come, you stick to me--mind that; an' I engage to get you off free. Stick to me, though. Be handy, an' I'll take you clar of them." Claude was now engaged in finding a comfortable place upon which Mimi might recline. The Indian stood as lookout; the deserter busied himself with the horses; the priest stood near, watching Claude and Mimi, while Zac devoted himself to Margot. In the midst of this, the Indian came and said something to the priest. Claude noticed this, and started. "What is it?" he asked. "He hears them," said the priest, significantly. "So soon!" exclaimed Claude. "Then we must scatter. The horses will be of no use. Our last chance is the woods." In a moment the alarm was made; hasty directions were given for each one to take care of himself, and if he eluded the pursuers, to follow the path to the place where the schooner lay. Meanwhile the horses were to be driven ahead by the Indian as far as possible. The Indian at once went off, together with the deserter, and these two drove the horses before them into the woods, along the path. Then Zac followed. Lifting Margot in his arms, he bore her lightly along, and soon disappeared in the woods. Then Claude took Mimi in his arms, and hastened as fast as he could towards the shelter of the woods. But Claude had not Zac's strength, and besides, Mimi was more of a dead weight than Margot, so that he could not go nearly so fast. Zac was in the woods, and out of sight, long before Claude had reached the place; and by that time the rest of the party, both horses and men, had all disappeared, with the exception of Père Michel. The good priest kept close by the young man, as though resolved to share his fate, whether in life or death. If it was difficult while carrying Mimi over the path, Claude found it far more so on reaching the woods. Here he dared not keep to the path, for the very object of going to the woods was to elude observation by plunging into its darkest and deepest recesses. Zac had gone there at a headlong rate, like a fox to his covert. Such a speed Claude could not rival, and no sooner did he take one step in the woods, than he perceived the full difficulty of his task. The woods were of the wildest kind, filled with rocks and fallen trees, the surface of the ground being most irregular. At every other step it was necessary to clamber over some obstacle, or crawl under it. "We cannot hope to go far," said the priest. "Our only course now will be to find some convenient hiding-place. Perhaps they will pass on ahead, and then we can go farther on." At this very moment the noise of horses and men sounded close behind. One hurried look showed them all. Their pursuers had reached their late halting-place, and were hurrying forward. The place bore traces of their halt, which did not escape the keen eyes of their enemies. At the sight, Claude threw himself down in a hollow behind a tree, with Mimi beside him, while the priest did the same. The suspicions of the pursuers seemed to have been awakened by the signs which they had seen at the last halting-place. They rode on more slowly. At length they divided, half of them riding rapidly ahead, and the other half moving forward at a walk, and scanning every foot of ground in the open and in the woods. At last a cry escaped one of them. Claude heard it. The next moment he heard footsteps. The enemy were upon him; their cries rang in his ears. In all the fury of despair, he started to his feet with only one thought, and that was, to sell his life as dearly as possible. But Mimi flung herself in his arms, and the priest held his hands. "Yield," said the priest. "You can do nothing. There is yet hope." The next moment Claude was disarmed, and in the hands of his enemies. CHAPTER XXIV. ZAC AND MARGOT. Seizing Margot in his arms at the first alarm, Zac had fled to the woods. Being stronger than Claude, he was fortunate in having a less unwieldy burden; for Margot did not lie like a heavyweight in his arms, but was able to dispose herself in a way which rendered her more easy to be carried. On reaching the woods, Zac did not at once plunge in among the trees, but continued along the trail for some distance, asking Margot to tell him the moment she saw one of the pursuing party. As Margot's face was turned back, she was in a position to watch. It was Zac's intention to find some better place for flight than the stony and swampy ground at the outer edge of the forest; and as he hurried along, he watched narrowly for a good opportunity to leave the path. At length he reached a place where the ground descended on the other side of the hill, and here he came to some pine trees. There was but little underbrush, the surface of the ground was comparatively smooth, and good progress could be made here without much difficulty. Here, then, Zac turned in. As he hurried onward, he found the pine forest continuing along the whole slope, and but few obstacles in his way. Occasionally a fallen tree lay before him, and this he could easily avoid. Hurrying on, then, under these favorable circumstances, Zac was soon lost in the vast forest, and out of sight as well as out of hearing of all his purposes. Here he might have rested; but still he kept on. He was not one to do things by halves, and chose rather to make assurance doubly sure; and although even Margot begged him to put her down, yet he would not. "Wal," said he, at last, "'tain't often I have you; an' now I got you, I ain't goin' to let you go for a good bit yet. Besides, you can't ever tell when you're safe. Nothin' like makin' things sure, I say." With these words Zac kept on his way, though at a slower pace. It was not necessary for him to fly so rapidly, nor was he quite so fresh as when he started. Margot also noticed this, and began to insist so vehemently on getting down, that he was compelled to grant her request. He still held her hand, however, and thus the two went on for some distance farther. At last they reached a point where there was an abrupt and almost precipitous descent. From this crest of the precipice the eye could wander over a boundless prospect of green forest, terminated in the distance by wooded hills. "Wal," said Zac, "I think we may as well rest ourselves here." "Dat is ver nice," said Margot. Zac now arranged a seat for her by gathering some moss at the foot of a tree. She seated herself here, and Zac placed himself by her side. He then opened a bag which he carried slung about his shoulders, and brought forth some biscuit and ham, which proved a most grateful repast to his companion. "Do you tink dey chase us here?" asked Margot. "Wal, we're safer here, ef they do," said Zac. "We can't be taken by surprise in the rear, for they can't climb up very easy without our seein' 'em; an' as for a front attack, why, I'll keep my eye open: an' I'd like to see the Injin or the Moosoo that can come unawars on me. I don't mind two or three of 'em, any way," continued Zac, "for I've got a couple of bulldogs." "Boul-dogs?" said Margot, inquiringly. "Yes, these here," said Zac, opening his frock, and displaying a belt around his waist, which held a brace of pistols. "But I don't expect I'll have to use 'em, except when I heave in sight of the skewner, an' want to hail 'em." "But we are loss," said Margot, "in dis great woos. How sall we ever get any whar out of him?" "O, that's easy enough," said Zac. "I know all about the woods, and can find my way anywhars. My idee is, to go back towards the trail, strike into it, an' move along slowly an' cautiously, till we git nigh the place whar I left the skewner." Zac waited in this place till towards evening, and then started once more. He began to retrace his steps in a direction which he judged would ultimately strike the trail, along which he had resolved to go. He had weighed the chances, and concluded that this would be his best course. He would have the night to do it in; and if he should come unawares upon any of his enemies, he thought it would be easy to dash into the woods, and escape under the cover of the darkness. Vigilance only was necessary, together with coolness and nerve, and all these qualities he believed himself to have. The knowledge of the woods which Zac claimed stood him in good stead on the present occasion; he was able to guide his course in a very satisfactory manner; and about sundown, or a little after, he struck the trail. Here he waited for a short time, watching and listening; and then, having heard nothing whatever that indicated danger, he went boldly forward, with Margot close behind. As they advanced, it grew gradually darker, and at length the night came down. Overhead the moon shone, disclosing a strip of sky where the trees opened above the path. For hours they walked along. No enemy appeared; and at length Zac concluded that they had all dispersed through the woods, at the point where they had first come upon them, and had not followed the path any farther. What had become of Claude he could not imagine, but could only hope for the best. They rested for about an hour at midnight. Then Zac carried Margot for another hour. After this, Margot insisted on walking. At length, after having thus passed the whole night, the path came to a creek. Here Zac paused. "Now, little gal," said he, "you may go to sleep till mornin', for I think we've got pooty nigh onto the end of our tramp." With these words Zac led the way a little distance from the path, and here Margot flung herself upon a grassy knoll, and fell sound asleep, while Zac, at a little distance off, held watch and guard over her. Several hours passed, and Zac watched patiently. He had not the heart to rouse her, unless compelled by absolute necessity. In this case, however, no necessity arose, and he left her to wake herself. When at length Margot awoke, the sun was high in the heavens, and Zac only smiled pleasantly when she reproached him for not waking her before. "O, no harm; no 'casion has riz, an' so you were better havin' your nap. You'll be all the abler to do what you may hev yet before you. An' now, little un, if you're agreed, we'll hev a bite o' breakfast." A short breakfast, composed of hard biscuit and ham, washed down with cool water from a neighboring brook, served to fortify both for the duties that lay before them; and after this Zac proposed an immediate start. He led the way along the bank of the creek, and Margot followed. They walked here for about two miles, until at length they came in sight of a small harbor, into which the creek ran. In the distance was the sea; nearer was a headland. "This here's the place, the i-dentical place," said Zac, in joyous tones. "I knowed it; I was sure of it. Come along, little un. We ain't got much further to go--only to that thar headland; and then, ef I ain't mistook, we'll find the end to our tramp." With these cheering words he led the way along the shore, until at last they reached the headland. It was rocky and bare of trees. Up this Zac ran, followed by Margot, and soon reached the top. "All right!" he cried. "See thar!" and he pointed out to the sea. Margot had Already seen it: it was the schooner, lying there at anchor. "Eet ees de sheep," said Margot, joyously; "but how sall we geet to her?" "O, they're on the lookout," said Zac. "I'll give signals." The schooner was not more than a quarter of a mile off. Zac and Margot were on the bare headland, and could easily be seen. On board the schooner figures were moving up and down. Zac looked for a few moments, as if to see whether it was all right, and then gave a peculiar cry, something like the cawing of a crow, which he repeated three times. The sound was evidently heard, for at once there was a movement on board. Zac waved his hat. Then the movement stopped, and a boat shot out from the schooner, with a man in it, who rowed towards the headland. He soon came near enough to be recognized. It was Terry. Zac and Margot hurried to the shore to meet it, and in a short time both were on board the Parson. Great was the joy that was evinced by Terry at the return of his captain. He had a host of questions to ask about his adventures, and reproached Zac over and over for not allowing him to go also. Jericho showed equal feeling, but in a more emphatic form, since it was evinced in the shape of a substantial meal, which was most welcome to Zac, and to Margot also. As for Biler, he said not a word, but stood with his melancholy face turned towards his master, and his jaws moving as though engaged in devouring something. "Sure, an' it's glad I am," said Terry, "for it's not comfortable I've been--so it ain't. I don't like bein' shut up here, at all, at all. So we'll just up sail, captain dear, an' be off out of this." "O, no," said Zac; "we've got to wait for the others." "Wait--is it?" said Terry. "Yes." "Sure, thin, an' there's a sail out beyant. Ye can't see it now, but ye'll see it soon, for it's been batin' up to the land all the mornin'." "A sail!" exclaimed Zac. "Yis; an' it's a Frinchman--so it is; an' big enough for a dozen of the likes of us." Further inquiry elicited the startling information that early in the morning Terry had seen, far away in the horizon, a large ship, which had passed backward and forward while beating up towards the land against a head wind, and was just now concealed behind a promontory on the south. At this Zac felt that his situation was a serious one, and he had to decide what to do. To hoist sail and venture forth to sea would be to discover himself, and lay himself open to certain capture; while to remain where he was gave him the chance of being overlooked. So he decided to remain, and trust to luck. Once, indeed, he thought of going ashore once more, but this thought was at once dismissed. On shore he would be lost. The woods were full of his enemies, and he could hardly hope to reach any English settlement. To himself alone the chance was but slight, while for Margot it was impossible. To leave her now was not to be thought of, and besides, the schooner was the only hope for Claude, who might still be in the neighborhood. The consequence was, that Zac decided to do nothing but remain here and meet his fate, whatever that might be. Scarcely had he come to this decision, when a sight met his eyes out beyond the southern promontory, where his gaze had been turned. There, moving majestically along the sea, he saw a large frigate. It was not more than a mile away. For about a quarter of an hour the ship sailed along, and Zac was just beginning to hope that he had not been seen, when suddenly she came to, and a boat was lowered. "She sees us!" said Terry. Zac made no reply. Yes; there was no doubt of it. They had been seen. Those on board the ship had been keeping a sharp lookout, and had detected the outline of the schooner sharply defined against the light limestone rock of the headland near which she lay. To escape was not to be thought of. The boat was coming towards them, filled with armed men. Zac stood quite overwhelmed with dejection; and thus he stood as the Parson was boarded and seized by the lieutenant of his French majesty's Vengeur, who took possession of her in the name of his king. No sooner had Zac found himself in the power of the enemy, than a remarkable change took place in the respective positions of himself and Margot with regard to one another. Thus far he had been her protector; but now she became his. The first words that she spoke to the lieutenant served to conciliate his favor, and secure very respectful treatment for Zac, and seemed to convey such important intelligence that he concluded at once to transfer Margot to the Vengeur, where she could tell her story to the captain. "Adieu," said she. "We sall soon see again. Do not fear. I make zem let you go." "Wal, little un, I'll try an' hope. But, mind, unless I get you, I don't much mind what becomes o' me." Margot, on being taken on board the Vengeur, was at once examined by the captain--the Vicomte de Brissac, who found her statement most important. She contented herself with telling everything that was essential, and did not think it at all necessary for her to state that Zac had already been in the hands of French captors, and had effected an escape. She announced herself as the maid of the Countess Laborde, who had accompanied her father in the ship Arethuse. She narrated the shipwreck, and the rescue by Zac and the young Count de Montresor, the encounter with the Aigle, and the subsequent arrest of Claude. She mentioned the death of Laborde, and the journey to Louisbourg by land, with the escape and pursuit of Claude, the fight with Cazeneau, and his subsequent arrival. She then described their escape, their pursuit and separation, down to the time of speaking. She affirmed that Zac had come here from Minas Basin to save his friend, and was awaiting his arrival when the Vengeur appeared. The captain listened with the most anxious attention to every word; questioned her most minutely about the reasons why Cazeneau had arrested Claude, and also about his designs on Louisbourg. Margot answered everything most frankly, and was able to tell him the truth, inasmuch as she had enjoyed very much of the confidence of Mimi, and had learned from her about Cazeneau's plans. Captain de Brissac showed no emotion of any kind, whether of sympathy or indignation; but Margot formed a very favorable estimate of his character from his face, and could not help believing that she had won him over as an ally. She could see that her story had produced a most profound impression. Captain de Brissac was anxious to know what had been the fate of the other fugitives, especially of Claude and Mimi; but of this Margot could, of course, give no information. When she had last seen them they were flying to the woods, and she could only hope that they had been sufficiently fortunate to get under cover before the arrival of the enemy. Captain de Brissac then sent a crew aboard the Parson, and ordered them to follow the Vengeur to Louisbourg. Upon this new crew Terry looked with careful scrutiny. "Whisper, captain dear," said he, as he drew up to the meditative Zac. "Here's another lot o' Frinchmen. Is it afther thrying agin that ye are, to give 'em the slip?" Zac drew a long breath, and looked with a melancholy face at the Vengeur, which was shaking out her sails, and heading east for Louisbourg. On the stern he could see a female figure. He could not recognize the face, but he felt sure that it was Margot. "Wal," said he, "I guess we'd better wait a while fust, and see how things turn out. The little un's oncommon spry, an' may give us a lift somehow." CHAPTER XXV. THE COURT MARTIAL. Claude was treated roughly, bound, and sent forward on foot; but the representations of Père Michel secured better treatment for Mimi. A litter was made for her, and on this she was carried. As for Père Michel himself, he, too, was conducted back as a prisoner; but the respect of the commander of the soldiers for the venerable priest caused him to leave his hands unbound. After a weary tramp they reached Louisbourg. Cazeneau was at the gate, and greeted them with a sinister smile. Mimi, utterly worn out, both by fatigue and grief, took no notice of him, nor did she hear what he said. "Take the Countess de Laborde to the Residency." "Pardon," said the priest; "that lady is now the Countess de Montresor." At this Cazeneau turned upon him in fury. "Traitor!" he hissed; "what do you mean?" "I mean that I married her to the Count de Montresor last night." "It's a lie! It's a lie!" "There are witnesses," said Père Michel, "who can prove it." "It's a lie," said Cazeneau; "but even if it is true, it won't help her. She'll be a widow before two days. And as for you, you villain and traitor, you shall bitterly repent your part in last night's work." Père Michel shrugged his shoulders, and turned away. This act seemed to madden Cazeneau still more. "Why did you not bind this fellow?" he cried, turning to the commander of the detachment. "Your excellency, I had his parole." "A curse on his parole! Take him to the prison with Motier, and bind him like the other." Upon this, Mimi was taken to the Residency, and Claude and Père Michel were conducted to prison, where both of them were confined. Cazeneau himself then returned to the Residency. The ex-commandant, Florian, was at the door. He saw the whole proceeding, but showed no particular emotion. Cazeneau regarded him coldly, and Florian returned his gaze with haughty indifference. "Your plans have not succeeded very well, you see, monsieur," said Cazeneau. "It is not time enough yet to decide," said Florian. "To-morrow will decide." "I think not. You will find, Monsieur le Commandant, that there is public opinion, even in Louisbourg, which cannot be despised." "Public opinion which favors traitors may safely be despised." "True," said Florian; and with these words the two parted. The following day came. A court martial had been called to sit at two in the afternoon. At that hour the session was opened by Cazeneau. The chief officers of the garrison were present. With them came Florian. "I am sorry, monsieur," said Cazeneau, "that I cannot invite you to a seat in this court." "By virtue of my military rank," said Florian, "I claim a seat here, if not as judge, at least as spectator. I have come to see that the Count de Montresor has justice." "There is no such person. We are to try one Motier." "It can be proved," said Florian, "that he is the Count de Montresor. You yourself arrested him first as such." "I was mistaken," said Cazeneau. "As a peer of France, he can appeal to the king; and this court has no final jurisdiction. I call all present to witness this. If my warning is neglected here, it will be felt in a higher quarter. Recollect, monsieur, that I shall soon be able to report to his majesty himself. I flatter myself that my influence at court just now is not inferior to that of the Count de Cazeneau." "Perhaps, monsieur," said Cazeneau, with a sneer, "you would wish to be commandant a little longer." "All present," said Florian, "have heard my words. Let them remember that the prisoner is undoubtedly the Count de Montresor, a peer of France. Witnesses can be produced; among others, the Countess de Montresor." "There is no such person," said Cazeneau, angrily. "That lady is the Countess de Laborde." "She was married two nights since. All present may take warning by what I have announced. I will say no more." The words of Florian had made a profound impression. It was no light thing for a colonial court martial to deal with a peer of France. Besides, Florian himself would soon be at court, and could tell his own story. Cazeneau saw that a limit would be placed to his power if he did not manage carefully. He decided to act less harshly, and with more cunning. He therefore assumed a milder tone, assured the court that Florian was mistaken, disclaimed any personal feeling, and finally invited Florian to sit among the judges. Upon this Florian took his seat. The prisoner was now brought forward, and the witnesses prepared. The charges were then read. These were to the effect that he had been captured while coming to Louisbourg under a suspicious character, calling himself Motier, but pretending to be the son of the outlawed De Montresor; that afterwards he had escaped from confinement, and followed Cazeneau, upon whom he had made a murderous attack. Claude was then questioned. He told his story fully and frankly as has already been stated. After a severe questioning, he was allowed to sit down, and Père Michel was then summoned. Père Michel was first asked what he knew about the prisoner. The priest answered, simply,-- "Everything." "What do you mean? Go on and tell what you know about him." Père Michel hesitated for a moment, and then, looking at Claude, with a face expressive of the deepest emotion, he said in a low voice,-- "He is my son." At this declaration amazement filled all present. Claude was affected most of all. He started to his feet, and stood gazing at Père Michel with wonder and incredulity. [Illustration: Claude In His Father's Arms.] "I don't understand," said Cazeneau; "at any rate, this shows that he is a low-born adventurer." At this Père Michel turned to Cazeneau, and said,-- "He is my son, yet neither low-born nor an adventurer. Do you not know--you--who I am? Often have we seen one another face to face within the last few weeks; and yet you have not recognized me! What! have I so changed that not a trace of my former self is visible? Yet what I was once you see now in my son, whom you best know to be what he claims. Yes, gentlemen, I am Eugene, Count de Montresor, and this is my son Claude.--Come, Claude," he continued, "come, my son, to him who has so often yearned to take you to a father's embrace. I hoped to defer this declaration until my name should be freed from dishonor; but in such an hour as this I can keep silent no longer. Yet you know, my son, that the dishonor is not real, and that in the eyes of Heaven your father's name is pure and unsullied." As he said these words, he moved towards Claude. The young man stood, as pale as death, and trembling from head to foot with excessive agitation. He flung himself, with a low cry, into his father's arms, and leaned his head upon his breast, and wept. The whole court was overcome by this spectacle. There seemed something sacred in this strange meeting of those so near, who for a lifetime had been separated, and had at length been brought together so wonderfully. The silence was oppressive to Cazeneau, who now felt as though all his power was slipping away. It was broken at last by his harsh voice. "It's false," he said. "The Count de Montresor has been dead for years. It is a piece of acting that may do for the Théâtre Français, but is absurd to sensible men. Gentlemen, these two concocted this whole plan last night when together in their cell. I once knew old Montresor well, and this priest has not a feature in common with him." The Count de Montresor turned from his son, and faced the court. "Cazeneau," said he, with scornful emphasis, "now commandant of Louisbourg, once equerry to the Count de Laborde, you never knew me but at a distance, and as your superior. But Florian, here, remembers me, and can testify to my truth. To this court I have only to say that I fled to this country from the result of a plot contrived by this villain; that on the death of my beloved wife I committed my infant son to the care of my faithful valet,--Motier,--and became a missionary priest. For twenty years, nearly, I have labored here among the Acadians and Indians. This year I went to New England in search of Motier. I had already been carrying on correspondence with friends in France, who held out hopes that my wrongs would be righted, and my name saved from dishonor. I did not wish to make myself known to my son till I could give him an unsullied name. I found Motier dead, and learned that my son was going to Louisbourg, _en route_, to France. I asked for a passage, and was thus able to be near my son, and study his character. It was I who saved him from prison at Grand Pré; it was I who heard the last words of my former enemy, Laborde; it was I who saved my son, two nights since, from prison. He is guilty of nothing. If any one is guilty, that one am I alone. I ask, then, that I be considered as a prisoner, and that this innocent young man be set free. But as a peer of France, I claim to be sent to France, where I can be tried by my peers, since this court is one that can have no jurisdiction over one of my rank." Here the Count de Montresor ceased, and turning to his son, stood conversing with him in a low whisper. "Every word is true," said Florian. "I assert that Père Michel is the Count de Montresor. I had noticed the likeness formerly; but, as I believed the count to be dead, I thought it only accidental, until a few days ago, when he revealed the truth to me. I recognized him by facts and statements which he made. He has changed greatly since the old days, yet not beyond recognition by a friend. This being the case, then, we have nothing to do, except to send him to France by the next ship. As to the young count, his son, I cannot see that we have any charge against him whatever." All present, with one exception, had been profoundly moved by the meeting between father and son, nor had they been much less deeply moved by the words of the old count, which, though somewhat incoherent, had been spoken with impressiveness and dignity. The announcement of his lofty rank; the remembrance of his misfortunes, of which most present had heard, and which were universally believed to be unmerited; the assertion that Cazeneau had been the arch villain and plotter,--all combined to increase the common feeling of sympathy for the two before them. This feeling was deepened by Florian's words. His influence, but recently so strong, had not yet passed away. The new commandant, even under ordinary circumstances, would have been unpopular; but on the present occasion he was detested. The feeling, therefore, was general that nothing ought to be done; and Cazeneau, his heart full of vengeance, found himself well nigh powerless. But he was not a man who could readily give up the purpose of his heart; and therefore he quickly seized the only resource left him. "Gentlemen," said he, "we must not allow ourselves to be influenced by purely sentimental considerations. I believe that this priest speaks falsely, and that he has imposed upon the sympathies of M. de Florian. Besides, he is an outlaw and a criminal in the eyes of French justice. As to the young man, whom he calls his son, there is the charge of a murderous assault upon me, the commandant of Louisbourg. This must be investigated. But in the present state of mind of those present, I despair of conducting any important trial, and I therefore declare this court adjourned until further notice. Guards, remove these two prisoners, and this time place them in separate cells, where they can no longer have communication with each other." To this no one raised any objection. As commandant, Cazeneau had the right to adjourn; and, of course, until some actual decision had been reached, he could dispose of them as he saw fit. They could only bring a moral pressure to bear, at least for the present. Father and son were therefore taken back to their prison, and Cazeneau quitted the court, to take counsel with himself as to his future course. He hoped yet to have the game in his own hands. He saw that until Florian was gone it would be difficult, but after that he might manage to control the opinions of the majority of the officers. Florian, however, could not go until the next ship should arrive, and he now awaited its coming with curiosity and eagerness. He did not have to wait very long. The court broke up, and the officers talked over the matter among themselves. Florian was now quite communicative, and told them all about the early career of Montresor, and his misfortunes. Cazeneau was the evil cause of all; and Florian was bitter and unsparing in his denunciations of this man's villany. He took care to remind them that Mimi, though the wife of Claude, was still held by him under the pretence that she was his ward, and that Cazeneau, being the creature of the defunct ministry of the late Fleury, could not be kept long in his present office by the hostile ministry which had succeeded. He also assured them that the Montresors had friends among those now in power, and that the old count was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the next ship, in the confident hope that justice would at last be done to him. By these words, and by this information about things unknown to Cazeneau, Florian deepened the impression which had been made by the events of the trial. All were desirous that the Montresors should at last escape from the machinations of Cazeneau. All looked for the speedy recall and disgrace of Cazeneau himself, and therefore no one was inclined to sacrifice his feelings or convictions for the purpose of gaining favor with one whose stay was to be merely temporary. While they were yet gathered together discussing these things, they were disturbed by the report of a gun. Another followed, and yet another. All of them hurried to the signal station, from which a view of the harbor was commanded. There a noble sight appeared before their eyes. With all sail set, a frigate came into the harbor, and then, rounding to, swept grandly up towards the town. Gun after gun sounded, as the salute was given and returned. After her came a schooner. "It's the Vengeur," said Florian. "I wonder whether Montresor will get his despatches. Gentlemen, I must go aboard." With these words Florian hurried away from the citadel to the shore. CHAPTER XXVI. NEWS FROM HOME. Cazeneau had heard the guns, and had learned that the long-expected frigate had arrived, together with a schooner that looked like a prize. To him the matter afforded much gratification, since it offered a quick and easy way of getting rid of Florian, and of making the way easier towards the accomplishment of his own purposes. He did not know that Florian had hurried aboard, nor, had he known, would he have cared. For his own part he remained where he was, awaiting the visit which the captain of the Vengeur would make, to report his arrival. After more than two hours of waiting, it began to strike him that the said captain was somewhat dilatory, and he began to meditate a reprimand for such a neglect of his dignity. All this time had been spent by Florian on board, where he had much to say to De Brisset, and much to ask of him and also of Margot. At length a boat came ashore. In the boat were Florian, De Brisset, and Margot. On landing, these three went up to the citadel; and on their way De Brisset was stopped by several of the officers, who were old acquaintances, and were anxious to learn the latest news. Florian also had much to tell them which he had just learned. While they were talking, Margot hurried to the Residency, where she found Mimi, to whom she gave information of a startling kind; so startling, indeed, was it, that it acted like a powerful remedy, and roused Mimi from a deep stupor of inconsolable grief up to life, and hope, and joy, and strength. The information which De Brisset gave the officers was of the same startling kind, and Florian was able to corroborate it by a despatch which he had received. The despatch was to the effect that he--the Count de Florian--was hereby reinstated in his office as commandant of Louisbourg, and conveyed to him the flattering intelligence that his former administration was favorably regarded by the government, who would reward him with some higher command. With this despatch there came also to Florian, as commandant, a warrant to arrest Cazeneau, the late commandant, on certain charges of fraud, peculation, and malversation in office, under the late ministry. De Brisset also had orders to bring Cazeneau back to France in the Vengeur. These documents were shown to the officers, who were very earnest in their congratulations to Florian. There were also despatches to the Count de Montresor, the contents of which were known to De Brisset, who also knew that he was now laboring in the colonies as the missionary priest Père Michel. Florian at once took these to the prison where he was confined, acquainted him with the change that had taken place, and set both him and Claude free with his own hands. Then he presented the despatches. Père Michel, as we may still call him, tore open the despatch with a trembling hand, and there read that, at last, after so many years, the wrong done him had been remedied, as far as possible; that all his dignities were restored, together with his estates. These last had passed to other hands, but the strong arm of the government was even now being put forth to reclaim them, so that they might be rendered back to the deeply injured man to whom they rightly belonged. "There, my boy," said Père Michel, as he showed it to his son, "all is right at last; and now you can wear your name and dignity in the face of the world, and not be ashamed." "O, my father!" said Claude, in a voice which was broken with emotion, "Heaven knows I never was ashamed. I believed your innocence, and wept over your wrongs. I am glad now, not for myself, but for you." "Where is the Countess de Montresor?" said Père Michel. "She should not be kept in restraint any longer." Cazeneau all this time sat in his apartment, awaiting the arrival of the captain of the Vengeur and the despatches. The captain at length appeared; but with him were others, the sight of whom awakened strange sensations in his breast. For there was Florian, and with him was Père Michel; Claude was there also, and beyond he saw some soldiers. The sight was to him most appalling, and something in the face and bearing of De Brisset and Florian was more appalling still. "Monsieur le Comte de Cazeneau," said Florian, "I have the honor to present you with this commission, by which you will see that I am reappointcd commandant of Louisbourg. I also have the honor to state that I hold a warrant for your arrest, on certain charges specified therein, and for sending you back to France for trial in the Vengeur, on her return voyage." Cazeneau listened to this with a pallid face. "Impossible!" he faltered. "It's quite true," said De Brisset; "I also have orders to the same effect, which I have already shown to Monsieur le Commandant Florian. There is no possibility of any mistake, or of any resistance. You will therefore do well to submit." Cazeneau had remained seated in the attitude which he had taken up, when he expected to receive the respectful greeting of his subordinate. The news was so sudden, and so appalling, that he remained motionless. He sat staring, like one suddenly petrified. He turned his eyes from one to another, but in all those faces he saw nothing to reassure him. All were hostile except Père Michel, who alone looked at him without hate. The priest showed the same mild serenity which had always distinguished him. He seemed like one who had overcome the world, who had conquered worldly ambition and worldly passion, and had passed beyond the reach of revenge. Cazeneau saw this. He rose from his seat, and fell at the feet of Père Michel. "Pardon," he faltered; "Comte de Montresor, do not pursue a fallen man with your vengeance." At this unexpected exhibition, all present looked with scorn. They had known Cazeneau to be cruel and unscrupulous; they had not suspected that he was cowardly as well. Père Michel also preserved an unchanged demeanor. "You are mistaken, Cazeneau," he said. "I feel no desire for vengeance. I seek none. Moreover, I have no influence or authority. You must direct your prayers elsewhere." Upon this the wretched man turned to Florian. "Come, come," said Florian, impatiently. "This will never do. Rise, monsieur. Remember that you are a Frenchman. Bear up like a man. For my part, I can do nothing for you, and have to obey orders." Cazeneau's break down was utter, and effectually destroyed all sympathy. His present weakness was compared with his late vindictiveness, and he who had just refused mercy to others could hardly gain pity on himself. He only succeeded in utterly disgracing himself, without inspiring a particle of commiseration. Still Florian was not cruel, and contented himself with keeping his prisoner in a room in the Residency, satisfied that there was no possibility of escape. Some of the officers, however, were loud in their condemnation of Florian's mildness, and asserted that the dungeon and the chains, which had been inflicted by him on the Montresors, should be his doom also. But Florian thought otherwise, and held him thus a prisoner until the Vengeur returned. Then Cazeneau was sent back to be tried and convicted. His life was spared; but he was cast down to hopeless degradation and want, in which state his existence ultimately terminated. Before the scene with Cazeneau was over, Claude had gone away and found his wife. Already Mimi's strength had begun to return, and her new-born hope, and the rush of her great happiness, coming, as it did, after so much misery and despair, served to restore her rapidly. "I should have died if this had lasted one day more," said she. "But now it is all over, Mimi, dearest," said Claude, "and you must live for me. This moment repays me for all my sufferings." "And for mine," sighed Mimi. Margot saw that her mistress had for the present an attendant who was more serviceable than herself, and now all her thoughts turned to that faithful friend whom she had been compelled for the time to leave, but whom she had not for one moment forgotten. She waited patiently till she could get a chance to speak to Claude, and then told him what he did not know yet--that Zac was still a prisoner. At that intelligence, his own happiness did not allow him to delay to serve his friend. He at once hurried forth to see De Brisset. To him he explained Zac's position in such forcible language, that De Brisset at once issued an order for the release of himself and his schooner, without any conditions, and the recall of his seamen. To make the act more complete, the order was committed to Margot, who was sent in the ship's boat to the schooner. On the arrival of this boat, Zac seemed quite indifferent to the safety of the schooner, and only aware of the presence of Margot. He held her hand, and stood looking at her with moistened eyes, until after the seamen of the Vengeur had gone. Terry looked away; Jericho vanished below, with vague plans about a great supper. Biler gazed upon Louisbourg with a pensive eye and a half-eaten turnip. "I knowed you'd be back, little un," said Zac; "I felt it; an', now you've come, don't go away agin." "O, but I haf to go to ze comtesse," said Margot; "zat ees--to-day--" "Go back to the countess! Why, you ain't goin' to give me up--air you?" said Zac, dolefully. "O, no, not eef you don't want me to," said Margot. "But to-day I moos go to ze comtesse, an' afterward you sall ask her, eef you want me." At this, which was spoken in a timid, hesitating way, Zac took her in his arms, and gave her a tremendous smack, which Terry tried hard not to hear. "Wal," said he, "thar's Père Michel, that's a Moosoo an' a Roman Catholic; but he'll do." "O, but you moos not talk of Père Michel till you see ze comtesse," said Margot; "an' now I sall tank you to take me back to her, or send me back by one of de men." Zac did not send her back, but took her back to the shore himself. Then the fortifications of Louisbourg--the dread and bugbear of all New England--closed him in; but Zac noticed nothing of these. It was only Margot whom he saw; and he took her to the citadel, to the Residency. On his arrival, Claude came forth to greet him, with beaming eyes and open arms. Père Michel greeted him, also, with affectionate cordiality. For the simple Yankee had won the priest's heart, as well on account of his own virtues as for his son's sake. He also took enough interest in him to note his dealings with Margot, and to suggest to him, in a sly way, that, under the circumstances, although Zac was a bigoted Protestant, a Roman Catholic priest could do just as well as a Protestant parson. Whereupon Zac went off with a broad grin, that lasted for weeks. The postponement of Florian's departure caused some disappointment to that worthy gentleman, which, however, was alleviated by the thought that he had been able to benefit his injured friend, and bring a villain to punishment; and also by the thought that his departure to France would not be long delayed. To those friends he devoted himself, and sought by every means in his power to make their recollections of Louisbourg more pleasant than they had thus far been. Claude, and his bride, and his father were honored guests at the Residency, where they were urged to remain as long as they could content themselves, and until they could decide about their future movements. For now, though the name of Montresor had been redeemed, and justice had at last been done, it was not easy for them to decide about their future movements. Père Michel, after some thought, had at length made up his mind, and had given Claude the benefit of his opinion and his advice. "I have made up my mind," said he. "I will never go back to France. What can I do in France? As a French noble, I should be powerless; as a priest, useless. France is corrupt to the heart's core. The government is corrupt. The whole head is sick, the whole heart faint. Ministry succeeds to ministry, not by means of ability, not from patriotism or a public spirit, but simply through corrupt favoritism. There are no statesmen in France. They are all courtiers. In that court every man is ready to sell himself for money. There is no sense of honor. At the head of all is the worst of all, the king himself, who sets an example of sin and iniquity, which is followed by all the nation. The peasantry are slaves, trodden in the dust, without hope and without spirit. The nobles are obsequious time-servers and place-hunters. The old sentiment of chivalry is dead. I will never go to such a country. Here, in this land, where I have lived the best part of my life, I intend to remain, to labor among these simple Acadians, and these children of the forest, and to die among them. "As for you, my son, France is no place for you. The proper place for you, if you wish to lead a virtuous and honorable life, is among the people who look upon you as one of themselves, with whom you have been brought up. Your religion, my son, is different from mine; but we worship the same God, believe in the same Bible, put our trust in the same Saviour, and hope for the same heaven. What can France give you that can be equal to what you have in New England? She can give you simply honors, but with these the deadly poison of her own corruption, and a future full of awful peril. But in New England you have a virgin country. There all men are free. There you have no nobility. There are no down-trodden peasants, but free farmers. Every man has his own rights, and knows how to maintain them. You have been brought up to be the free citizen of a free country. Enough. Why wish to be a noble in a nation of slaves? Take your name of Montresor, if you wish. It is yours now, and free from stain. Remember, also, if you wish, the glory of your ancestors, and let that memory inspire you to noble actions. But remain in New England, and cast in your lot with the citizens of your own free, adopted land." Such were the words of the priest, and Claude's training had been such that they chimed in altogether with his own tastes. He did not feel himself entirely capable of playing the part of a noble in such a country as that France which his father described; of associating with such a society, or of courting the favor of such a king. Besides, his religion was the religion of his mother: and her fate was a sufficient warning. And so it was that Claude resolved to give up all thoughts of France, and return to the humble New England farm. If from the wreck of the Montresor fortunes anything should be restored, he felt that he could employ it better in his own home than in the home of his fathers; while the estate of Laborde, which Mimi would inherit, would double his own means, and give him new resources. This, then, was his final decision; and, though it caused much surprise to Florian, he did not attempt to oppose it. Mimi raised no objection. She had no ties in France; and wherever her husband might be was welcome to her. And so Zac was informed that Claude would hire his schooner once more, to convey himself and his wife back to Boston, together with his father, who, at their urgent solicitation, consented to pay them a visit. But Zac had purposes of his own, which had to be accomplished before setting forth on his return. He wished to secure the services of Père Michel, which services were readily offered; and Zac and Margot were made one in the very chapel which had witnessed the marriage of Claude and Mimi. 
34770	----	[Illustration: "Stay, Constable, I want to see what you put into that fire pot--open it"] TOLD BY THE DEATH'S HEAD A ROMANTIC TALE BY MAURUS JÓKAI TRANSLATED BY S. E. BOGGS _Translator of Prof. Haeckel's "India and Ceylon," Maurus Jokai's "The Nameless Castle," etc._ ILLUSTRATED THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK 1908 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY MADE BY THE WERNER COMPANY AKRON, OHIO PREFACE. In Part II, Vol. 2, of the Rhenish _Antiquarius_, I once came across a skull that is said--see page 612--to swing, enclosed in a metal casket, from an iron bar in the foundry of Ehrenbreitstein fortress. Distinction of this order does not fall to an ordinary mortal. Yon empty shell of human wisdom once bore the burden of no less than twenty-one mortal sins--the seven _originalia_ trebled. Each crime is noted. The criminal confessed to the entire three-times-seven, and yet the death sentence was not passed upon him because of the twenty-one crimes. His fate was decided by the transgression of a military regulation. What if this skull could speak? What if it could defend itself?--relate, with all the grim humor of one on the rack, the many pranks played--the mad follies committed, from the banks of the Weichsel to the delta of the Ganges! If my highly esteemed readers will promise to give me their credulous attention, I will relate what was told to me by the death's head. THE AUTHOR. TABLE OF CONTENTS PREFACE 1 PART I I THE "FIRE-POT." 5 II THE TRIAL. 17 PART II I WITH THE ROBBERS--THE PRSJAKA CAVES. 25 II THE BERDICZOV MONASTERY. 85 PART III IN THE SERVICE OF THE DUKE. I MALACHI. 101 II PERSIDA. 114 PART IV WITH THE TEMPLARS. I IN THE HOLLOW TREE. 138 PART V THE HOMICIDE. I ON BOARD MYNHEER'S SHIP. 173 II THE MOO-CALF. 179 PART VI I THE FORGERY.--ONE CIPHER. 204 II THE LEGACY. 207 PART VII I PEACEFUL REPOSE. 215 PART VIII IN BENGAL. I BEGUM SUMRO. 232 II IDOL WORSHIP. 242 III MAIMUNA, AND DANESH. 249 PART IX ON THE HIGH SEAS. I THE PIRATES. 267 PART X UXORICIDE. I THE SECUNDOGENITUR. 279 II THE QUICKSANDS. 289 PART XI IN SATAN'S REALM. I THE SATYRS. 300 II WITCH-SABBATH. 311 PART XII THE BREAD OF SHAME. I THE MAGIC THALER. 323 II THE HUSBAND OF THE WIFE OF ANOTHER MAN. 329 PART XIII THE EXCHANGE OF BODIES. I THE QUACK DOCTOR. 335 PART XIV I THE WHITE DOVE 347 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS _By Charles Hope Provost_ "Stay, Constable, I want to see what you put into that fire pot--open it" _Frontispiece_ "I took my lamp, descended to the crypt" 167 "I could read in her radiant countenance how overjoyed she was to be with me again; and I was enraptured to clasp her once more in my arms" 252 "Thus I managed to propel my body slowly, painfully toward the stable earth" 296 PART I. CHAPTER I. THE "FIRE-POT." The hero of our romantic narrative, or better, narratives, was a constable. Not one of that useful class appointed, in our day, to direct the vehicles which pass over the two approaches to the suspension-bridge in Budapest; rather, he was the chief of a body whose task it is to provoke disturbance, who win all the more praise and glory the greater the havoc and destruction they create. In a word: he was a gunner. The chronicle of his exploits gives only his Christian name, which was "Hugo." In the year 1688, when the French beleaguered Coblentz, Hugo had charge of the battery in the outermost tower of Ehrenbreitstein fortress--the "Montalembert Tower." Coblentz and Ehrenbreitstein are opposite one another on the banks of the Rhine, as are Pesth and Ofen; and the Blocksberg looks down on us, as does the citadel of Ehrenbreitstein on Coblentz. The city, which is strongly fortified on all sides, had become accustomed to being beleaguered--now by the French, now by the Prussians; today by the Austrians, tomorrow by the Swedes. On the occasion of which I write, Coblentz was under a terrible fire from the French guns, which created great havoc in that portion of the city known as the "Old Town." Specially memorable and remarkable was the manner in which the "fire-balls" seemed to know just where to find the abodes of the duke, and the commandant of the fortress. It mattered not how often they changed their quarters, the Frenchmen would always discover them, and aim accordingly--though it was impossible to see into the city from outside the walls. There certainly must have been some witch-craft at work. Hugo's Montalembert tower was on the side of the fortress most exposed to the assaults of the enemy; its successful defense, therefore, was all the more worthy of praise. The management of ordnance in those days was not the comparatively simple matter it is today, with the Krupp and the Uchatius guns. It was a real science to fetch from the furnace a white-hot cannon-ball, ram it into the long, slender culverin, and if, after the discharge, the ball remained sticking in the throat of the gun, to remove it with the various forceps, nippers, and tongs; and, after every shot, to examine with a curious implement resembling Mercury's caducens, the interior of the culverin to learn whether the discharge had caused a rupture anywhere. However, it is not necessary to be a great genius in order to master all the intricacies and technicalities of a gunner's trade. An ordinary man might even learn, after some practice, how to handle an "elephant;" and, if he were intrusted with the quadrant, he might also manage to discharge the heavier bombs with satisfactory result. It must be remembered, though, that a gunner needs to possess considerable skill as well as experience in order to hurl successfully against the approaching foe a "fire-shield," which discharges simultaneously from every one of its thirty-five holes as many bullets; and the "storm-tub" requires even more dexterity. This implement of warfare runs on two wheels. The axles are spiked with keen-edged knives, and the wheels are filled with gunpowder, which ignites and explodes when the machine is set in motion. If the powder ignites promptly in both wheels at the same instant, the infernal thing dashes like an infuriated bull into the ranks of the enemy, burning the eyes of some, scorching the beards of others, and hacking and slashing everything with which its revolving knives come in contact. If the powder in only one of the wheels explodes, the machine spins around on the motionless wheel like a top, and scatters an entire company; if the second wheel explodes only half a second after the first, then those who have the management of the demon will do well to take to their heels with all speed possible. It is not necessary to explain at length the advantages of the chain-shot. Anyone will be able to understand its operation if he will but remember that, when two balls connected by a chain are discharged toward the enemy, and one of the balls strikes a man, the other ball will, naturally, circle around the unfortunate until the entire length of chain is wound tightly about him; the circling ball, meanwhile, will strike with various results: the head, the nose, the ear, or some other portion of the bodies of the soldiers within its radius. It is greatly to be regretted that the use of the "handle-ball" has been discontinued. This weapon was shaped very much like two pot-ladles, bound together at the handles by an iron ring. The man who chanced to be caught between the two ladles might congratulate himself that he escaped with nothing worse than a choking; while the two soldiers on his right and left, whose heads had been caught in the bowls of the ladles, would remember, to the end of their days, the peculiar and disagreeable sensation experienced. There were two more wonderful implements of warfare: one a German, the other a French invention. The former, which was an emanation from Hugo's brain, was called a "_Bombenjungen-werfer_."[1] It was a huge mortar, the central cavity capable of holding a bomb of fifty pounds weight; surrounding this cavity were eight smaller bores, each holding a five-pound bomb. The same charge hurled every one of the nine bombs in rapid succession from the mortar; and one can imagine the astonishment of the Frenchman when, after hearing but one report, the eight "babies" followed, one after the other, the mother bomb. [Footnote 1: Anglice: "Hurler of baby-bombs."] This was a diversion Hugo prepared for the beleaguerers, who in return invented an amusement for him. It was a "fire-pot," was shaped exactly like the earthen water-jug the Hungarian reaper carries with him to the harvest field to preserve his drinking-water fresh and cool. The machine was made of iron, and filled with a diabolical mixture. It had four spouts--precisely like our water-jug--from which the fire would hiss and sputter; it was intended to set fire to everything combustible where it fell. The Germans also had what are called "fire-balls," which hiss and spit, and set fire to everything about them; and other bombs which explode the moment they touch the earth. The French fire-pot, however, combined these two properties: it set fire first, and exploded afterward. The beleaguered understood very well how to manage a fire-ball. Like Helene Zrinyi, the heroine who defended the fortress of Munkács, the Germans had learned, so soon as a fire-ball fell inside the walls, to cover it with a wet bullock's-hide, which would at once smother the fire-spitting monster, and render it harmless. But the fire-pot was not to be treated so summarily. If the Germans attempted to smother the fire-demon, to prevent the air from reaching his four noses, he would burst, and woe to him who chanced to be in the way of the flying splinters! He, at least, would have no further desire to sport with a fire-pot. It happened one day that a fire-pot, which had fallen inside the fortress, did not explode after it had hissed and spit out its fury. When it became cool enough it was taken to Hugo. "Now I shall find out what is inside this dangerous missile," remarked the constable; "then I'll make some like it and send them to our friends over yonder." Over the neck of the fire-pot was a sort of hat, shaped like those covering the necks of the Hungarian wooden bottles (_esutora_). This hat, of course, could be removed. After this discovery Hugo invited the commandant, the grand-duke, the governor and mayor of the city, the syndic, and the duke's alchemist to be present at the opening of the fire-pot. Now each one of the invited said to himself: "It will be enough if the others are there--why should I go? The infernal machine may explode when they are opening it." And so they all stopped bravely at home and Hugo alone found out what was in the fire-pot. After it was opened, and Hugo had convinced himself of the nature of the diabolical compound it contained, he proceeded to cast several fire-pots like the French one; and, in the presence of the commandant and the grand-duke, shot them into the enemy's camp. The two distinguished gentlemen, who were peering through their telescopes, were highly delighted when they saw the bombs, which flew through the air like dragons with tails of fire, reach the points at which they had been aimed, ignite everything inflammable, and afterward explode. Now and again it would happen that one of Hugo's fire-pots would fail to explode in the Frenchmen's camp, just as theirs would sometimes fail to do what was expected of them. But Hugo always collected the enemy's unexploded bombs, and, after opening and refilling them with fresh explosives, would hurl them back whence they came. Oh, I tell you war was conducted in those good old days on economical lines! As late even as the year 1809 Napoleon had his men collect 28,000 of the enemy's cannon-balls on the battle-field of Wagram, and shot them back at the Austrians; and had the fight continued two days longer, the opposing armies would have ricocheted the same balls back and forth so long as the cannonading made it necessary. The grand-duke, as was proper, rewarded the constable for his discovery by an increase of pay--from sixteen to twenty thalers a month; and in addition made him a present of a barrel of strong beer, which gave offence to the commandant, who was obliged to quench his thirst with a weaker brew. Hugo had many enviers, but none of them ventured to pick a quarrel with him. He had the frame of an athlete; his face, with its luxuriant red-beard, resembled that of a lion. He was always in a good humor; no one had ever seen Hugo angry, embarrassed, or frightened. There were no traces of trouble and grief on his countenance. He was perhaps forty years of age, was somewhat disfigured by small-pox pits, but wherever there was a pretty girl or woman to be won, Hugo was sure to attract her. He was fond of good living--liked everything to be of the best, consequently his money never remained long in his pockets. The constable's epicurean tastes irritated the mayor, who, as chief of the city militia, outranked the artillerist. But Hugo managed on all occasions to out-do his superior officer. Rieke, the trim little suttler-wife, would slap the militia captain's fingers if he ventured to give her a chin-chuck, but a hearty hug from the smiling constable never met with a repulse. In consequence of the siege prices for the necessaries, as well as for the luxuries of life, had become exorbitant in both cities. Three thalers was the unheard-of price asked at market for a fat goose. The mayor's wife haggled for a long time about the price without success, when along came pretty Rieke. "How much for your goose?" she asked. "Three thalers." "I'll take it." She paid the money and marched away with the goose. By some means the mayor learned that Hugo had a baked fat goose for his dinner. "Look here, constable," he said next day to the artillerist, "how comes it that you can afford to feast on fat goose while I, the mayor, and your superior officer, must content myself with lean herring, cheese and bread? Your pay is only twenty thalers a month; mine is three florins a day. Pray tell me how you manage it?" To which Hugo made answer: "Well, mayor, if I wanted to deceive you, I should say that the money for all the good things I enjoy does not come from my pocket; that Rieke, who is infatuated with me (how I managed _that_ part of the business I shouldn't tell you), supplies me with whatever I want. But I'll be honest with you and tell you the truth--but pray don't betray my secret, for I don't want to have anything to do with the priests. What I tell you is in strictest confidence and must not go any farther: I have a magic thaler, one of those coins, vulgarly called a 'breeding-penny,' that always returns to my pocket no matter how often I may spend it--" "You don't say so! And how came you by such a coin, constable?" "I'll tell you that, too, mayor, only be careful not to let the Capuchins hear of it. I got the thaler in the Hochstatt marshes, from a _bocksritter_--"[2] [Footnote 2: Satyr.] "I hope you didn't bond your soul to him for it?" interrupted the mayor. "Not I. I outwitted the devil by giving the ritter an ignorant Jew lad in my stead." "You must keep that transaction a secret," cautioned the mayor; then he hastened to repeat what he had heard to the grand-duke. "Would to heaven every thaler I possess were a breeding-penny!" exclaimed the high-born gentleman. "It would make the carrying on a war an easy matter." From the day it became known that Constable Hugo possessed that never-failing treasure, a magic coin, and was in league with the all-powerful bocksritter, he rose in the esteem of his fellows. Meanwhile Ehrenbreitstein and Coblentz continued under bombardment from the Frenchmen. The enemy's fire-pots never failed to find the grand-duke's quarters, notwithstanding the fact that he changed them every day. This at last became so annoying that treason began to be suspected, and the duke offered a reward for the detection of the spy who gave the information to the enemy. That a spy was at work in the German camp was beyond question, though the outlets of both cities were so closely guarded that it would have been impossible for a living mortal to pass through them. Nor could the treason have been committed by means of carrier-pigeons, for, whatever of domestic fowl-kind had been in the cities had long since been devoured by the hungry citizens. The mayor, ever on the alert for transgressors, had his suspicions as to who might be the spy. Every man but one in the beleaguered cities fasted, lamented, prayed, cursed, wept, as the case might be, save this one man, who remained constantly cheerful, smiling, well-fed. When one of the Frenchmen's fiery monsters came hissing and spitting into the fortress this one man, instead of taking to his heels and seeking the shelter of a cellar, as did the rest of his comrades, would coolly wait until the fire-pot fell to the ground, and, if it failed to burst he would dig it out of the earth into which it had bored itself and carry it to the foundry. Surely this was more than foolhardiness! The constable always opened the enemy's unexploded fire-pots in his subterranean work-room; refilled them there, then hurled them back without delay. There was something more than amusement behind this. One day, when Hugo came up from his subterranean workroom, he encountered the mayor, who said to him: "Stay, constable, I want to see what you put into that fire-pot--open it." Without a moment's hesitation Hugo unscrewed the lid and revealed the explosives wrapped in coarse linen; at the same time he explained how much gunpowder, hazel-wood charcoal, sulphur, resin, pitch, sal-ammoniac, borax and acetate of lead were necessary to make up the amount of unquenchable fire required for the bomb. "Very good," quoth the city functionary, "but what beside these is there in the bottom of the pot?" "Under this earthen plate, your honor, is more gunpowder. When the explosives on top are burnt out this plate, which has become red-hot, explodes the powder and bursts the bomb--that is the whole secret of the infernal machine." "I should like to see what is under the earthen plate." As the mayor spoke these words the constable gave a sudden glance over his shoulder. In the glance was expressed all the temerity of the adventurer, mingled with rage, determination and alarm. But only for an instant. The mayor's bailiffs surrounded him, closing every avenue of escape. Then he burst into a loud laugh, shrugged his shoulders, and said: "Very well, your honor, see for yourself what is under the earthen plate." The mayor forced open with the blade of his pocket-knife the earthen plate. There was no powder in the bottom of the bomb, only some ordinary sand; but in it was concealed a folded paper that contained a minute description of the situation in the German camp. "Bind him in chains!" exclaimed the mayor in a triumphant voice. "At last we have the proofs of your treachery, knave! I'll give you a pretty Rieke! I'll serve up a fat goose for you!" Hugo continued to laugh while the bailiffs were placing the fetters on his hands and feet. As if to complete the evidence against him, there came hissing at that moment a fire-pot from the French camp. When it was opened and the earthen plate removed it was found to contain two hundred Albert thalers! CHAPTER II. THE TRIAL. [Illustration: Pointing Finger] The hand with the two lines under it signifies, in the court records (for the sake of brevity), that at this point in the trial, the chief of the tribunal gave the signal to the executioner for another turn of the wheel. When this had been done, the notary would take down the confession until the prisoner on the rack would cry out: "Have mercy!--compassion!" The prince was seated at a separate table, on a black-draped throne-like arm-chair with a canopy. The mayor occupied the inquisitor's chair. First question addressed to the accused: "What is your name?" "My name, in Podolia, is 'Jaroslav Tergusko;' in Zbarasz it is 'Zdenko Kohaninsky;' in Odessa it is 'Frater Hilarius;' in Hamburg, 'Elias Junker;' in Münster it is 'William Stramm;' in Amsterdam, 'Mynheer Tobias van der Bullen;' in Singapore, 'Maharajah Kong;' on the high seas, 'Captain Rouge;' in The Hague, it is 'Ritter Malchus;' in Lille, 'Chevalier de Mont Olympe;' in Pfalz, 'Doctor Sarepta;' here, I am called 'Hugo von Habernik.' "Have you any more names?" inquired the chair. At this question everybody began to laugh--the prince, the judges, the prisoner, even the skull on the table. The chair alone remained grim and dignified. "I can't remember any more of my names," was the prisoner's reply. [Illustration: Pointing Finger] SECOND QUESTION: "What is your religion?" "I was born an Augsburg Confession heretic. When I went to Cracow I became a Socinian; in the Ukraine I joined the Greek church; afterward I became an orthodox Catholic; later, a Rosicrucian; then a Quaker. I have also professed the faith of Brahma; and once I was a member of the community of Atheists and devil-worshipping Manichees, called also Cainists." "A fine array, truly!" commented the chair, as the notary entered the list in the register. [Illustration: Pointing Finger] THIRD QUESTION: "What is your occupation, prisoner?" "I have been ensign; prisoner; slave; robber-chief; parasite; ducal grand-steward; mendicant friar; recruiting sergeant; sacristan; knight; shell-fish dealer; stock-jobber; ship-captain; viceroy; pirate; teacher; knacker's assistant; conjuror; bocksritter; hangman; pikeman; quack-doctor; prophet; constable--" "Stop! Stop!" interrupted the chair. "The notary cannot keep up with you." Again the court-room resounded with laughter; the prisoner on the rack, as well as the skull on the table, again joined in the merriment. Everybody seemed in a good humor--that is, everybody but the mayor. He alone was grave. After the signal to the executioner the fourth question followed: "Of what crimes are you guilty?" (For the purpose of greater perspicuity the chair dictated to the recording secretary the Latin nomenclature of the crimes confessed.) Prisoners: "I was a member of a band of robbers and incendiaries." "_Primo, latrocinium_," dictated the chair. Prisoner: "I won the affections of my benefactor's wife." Chair: "_Secundo, adulterium._" Prisoner: "I robbed a church." Chair: "_Tertio, sacrilegium._" Prisoner: "I masqueraded as a nobleman under a false name." Chair: "_Quarto, larvatus._" Prisoner: "I committed a forgery." Chair: "_Quinto, falsorium._" Prisoner: "I killed my friend in a duel." Chair: "_Sexto, homicidium ex duello._" Prisoner: "I cheated my partners in business." Chair: "_Septimo, stellionatus._" Prisoner: "I betrayed state secrets confided to me." Chair: "_Octavo, felonia._" Prisoner: "I used for my own purpose money belonging to others." Chair: "_Nono, barattaria._" Prisoner: "I worshipped idols." Chair: "_Decimo, idololatria._" Prisoner: "I married a second wife while the first was still living." Chair: "_Undecimo, bigamia._" Prisoner: "I also took a third, fourth, fifth and sixth wife." Chair: "_Eodem numero trigamia, polygamia._" Prisoner: "I murdered a king." Chair: "_Decimo secundo, regicidium._" Prisoner: "I have been a pirate." Chair: "_Decimo tertia, pirateria._" Prisoner: "I killed my first wife." Chair: "_Decimo quarto, uxoricidium._" Prisoner: "I practiced conjuring." Chair: "_Decimo quinto, sorcellaria._" Prisoner: "I have been in league with Satan." Chair: "_Decimo sexto, pactum diabolicum implicitum._" Prisoner: "I have coined base money." Chair: "_Decimo septimo, adulterator monetarium._" Prisoner: "I preached a new faith." Chair: "_Decimo octavo, hæresis schisma._" Prisoner: "I have been a quack doctor." Chair: "_Decimo nono, veneficus._" Prisoner: "I betrayed a fortress intrusted to my guardianship." Chair: "_Vigesimo, crimen traditorum._" Prisoner: "I have eaten human flesh." Chair: "_Vigesimo primo, anthropophagia. Cannibalismus!_" cried the mayor in a loud tone, bringing his fist with considerable force down on the pandects lying before him on the table. The perspiration was rolling in great beads over his forehead. The prisoner on the rack laughed heartily; but this time no one laughed with him. The executioner had mistaken the chief's wink for a signal to turn the wheel, which he did, and the sound which came from the victim's throat was a strange mixture of merriment and agony--as if he were being tickled and strangled at the same moment. What the chief's dictation was really intended to signify was that the proceedings were concluded for the day; that the accused should be released from the rack and taken back to his dungeon. It was a most unusual case--unique in the annals of the criminal court. Never before had a prisoner acknowledged himself guilty of, or accessory to, so many crimes. It was the first time such a combination of misdemeanors had come before the tribunal. The accused would certainly have to be tried without mercy; no extenuating circumstances would be allowed to interfere with justice. The prince was extremely interested in the case. He was curious to learn the coherence between the individual transgressions, in what manner one led to the other, and gave orders that the trial should not be resumed the next day until he should arrive in court. The prisoner had cause for laughter. Before his confession reached its conclusion, before he could relate the history of his one-and-twenty crimes, the Frenchmen would capture Coblentz and release him from imprisonment and death. But one may laugh too soon! What was to be done with this fellow? That the death penalty was his just desert was unquestionable; but in what manner should it be imposed? Had he confessed only the crime for which he was now under arrest--treason--the matter might be settled easily enough: he would be shot in the back. But with so many transgressions to complicate the matter it was going to be difficult exceedingly to pronounce judgment. For instance: the wheel is the punishment for robbery; the polygamist must be divided into as many portions as he has wives; the regicide must be torn asunder by four horses. But how are you going to carry out the last penalty if the accused has already been carved into six portions? Also, it is decreed that the right hand of a forger be cut off; the servitor of Satan must suffer death by fire. But if the accused has been consumed by flames, how will it be possible to bray him to pulp in a mortar for having committed uxoricide? or, how carry out the commands of the law which prescribes death by starvation for the wretch who is guilty of cannibalism? After much deliberation the prince, with the wisdom of a Solomon, decided as follows: "The prisoner, who is arraigned at the bar for treason, having confessed to twenty-one other transgressions, shall relate to the court a detailed account of each individual crime, after which he shall be sentenced according to the crime or crimes found by the judges to be the most heinous." This decision was perfectly satisfactory to the mayor; and the judges gave it as their opinion that, as the accused would require all his strength for so prolonged an examination, it would be advisable to substitute the torture by water for that of the rack, as was first decided. "No! no!" objected the prince. "The man who is forced to drink nothing but water is not in the mood to relate adventures (I know that by experience!) Let the prisoner be subjected to mental torture. Sentence him at once to death, and when he is not before the tribunal let him be shut up in the death-cell. The hours spent in that gloomy hole are a torture sufficient to bring any criminal, however hardened he may have become, to repentance. Besides, it will be a saving of expense to the city. The curious citizens, who like to gape at a condemned prisoner, will, out of compassion, supply this one also with food and drink. When he has eaten and drunk his fill, we will have him brought to the court-room. The man who has had all he wants to eat and drink is talkative!" The judges concurred with his highness; but the mayor growled in a dissatisfied tone: "This knave, who confesses to having committed twenty-one crimes in addition to the treachery in which we detected him, will, by the decision of his highness, fare better than his judges, who have learned during the siege what it is to hunger and thirst." To which the syndic responded consolingly: "Never mind, god-father! Let the poor wretch gormandize between the rack and the gallows. Remember the old saw: 'Today, I--tomorrow, you.'" PART II. CHAPTER I. WITH THE ROBBERS--THE PRSJAKA CAVES. I was ensign in a regiment under command of General Melchior Hatzfeld of the imperial forces. (Thus Hugo began his confession the next day when he had been brought to the court-room from the death-cell.) My conduct at that time was exemplary; I acquired so much skill in handling fire-arms that, at the siege of Cracow, I was advanced to the position of chief gunner of a battery. Cracow at that time was in the hands of George Rákóczy, prince of Transylvania, who had leagued with Sweden to subdue Poland; and he would most likely have succeeded had not the imperial army come to the assistance of the Poles. I shall not dwell long on the siege of Cracow lest I awake in the minds of the honorable gentlemen of the court a suspicion that, by relating incidents not immediately connected with my transgressions, I am purposely prolonging my recital. I shall therefore speak only of those occurrences which it will be necessary to mention in order to explain why I committed the crimes of which I am guilty. While with the army before Cracow I made the acquaintance of the daughter of a Polish noble. The young lady, who took a great fancy to me--I wasn't a bad-looking youth in those days, your honors--was a charming creature of sixteen years, with the most beautiful black eyes. If I remember rightly her name was Marinka. She taught me how to speak her language--and something else, too: how to love--the fatal passion which has all my life been the cause of much of my trouble. During the siege my general frequently sent me to reconnoiter among the Hungarian camps; and as I was a fearless youth, I would venture to the very gates of the manor-houses in the neighborhood of Cracow. At one of these houses I met my sweetheart; and after that, you may guess, honored sirs, that it was not for the general's "yellow boys" alone I risked my neck night after night. No, my little Marinka's sparkling eyes were as alluring as the gold pieces; and I knew when I set out on my nightly tour that my sweetheart would be waiting for me at the gates of her father's place. But our secret meetings were at last discovered. There was an old witch of a housekeeper who ferreted out her young mistress' secret, and informed the old noble. One moonlight night Marinka was teaching me in her own little cozy chamber how to say: "_Kocham pana z calego zersa_"--which is "Mistress, I love you with my whole heart,"--when we heard her father's heavy footsteps ascending the staircase. I tell you I was frightened and said to myself, "This is the end of you, my lad!" but Marinka whispered in my ear: "_Nebojsa!_ (don't be afraid), go into the corridor, walk boldly toward my father, and to whatever he may say to you, do you reply 'God is One.'" Then she softly opened the door, pushed me into the corridor, closed and locked the door behind me. The old gentleman was coming up the stairs very slowly because of a lame leg which he had to drag after him step by step. He had a square red face which I could see only indistinctly above the burning lunt he carried in one hand, blowing it continually to prevent it from going out. In the other hand he held a musket. The blazing lunt must have blinded him, for he did not see me until the muzzle of the musket came in contact with my breast. Then he stopped and cried in a stern voice: "_Kto tam? Stoj!_" (Who are you? Stand!) "God is One," I made answer. What else could I have said? The old gentleman's aggressive mien changed at once. He became quite friendly; he extinguished the lunt by stamping on it with his foot, tapped my shoulder in a confidential manner and called me little brother. Then taking me by the arm he led me down the stairs to a room where a huge fire was blazing on the hearth. Here he bade me seat myself on a settee covered with a bear skin and placed before me an English flagon of spirits. After he had arranged everything for my comfort he fetched from a secret cupboard a small book--it was so small I could have hidden it in the leg of my boot--and began to read to me all manner of heretical phrases such as "There is no need for a Holy Trinity, because the little which is done on earth in the name of God can easily be done by One alone." My hair stood on end as I listened to the sinful words and I found what a trap I had fallen into. My Marinka's father was a Socinian, a leader of the heretical sect, and he was trying to make a proselyte of me. The doctrines of Blandrata had spread extensively throughout Poland, but, owing to the persecution of its adherents, they could meet and work only in secret. The old noble's manor was one of their retreats, where recent converts were received for instruction. When the old gentleman believed he had enlightened me sufficiently he produced a heavy volume, bade me lay my right hand on it and repeat after him the vows of the society. You may believe I was in a dilemma! If I refused to repeat the vows I should have to confess that I had come to the manor for Marinka's sake, then the old noble would fetch his musket and send me straightway to paradise. If, on the other hand, I repeated the vows, then I was sure to journey to hades. Which was I to choose? Should I elect to travel by extra-post, direct, without stopping, into the kingdom of heaven, or should I journey leisurely by a circuitous route, with frequent halts, to hades? I was a mere lad; I was sorry for my pretty curly head--I chose the latter alternative! From that time I became a daily visitor in the retreat of the followers of Socinus. Being a neophyte I was permitted to take part in their meetings only during the singing; when the sermon began I was sent to the gates to guard against a surprise. This was a welcome duty; for, once outside the house, all thought of taking up my station at the gates would leave me and, instead, I would climb the tree which grew close to my Marinka's window, swing myself by a branch into her room, in which she was kept a prisoner by her father to prevent our meeting; and there, while the sages below-stairs expounded the dogma of the unity of God, we two ignorant young people demonstrated how two human hearts can become as one. One day our little community received an unexpected addition to its membership. There arrived from Cracow a troop of Hungarian soldiers who announced themselves as followers of Socinus. They received a hospitable welcome from the old noble, whom they overwhelmed with joy by telling him the prince of Transylvania had become an adherent of Socinus; that his highness had averred that, were he the King of Poland, all persecution of the heretics should cease at once and that some of the churches should be given over to them for their worship. When I repeated this piece of news to my general he became so excited he sprang from his seat--his head almost struck the roof of the tent--and shouted: "It is perfectly outrageous how those Hungarians will stoop to base methods in order to win allies! If they succeed in inveigling the Polish Socinians to their ranks then we may as well stop trying to get them out of Poland!" Fortunately, however, there arose dissensions between the Hungarian and the Polish adherents of Socinus. I must mention here, in order to explain how I became cognizant of the facts I am about to relate, that Marinka's father had begun to suspect me. Instead of sending me to stand guard at the gates when the sermon began, I was permitted to hear it and take part in the disputations. The Hungarian troopers maintained that it was the duty of all pious Socinians to commemorate, at every one of their meetings, the death of the Savior by drinking wine; and they were so extremely devout that an entire quarter-cask of their host's best Tokay was emptied at every celebration. After the meetings, when the old noble would lift and shake the empty wine-cask, I could read in his countenance signs that heterodoxy was gradually taking root in him. At first he contented himself with remonstrating against the frequency of the celebration; surely it ought to satisfy the most devout member of the sect to observe the ceremony on Sundays, and holy days. But the troopers met his arguments with scriptural authority for their practices. Then the old gentleman, finding his remonstrances of no avail, made an assault upon the dogma itself. He delivered an impassioned address in which he sought to disprove the divinity of Jesus. To this blasphemous assertion the Magyars made reply: "If what you say be true, then He was the son of an honest man, and a good man Himself. Therefore, it is meet and right for us to show Him all honor and respect." And another quarter-cask was brought from the cellar. The old noble became daily more fanatical in his assaults upon the tenets to which he had so devoutly adhered before the accession to his little congregation of the Hungarian troopers; and, at last declared that Jesus was a Jew; that He deserved to be put to death, because He had promulgated the unjust law of taxation. But not even this fearful blasphemy deterred the Hungarians from their frequent celebrations. They said: "If the Nazarene is so unworthy, then it is our plain duty to shed His blood, the symbol of which is wine--" "Tremendously clever fellows, those Magyars!" here interrupted the prince. "They were impious devils!" exclaimed the mayor reprovingly. "Impious devils!" "_Habet rectum_," responded his highness. Then to the prisoner: "Continue, my son." Hugo resumed his confession: When the last cask was brought from the cellar the old noble declared to his congregation that the entire story of the Divine birth was a myth invented by the priests-- "And you took part in those blasphemous meetings?" sternly interrupted the mayor. No, indeed, your honor! That is a crime of which I am guiltless. I never said one word; and escaped from the meetings whenever I could manage to do so. I had determined to flee with Marinka from the sinful community. Our plan was: I was to steal from the meeting on a certain night, assist my pretty Marinka to descend from her room by means of the tree outside her window and then set fire to the sheep-stables. The conflagration would scatter the blasphemers; everybody would run to the stables to release the horses, and in the general confusion Marinka would hastily secure as many of the family jewels as could be packed into a portmanteau. Then she and I would mount two of the freed horses and gallop straightway to my camp, where I would introduce her as my wife-- "A pious idea, certainly," commented the prince. "How can your highness say so!" in a tone of reproof, exclaimed the mayor. "It was incendiarism pure and simple: _Incendiarii ambitiosi comburantur_; and further: _raptus decem juvencis puniatur_, and _rapina palu affigatur_." "Very well, then," assented his highness. "My son, for the incendiarism you shall be burned at the stake; for the rape of the maid you shall pay a fine of ten calves; for the theft of the jewels, the punishment is impalement. Continue." Unfortunately, resumed the prisoner, our plans miscarried, through the intermeddling of the old housekeeper I spoke of. Her suspicions had been aroused by Marinka's preparations for flight; she informed the old noble, who set spies to watch me. I was caught in the act of firing the stables and was flogged with hazel rods until I confessed that I was a spy from the enemy's camp. The old noble wanted to bind me to the well-sweep; but one of the Hungarian troopers took compassion on me and offered to buy me for sixteen Polish groschen. His offer was accepted; I was sold to him and taken to Cracow. I should not have had such a hard time as a slave had I not been compelled to grind all the pepper used in the Hungarian army. I ground enormous quantities, for the Magyars like all their food strongly seasoned with the condiment. My eyes were red constantly; my nose was swollen to the size of a cucumber. The only other complaint I had to make was that my master compelled me to eat everything that was set before me. He would say, when he placed before me enough for three men: "You shall not be able to say that you hungered while you were my slave." When I had eaten until I could not swallow another morsel, my master would seize me by the shoulders, shake me as one shakes a full bag in order to get more into it, and he would repeat the operation until the contents of every dish had been emptied into me. I used to sicken at the approach of meal-times, and whenever I saw the huge spoon--twice the size of my mouth--with which the food was ladled into me. Your honors will hardly believe that there is no greater torture than to be stuffed with food-- "We have never tried that method," remarked the prince. "Nor are we likely to test it very soon," supplemented the mayor, with a grim expression on his countenance. I yearned to be released from my unpleasant situation, resumed the prisoner. For the first time I realized the enormity of the transgression I had committed in joining the Socinian Community. Now I had no one to intercede for me with the Supreme Ruler of the earth. Had I become a Mussulman I should have had Mohammed; had I adopted the Jewish faith I should have been able to call to my aid Abraham, or some one of the other fathers in Israel. But I had no one. However, my desire to be released from the tortures of food-stuffing and pepper-grinding was at last fulfilled; I was captured, together with the entire Hungarian army, by the Tartars-- "Hold! hold!" interrupted the chair. "You must not tell untruths. You forget that you were in Poland. The Tartars could not have fallen from the sky." I was about to explain how they came to be at Cracow when your honor interrupted me. It was this way: His Majesty, the Sultan of Turkey, who had become angry because his vassal, George Rákóczy, prince of Transylvania, had presumed to aspire to the crown of Poland, had commanded the khan of Crim-Tartary to attack the Hungarians with 100,000 cavalry. The khan obeyed. He devastated Transylvania in his march, surrounded the Hungarian army in Poland and captured every man jack of them-- "The explanation is satisfactory," enunciated the prince. "It was easy enough for the Tartars to appear at Cracow." Yes, your highness; but I wish they hadn't, continued the accused. No one regretted it more bitterly than did I. After the capture of the Transylvanian army by the Tartars the victors divided the spoils as follows: The commanding officers took possession of all the valuables; the under-officers took the prisoners' horses; the captives themselves were sold to the common soldiers, each of whom bought as many slaves as he had money to spare. My former master was sold for five groschen; my broad shoulders brought a higher price--nine groschen. The same Tartar--an ugly, filthy little rascal for whom I would not have paid two groschen--bought my master and me. The first thing our Tartar master did was to strip us of our good clothes and put on us his own rags. He couldn't talk to us, as we did not understand his language; but he managed in a very clever manner to convey his meaning to us. He examined the material of which our shirts were made--the Hungarian's was of fine, mine of coarse homespun linen, and concluded that one of us was a man of means--the other a poor devil. Then he took from his purse a gold coin, held it in his open palm toward the Hungarian, while with the other hand he hung a rope of horse-hair around his captive's neck. Then he closed his fingers over the coin, opened them again, at the same time drawing the rope more tightly about the captive's neck. This pantomime signified: "How many coins like this gold one will your friends pay to ransom you?" The Hungarian closed and opened his fist ten times to indicate "one hundred." The Tartar brought his teeth together, which was meant to say, "not enough." Then the Hungarian indicated as before, "two hundred," whereupon the Tartar placed the end of the rope in the captive's hand--he was satisfied with the ransom. Then came my turn. How much ransom would be paid for me? I shook my head to indicate "nothing;" but in Tartary, to shake one's head means consent. The little fellow smiled, and wanted to know "how much?" Not knowing how else to express my meaning, I spat in his palm, which he understood. He put the gold coin back into his purse, took out a silver one and held it toward me. I treated it as I had the gold coin. Then he produced a copper coin; but I indicated with such emphasis that not even so small a sum would be paid for me that he raised his whip and gave me a sound cut over the shoulders. The Tartars then set out on their return to Tartary. My former master and I were bound together and driven on foot in front of our owner. How forcibly my sainted grandmother's words, "He that reviles his Savior will be turned into an ass," came home to me when I was given dried beans to eat--the sort we feed to asses at home. Dried beans every meal, and my Tartar master did not think it necessary to stuff into me what I could not eat. What were left at one meal were served up again the next. Still more forcibly were my grandam's words impressed on my mind when, the fifth day of our journey, I became a veritable beast of burden. My Hungarian yoke-fellow declared his feet were so sore he could go no farther. His was certainly a weighty body to drag over the rough roads, especially as he had never been accustomed to travel on foot _per pedes apostolorum_. The little Tartar became alarmed; he feared he might lose the ransom if he left his rich captive behind, so he alighted from his horse, examined the Hungarian's feet and ordered him to get into the saddle. Then my feet were examined, and I imagined I too was to be given a mount. But I was mistaken. Before I could guess what he intended the little Tartar was seated astride my shoulders, with his feet crossed over my breast, and his hands clutching my hair for reins. Luckily for me it was a lean little snips, not much heavier than the soldier's knapsack I was accustomed to carrying. It would have been worse had the Hungarian been saddled on my shoulders. That gentleman was greatly amused by the turn affairs had taken, and from his seat on our master's horse made all manner of fun of me. He ridiculed my prayers, said they were of no avail where the enemy was concerned; that a hearty curse would give me more relief. I tell you he was a master of malediction! There was an imprecation he used to repeat so often that I remember it to this hour. I will repeat it for you--it is in that fearful Magyar lingo: "_Tarka kutya tarka magasra kutyorodott kaeskaringós farka!_"[3] [Footnote 3: The imprecation is really quite harmless, as are many other of the dreadful things attributed to the Magyars. It is, literally: "The spotted dog's straight upright spotted tail."--Translator's observation.] "Hold!" commanded the prince. "That sounds like an incantation." "Like 'abraxas,' or 'ablanathanalba,'" added the mayor, shuddering. "We must make a note of it; the court astronomer may, with the assistance of the professors, be able to tell us its portent." When the notary had taken down the imprecation, his highness, the prince, said to the prisoner: "Continue, my son. How long were you compelled to remain in that deplorable condition of slavery?" One day, resumed the accused, while I was fervently praying that heaven, or Satan, would relieve me from my ignominious situation, we turned into an oak forest. We had hardly got well into it, when, with a fearful noise, as if heaven and earth were crashing together, the huge trees came toppling over on us, burying the entire vanguard of the Tartar horde, together with their captives, under the trunks and branches. Every one of the trees in the forest had been sawn clear through the trunk, but left standing upright, thus forming a horrible trap for the Tartars. The first tree that toppled over, of course, threw over the one against which it fell, that one in turn throwing over the next one, and so on until the entire wood was laid low. My Tartar rider and I were crushed to the earth by the same tree. It was fortunate for me that I had him on my back, for he received the full force of the falling tree; his head was crushed, while mine was so firmly wedged between his knees I couldn't move. The horrible noise and confusion robbed me of my senses; I became unconscious. It is, therefore, impossible for me to tell how I escaped with my life. I only know that when I came to my senses I found myself in the camp of the "Haidemaken," a company of thieves and murderers, made up of all nationalities, the worst of all the robber bands that infested the country. The members were the outcasts of every land--the flower of the gallows. When inflamed with wine, they fought each other with axes; settled all disputes with knife and club. He who had become notorious for the worst crimes was welcomed to their ranks; the boldest, the most reckless dare-devil, became their leader. They would release condemned criminals, often appearing as if sprung from the earth at the place of execution, bear away the miscreants, who, naturally, became members of the band. Was a pretty woman condemned to the stake for violation of the marriage vow or for witchcraft, the haidemaken would be on hand before the match was applied to the faggots, and bear away the fair culprit. In a word, the haidemaken were the hope, the comfort, the providence of every miscreant that trembled in shackles. The band claimed no country as fatherland. Every wilderness, every savage ravine, from the Matra mountains to the Volga, offered them a secure retreat. They knew no laws save the commands of their leader, which were obeyed to the letter. None kept for himself his stealings; all booty was delivered into the hands of the leader, who divided it equally among the members of the band. To him who, through special valor, deserved special reward, was given the prettiest woman rescued from the stake, the dungeon, the rack. Where the haidemaken set up their camp, the Roman king, the prince of Transylvania, the Wallachian woiwode, the king of Poland, the hetman of the Cossacks, ruled only in name. The leader of the robbers alone was the law-giver; he alone levied taxes, exacted duties. The trading caravans passing from Turkey to Warsaw, if they were wise, paid without a murmur the duty levied by the haidemaken, who would then give the traders safe conduct through all the dangerous forests, over suspicious mountain passes, so that not a hair of their heads would be hurt or a coin in their purses touched. If, on the other hand, the caravan leaders were unwise, they would employ a military escort. Then, woe to them! The robbers would lure them into ambush, scatter the soldiers and plunder the caravan. He who resisted would be put to death. There was constant war between certain nobles and the robbers. If the band, however, could be brought to seal a compact of peace with an individual or a community, it was kept sacred, inviolable, as we shall see later. The haidemaken never entered a church unless they desired to secure the treasures it contained. Yet, they numbered several priests among their ranks. They were such as had been excommunicated for some transgression. The band never set out on a predatory expedition without first celebrating mass, and receiving a blessing from one of these renegados. If the expedition proved to be successful, the priest would share the spoils, and dance with the robbers to celebrate the victory. When one of the band took unto himself a wife, a renegado would perform the marriage ceremony. The haidemaken were as great sticklers for form as are the members of good society. To abduct a maid, or a woman, was not considered a crime; but for one member to run away with the wife of another was strictly prohibited. They did not erect strongholds, for they knew where to hide in mountain caverns and in morasses, from which no human power could drive them. In their various retreats they had stores of food, enough to stand a siege for many months. How great was their daring is best illustrated by the plot which threw me into their power. The prince of Transylvania had invaded Poland with an army of 20,000 men. This army was captured by the Tartar khan with his 80,000 men. Four hundred of the robbers laid in wait for this combined force, and slaughtered the vanguard of 2,000 men in the oak forest, as I have described. When I opened my eyes after the catastrophe, I was lying on a bundle of faggots on the bank of a purling brook. By my side stood a gigantic fellow, with a hideous red face--compared to him the Herr Mayor, there, is a very St. Martin!--his beard and eyebrows were also red, but of a lighter shade. His nose was cleft lengthwise--a sign that he had had to do with the Russian administration of justice. He had the muscles of a St. Christopher. At a little distance apart stood a group of similar figures, but none was so repulsive in appearance as the giant by my side. He was leaning on his sword, looking down at me, and when he saw my eyes open he said, or rather bellowed, for his voice was more like the sound that comes from the throat of a bull: "Well, young fellow, are you alive? Can you get up on your knees? If so, swear that you will join our band, or I'll fling you out yonder whence I brought you, to perish with the rest of your comrades." I had heard many fearful tales of the dreaded haidemaken, and knew them to be capable of any atrocity. Moreover, I was indifferent as to what became of me, so I said I would join the band if my life were spared. "What are you?" then asked the red one, who was the leader of the band, "peasant or noble?" I was not lying when I answered that I was as poor a devil as ever caught flies to satisfy a craving for food. "That is well," returned the leader, "we have no use for nobles in our ranks. You shall stand the test at once." He blew a whistle, and two sturdy ruffians dragged from a cave nearby the loveliest maid I had ever set eyes on. Her complexion was of milk and roses; every virtue beamed in her gentle countenance. I can see her now, with her golden hair falling to her ankles--and she was very tall for a woman. "Now lad," continued the leader, "we shall see how you stand the test. You are to cut off this maid's head. She is the daughter of a noble, whom we stole for a ransom; and, as her people have seen fit to ignore our demands, she must die. Here, take this sword, and do as you are bid." He handed me his sword, which was so heavy I could lift it only by grasping it with both hands. The maid knelt in the grass at my feet, bent meekly forward, and parted her beautiful hair at the back of her snowy neck, so that I might the more easily strike the fatal blow. But I didn't do anything of the sort! Instead, I flung the sword at the feet of the leader and cried: "Go to perdition, you red devil! You may devour me alive--I won't harm a hair of this pretty child's head." "Ho-ho," bellowed the red one, "you have betrayed yourself, my lad! Were you a peasant you would cut off the girl's head rather than lose your own. You are a noble--you would rather die yourself than harm a woman. Very well; so be it! On your knees! The maid will show you how to cut off a head at one blow. She is my own daughter." He handed the sword to the maid, who had risen to her feet and was laughing at me. She took the heavy weapon in one hand and swung it as lightly as if it had been a hazel rod, several times about her head. I have always been fortunate enough to be able to command my feelings, no matter what the situation; no matter how extreme the danger, I never allow myself to yield to fear. I looked at the wonderful maid confronting me with mocking eyes, her white teeth gleaming between her red lips, her beautiful hair shining like gold. "Kneel!" she cried, stamping her foot. "Kneel and say your prayers." A faint-hearted fellow would, most likely, have lost courage; but, as I said before, I had never made the acquaintance of fear. So I laughed, and said: "I am not going to kneel; and I am not going to pray. I don't want to part with my head, I have too much need of it myself." Then I turned boldly toward her father, and addressed him: "Captain, I want to marry your daughter," I said. "Let me serve under you for one year, and, if at the end of that time I have not proved myself worthy to be your son-in-law, you may cut off my head, and welcome!" The robber chief received this daring speech with a grin that was like the grimace of a hungry wolf preparing to devour a lamb. "Fellow, do you know what you ask?" he bellowed. "The suitor for the hand of my daughter is tortured to death by that hand if he fails to perform the tasks she sets for him." "All right!" I returned jauntily, "you needn't give yourself any trouble about me." He held out his hand; I gave him mine, and the pressure it received in the powerful grasp was so severe that the blood spurted from under the finger-nails. But I did not betray by look or sign how badly it hurt me. Nay, I even gave a playful pinch with the crushed fingers to the cheek of the golden-haired maid and received from her in return a sound slap on my hand. I could see that my behavior won favor in the eyes of the robbers. But we had little time for merry-making. The main body of the Tartar army now drew near, and we were face to face with an infuriated enemy outnumbering our band a hundred to one. In face of the extreme danger which threatened, our leader remained calm. At a signal from him, his men with lightning speed set fire in fifty different places to the fallen trees, among which a considerable number of the vanguard, who had not been crushed to death, were hiding. Of course the poor wretches, Tartars and captives alike, were consumed in the flames; we could hear their shrieks of agony when we were half way up the mountain, to which we had made our escape. The Tartar army not being able to follow us, because of the burning forest, made our escape easy; and, by the time the trees had been reduced to ashes, we were far enough away, and in a place of safety. Instead of giving me weapons to carry, I was compelled to continue in the role of beast of burden; a heavy bag of treasure was strapped on my back. We marched until the next morning. The haidemaken travelled only by night, consequently they were familiar with all roads and mountain passes. When day broke we halted to rest and partake of a scanty meal. While we were eating, the leader asked me my name, and I gave him the first one that came into my head: "Jaroslaw Terguko," which was the name of Marinka's father. If I couldn't steal anything else from him I could at least steal his name? Late in the afternoon we set out again on our journey, which led us over rugged paths and through savage gorges where no signs of human life were to be seen. At last we entered a deep defile between two mountain spurs. The walls of rock on either side seemed, with their projections and hollows, as if they might once have been joined together. They were nearer together at the top than at the base, and when I looked up at the narrow strip of sky far, far above me, I had a sensation as if the two walls were coming together. In this almost inaccessible defile was the chief retreat of the haidemaken. It was a stronghold that could successfully defy all human assaults. In the south wall, about twenty yards from the base, yawns the mouth of a huge cavern. At that point the wall is so steep, and inclines forward to such a degree, that access to the cavern cannot be gained by means of a ladder. The robbers, however, had contrived a clever hoisting apparatus. From the top of the opposite wall a mountain brook had once leaped into the defile, to continue its way over the rocky bed into the valley. When the haidemaken first established themselves in the cavern, it happened frequently that they would be blockaded in their retreat by the nobles and their followers, who had pursued the predatory band to the defile. At such times the robbers suffered greatly from the scarcity of fresh water, especially if they chanced to be out of wine. Therefore, they conceived the plan of conducting the brook from the opposing wall into the cavern through a stout oaken gutter, and the water at the same time served to turn a series of wheels. Over one of the wheels ran a stout iron chain, to which were securely attached several large baskets; and so skillfully was the apparatus manipulated that the entire band might be hoisted into, or let down from, the cavern in the short space of two hours. It was a most admirable contrivance for the robbers, but not so admirable for the dwellers in the valley. The intercepted brook now flowed into the cave, and, as the water did not fill the cave, the most natural conclusion was that it found an outlet through various subterranean fissures. The turning of the water from its original channel caused Prince Siniarsky considerable inconvenience, in that all his saw-mills, flour-mills and leather factory were left without a motor; while the inhabitants of the surrounding hamlets, who were dependent on their looms for a livelihood, were compelled to remove to another region, because they now were unable to bleach the linen. Still greater was the misfortune which had overtaken Count Potocky. He was the owner of extensive salt mines on the further side of the mountain, which contains an illimitable deposit of the saliferous substance. The haidemaken were unable to drink the water of the lakelet in the bottom of their cavern, because of its saline character. After the course of the brook had been changed, the worthy Count Potocky discovered one day that innumerable springs of fresh water were bursting from his side of the mountain, and flooding his most profitable mines. If he attempted to obstruct the flow of water in one place it would break out in another. At last the two magnates discovered the cause of the mischief, and determined to oust the thievish haidemaken from their retreat by fumigation. So long as the band confined their depredations to the trading caravans they might be tolerated; but, when they became insolent enough to interfere with the comfort and convenience of the magnates, it was high time to put a stop to their pestiferous conduct! And so an expedition against the cavern was planned. Before it could be carried out the war against the Transylvanians and Swedes broke out, and the noble gentlemen were compelled to march with their followers toward the invaders; but when hostilities ceased and the succoring Tartars had returned home, a formal blockade of the robbers was constituted. The entrance to their cavern, which is about as large as the door of the cathedral at Coblentz, was fortified by a double parapet furnished with loop-holes. The intercepted brook did not pour its waters into the main entrance, but into a side opening, underneath which was the hoisting wheel. This wheel also turned the mill-stone, which ground the rye used by the robbers. The band included a miller as well as a smith, a shoemaker and a tailor. As it is dark in the cave, all work was performed by torchlight. Where all the torches used in the cavern were procured I learned afterward. The fore part of the cavern, into which the rays of the blessed sun penetrate as far as the opposite wall permits, is like a vaulted hall. In it were stored the weapons: all manner of fire-arms, all patterns of cutting, thrusting and hurling implements, which had been purloined from the armories of noble castles. Here, for the first time, I saw an old-time culverin, rusty with age and for want of care. In this part of the cavern were stored also the provisions in huge stone receptacles--enough to feed four hundred men during a long siege. From the provision chamber a low, narrow passage leads to the mill-cave, but, as I never entered it, I cannot tell you just what it contained. The main cavern is spacious as a church. When the entire band were assembled in the vast hall they were as lost in it. The arched roof is so high above the floor it is invisible in the gloom, which not even the light of many torches can dispel. From this hall numerous narrow passages and corridors lead to smaller caves, in which the artisans of the band performed their labors. These unfortunates certainly must have been captives; for it is hardly possible that any man would, of his own free will, consent to pass his life toiling in so gloomy a hole. When we arrived at the cavern the leader asked me if I had a trade, and, as I could truthfully reply that the only one I was perfectly familiar with was that of bombardier, I did so. "Very good; you shall soon have an opportunity to prove that you understand your trade as thoroughly as you say," he growled. "It is not safe to boast here, my lad, and not be able to perform--as you shall soon learn." Meanwhile the robbers had hoisted to the cavern the booty taken from the Tartars. It was stored in one of the smaller chambers, into which I merely got a glimpse, as they rolled the huge slab of granite from the entrance, but that fleeting glance was enough to dazzle my eyes. There were heaps on heaps of costly articles: robes, mantles, vestments, richly embroidered with gold and precious gems, gold and silver chalices, shrines, _ciboria_, pastoral staffs, and a host of valuables too numerous to remember. Had the haidemaken only decided to disband then, every one of them would have received a fortune as his share of the plunder. It is not to be wondered at that such stores of gold and silver had accumulated. The robbers never had occasion to need money. The provision chamber was filled with food and drink. Such quantities of meat and bread were served that every man had all he wanted to eat, while casks of metheglin were constantly on tap. The secret of this inexhaustible food supply was known only to the leader and his daughter. No matter how much was taken from the provision chamber, no decrease was ever noticeable. The first evening of our return, the successful expedition was celebrated by a feast. After the robbers had eaten their fill, they lighted a huge fire and danced wildly around it; and when they had drunk all they wanted, they gathered about their leader and his daughter, who had taken their seats on an estrade draped with purple cloth. Then a pale-faced young man was dragged into the hall and placed in front of the leader. I saw now that a sort of trial was about to be held, a singular tribunal, where the judge and the jury first get tipsy! "Jurko," said the leader to the youth, "you are accused of cowardice--of having run away at the approach of the enemy; also, of having neglected to give warning of the coming of the Tartars." "I am not guilty," responded the youth in defence. "You placed me on guard to watch for the Tartars. Instead of the Tartars came wolves. Ten of the beasts attacked me--maybe there were fifty. If I had allowed the wolves to eat me, how could I have signaled to you? I didn't run away--I hid in a hollow tree to defend myself--one against fifty! I call that brave, not cowardly." "Silly chatter!" bellowed the leader. "No matter what happened, you should have obeyed the command of your leader. If you are not the coward you are accused of being, then prove it by standing the test." "That I will!" cried the youth, striking his breast with his fist. The leader rose, took his daughter's hand, stepped down from the estrade, and, bidding his comrades follow, moved with the maid toward the rear of the cavern, which, until now, had been buried in midnight gloom. Here the ground slopes steeply downward, and I could see by the light of the torches that we were on the verge of an abyss, at the bottom of which was water. The leader held a wisp of straw to a torch, then tossed it into the abyss, which was lighted for a few seconds by the circling wreath of blazing straw; but it was quite long enough for me to see the terrible grandeur of the yawning gulf. After tossing the straw into the abyss, the leader snatched the red and yellow striped silken kerchief from his daughter's neck, leaving the lovely snow-white shoulders and bosom uncovered, and flung it also into the abyss. "There, Jurko," he cried, "you have often boasted that you are the bravest of our band, and you have aspired to the hand of my daughter Madus. If you are what you pretend to be, fetch the bride's kerchief from the lake down yonder." The youth stepped boldly enough to the rim of the yawning gulf, and every one believed he was going to dive into it. But he halted on the edge, leaned forward and peered down at the water far below. After a moment's survey, he drew back, rubbed his ear with his fingers and made a wry face. "Why don't you jump?" cried his comrades, tauntingly. Jurko cautiously thrust one leg over the edge, bent forward and took another look; then he drew back his leg and rose to his feet. "The devil may jump into this hell for me!" he exclaimed; "there's no getting out of it again for him who is fool enough to enter it!" "Ho, coward! coward!" derisively shouted his comrades, rushing upon him. They disarmed him and dragged him by the hair toward a cleft in the wall of the cavern, wide enough only to admit the body of a man. This opening was closed by a block of granite that required the combined strength of six men to move it. A lighted candle was placed in the trembling youth's hand; then he was thrust into the rock-tomb, and the granite door moved back to its place. The wild laughter of his comrades drowned the shrieks of the victim who had been buried alive. Then followed the "dance of death," and I never witnessed anything more terrifying. The lovely Madus feigned death and looked it, too! and every member had to dance a turn with her. When it came my turn, the leader said to me: "Hold, lad, you may not dance with Madus until you have become really one of us--until you have stood the test. Moreover, you, too, presume to aspire to the hand of my daughter." "Yes, I do!" I replied, "and I will do whatever I am bid." "Very good; the bride's kerchief lies down yonder in the lake; let us see if you are courageous enough to go after it." "You surely did not undertake so foolhardy a task?" here interrupted the prince; and the chair dictated to the notary as follows: "Sinful tempting of providence, prompted by criminal desire for an impure female." "Yes, your highness, I performed the task," continued Hugo, "but I beg your honors not to register the leap as an additional transgression. I am not responsible for it. I was compelled to jump or be buried alive in the wall of the cavern. Besides, I knew the danger was not so great as it appeared. When a boy, I once visited a salt mine. I had seen by the light of the blazing straw that the walls of the abyss were formed of the dark blue strata peculiar to salt mines, and guessed that the lake was strongly impregnated with salt. I had also noticed on the further wall of the abyss a flight of steps hewn in the rock, and concluded that I had nothing to fear from drowning in the buoyant water, if I reached it in safety. But, before I proceed farther, I desire to enter a formal protest against the chair's designating my beloved Madus an 'impure female.' She was pure and innocent--an angel on earth, a saint in heaven. He that defames her must do battle with me--my adversary in coat of mail, I in doublet of silk. The weapons: lances, swords, or maces--whatever he may select; and I positively refuse to proceed with my confession until his honor, the mayor, has given me satisfaction, or amended the protocol." "Well, mayor," said the prince, addressing the chair, "I think the prisoner is justified in his protest. Either you must amend the protocol, or fight him." The former expedient was chosen, and the notary erased the latter clause of the protocol. It read, when corrected: "Sinful temptation of providence by chaste affection for a respectable maid." "Now, my son, you may jump." Hugo thanked the prince and resumed his confession: I pressed my ankles together, bent forward, and sprang, head foremost, into the abyss. As I sped swiftly downward, there was a sound like swelling thunder in my ears, then I became stone deaf, and the water closed over me. My eyes and mouth told me it was salt water, and whatever apprehension I had had vanished. The next moment I was floating on the surface, my head and shoulders above the water. I soon found the kerchief, which I tied about my neck, amid the acclamations and cheers of my comrades, which were multiplied by the echoing walls to the most infernal roaring. The torches held over the mouth of the abyss gleamed through the darkness like a blood-red star in the firmament of hades. A few vigorous strokes propelled me to the steps leading from the lake to the upper gallery of the abyss, which is really an abandoned salt mine. There are one hundred and eighty steps, but by taking two at a time I reduced them to ninety; and three minutes after I had taken my leap, I stood, encrusted from head to foot with salt--like a powdered imp!--before my blushing Madus. She received me with a bashful smile when the robbers carried me on their shoulders to her, and I was about to kiss her, when the leader seized me by the collar and drew me back. "Not yet, lad, not yet!" he cried. "You have only been through the christening ceremony. Confirmation comes next. You must become a member of our faith before you can become my daughter's husband. Every man that marries a princess must adopt her belief." Now, as your honors may have guessed, the question of religion was one I did not require much time to answer. I consented without a moment's hesitation to adopt my Madus' faith. The leader then signed to one of the band to prepare for the ceremony of confirmation. It was one of the priests of whom I have spoken--I had taken particular notice of him during the feast, because he ate and drank more than any one else. "He that becomes a member of our society"--the leader informed me--"must take a different name from the one he has borne elsewhere. I am called 'Nyedzviedz,' which signifies either 'the bear,' or 'without equal.' What name shall we give you?" Some one suggested that, as I was an expert swimmer, I should be called "Szczustak" (perch); another thought "Lyabedz" (swan), more suitable and prettier, but I told them that, as I excelled most in hurling bombs, "Baran" (ram), would be still more appropriate; and Baran it was decided I should be called. In the meantime the robber priest had donned his vestments. On his plentifully oiled hair rested a tall, gold-embroidered hat; over his coarse peasant coat he had drawn a richly decorated cassock; his feet were thrust into a pair of slippers, also handsomely embroidered--relics, obviously, of some gigantic saint; for the robber priest's feet, from which he had not removed his boots, were quite hidden in them. In his hands he held a silver crucifix; and as I looked at him, the thought came to me that he had, without a doubt, made way with the original wearer and bearer of the rich vestments, and the crucifix. He ordered me to kneel before him. I did so, and he began to perform all sorts of hocus-pocus over me. I couldn't understand a word of it, for he spoke in Greek, and I had not yet become familiar with that language. I learned it later. After mumbling over me for several minutes, he smeared some ill-smelling ointment on my nose; then he fumigated me with incense until I was almost suffocated. In concluding, when he bestowed on me my new name, he gave me such a vigorous box on the ear, that it rang for several seconds, and I almost fell backward. The blow was not given with the hand of the priest, but with the sturdy fist of the robber. This is carrying the joke too far, I said to myself; and, before the ruffian could guess what I intended, I was on my feet, and had delivered a right-hander on the side of his head that sent his gold hat spinning across the floor, and himself, and his slippers after it. "_Actus majoris potentiae contra ecclesiasticam personam!_" dictated the mayor to the notary; while his highness, the prince, held his stomach, and laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. "I should like to have seen that performance!" he exclaimed when he had got his breath again. "Did the padre excommunicate you?" Not much, he didn't, your highness! From that moment I became a person of consequence among the haidemaken. The leader slapped me heartily on the shoulder, and said approvingly: "You're the right sort, lad--we need no further proof." After a bumper all 'round, to celebrate my entrance to the community, every man wrapped himself in his bear-skin, and lay down on the floor of the cavern. Although the torches had been extinguished I could see, by the faint light which penetrated from the entrance, that Madus ascended a rope ladder to a deep hollow high up in the wall, and drew the ladder up after her. In a very few minutes the snores from the four hundred robbers proclaimed them oblivious to this work-a-day world. At day-break the watchman's horn brought every man to his feet; at the same moment the leader appeared from an adjoining chamber, and gave to each one his task for the day. After we had breakfasted, Nyedzviedz conducted me, in company with Madus and several of the band, to the armory. "Here Baran," he said,--thrusting his foot against the culverin I mentioned before--"you claim to be a skilled bombardier. Let us see if you understand how to manage a thing like this. We stole it from Count Potocky's castle, and brought it here with great difficulty. Sixteen men would carry it two hundred steps, then other sixteen would relieve them, and so on. We didn't find out until we had got it up here that it would be of no use to us. The first time we tried to fire it off--it lay on the ground as now--four men sat astride of it, as on a horse, to steady it. I, myself, directed the shot toward the mouth of the cavern, and three men stood behind me to observe operations. When I applied the fuse, the infernal thing sprang into the air flinging the four men astride it to the roof of the cave; while the ball, instead of going where I had aimed--out of the entrance--imbedded itself in the wall over yonder, where it still sticks." I laughed heartily at his amusing description of the gun's behavior; whereupon he said soberly: "Oh, you may laugh, but it was no laughing matter I can tell you! I made a second attempt. I tied a rope around the rascal's neck to prevent him from kicking again, and fastened the ends securely to two stout pegs driven into the ground. 'There, sir,' I said, 'now kick if you want to!' I lighted the fuse--the demon didn't kick this time; instead he rushed backward dragging both pegs with him; broke the right leg of one of the men, the left of another, and both legs of the third; and the ball bored itself into the corner over there. Now let us see if you can do any better." "Oh, you stupid bear!" I exclaimed, unable to restrain my mirth, "you may thank your stars that the rusty old gun didn't burst into flinders and kill every one of you!--as you deserved! The first thing to be done with the culverin is to clean and polish it until it shines like a mirror. Then--who ever heard of laying a cannon on the ground to fire it off?--it must have a sort of platform on wheels so it can be moved about." The leader immediately gave orders to the smith and the wagon-maker of the band to obey my instructions and complete as quickly as possible the sort of gun-carriage I should describe to them, and I set about at once to clean and scour the old culverin which, with the accumulated rust of years, was no light task. There was no time to lose, for the Tartars, with their Hungarian captives, having vacated Poland, the Polish magnates returned to their castles, and prepared to carry out the plans for punishing the insolent haidemaken, which had been interrupted by the war. Those members of the band who were sent on various errands into the regions adjacent to the Prsjaka Gorge, brought back, instead of booty, bloody heads, and the startling news that the roads leading to the Gorge were filled with armed troopers. The two despoiled magnates had combined their forces, and were prepared for a regular siege of the plundering haidemaken. The latter, however, merely laughed at the warlike preparations. They were not afraid of a siege! Nyedzviedz, on learning of the approach of the beleaguerers, instead of curtailing our rations, doubled them, mystifying all of us by the seemingly illimitable supplies in the provision chamber. We received, every day, double rations of fresh goats' meat and mutton, and yet there was not in any of the caves even the sign of a living animal. Meanwhile the beleaguerers advanced steadily. There was a stratagem the robbers had frequently resorted to in order to vanquish a beleaguering foe. They opened an underground sluice through which the water of the salt lake in the bottom of the abyss would rush into the defile and drown the enemy. But Prince Siniarsky's troopers had become familiar with this trick; and one morning, when we awoke, we found that a stone wall had been built across the gorge while we slept. An arched opening in the center of the base would give egress to all the water we might choose to let out of the lake. This was bad enough, but worse came later. The wall increased in height every night. I told Nyedzviedz at the beginning what would be the outcome of such a proceeding; when the top of the wall should have reached to the height of the wooden gutter which conveyed the brook into the cavern, Siniarsky's men would fling a line over it, attach a stout chain to the line, and when they had drawn it over the gutter it would be easy enough to pull it down. "In that case we shall die of thirst," growled the leader, "for there isn't any other water in the cavern fit to drink. But a still greater danger, of which you know nothing, threatens us." He did not tell me what it was, but he became so morose and ill-tempered, that no one but his daughter ventured to speak to him. The haidemaken made several assaults on the wall, but the troopers returned the fire with such volleys from the numerous loop-holes in it, that our men were always forced to retreat. All hopes were now centered in me, and on the culverin, which I had polished until it shone like gold. The carriage for it had been completed, and balls cast under my directions. The wall grew higher and higher, until at last the top was on a level with our conduit. Its completion was celebrated in the enemy's camp by the blaring of trumpets, and beating of drums, and what I had foretold came to pass; the arquebusier mounted to the top of the wall, adjusted his arquebuse on its forked rest, and prepared to take aim at our water conduit. "Now, watch me!" said I to Nyedzviedz, pointing the culverin's muzzle toward the cornice of the wall. Two shots sounded simultaneously, and when the smoke had cleared away, there was neither arquebuse, nor arquebusier--nor yet the cornice of the wall, to be seen. All three had vanished. I took aim a second time--this time at the base of the wall; and at the sixth shot, the entire structure of solid masonry tumbled down with a deafening crash, burying under it the musketeers who were at the loop-holes. Not one of them escaped alive. The haidemaken, with loud cries of triumph, now hastily descended from the cavern in their baskets, and flung themselves on the enemy, and while the combat raged in the defile below me, I wheeled my culverin to the mouth of the cavern, and hurled shot after shot toward the troopers who were hurrying to the aid of their comrades. The enemy was completely routed, and our men returned to the cavern richly laden with spoils. So all-powerful is a cannon when its management is thoroughly understood. "That will do for today;" at this point observed the prince. "The confession will be continued tomorrow." THE VISZPA OGROD. The next morning Hugo resumed his confession: When the haidemaken, after having put to flight the troopers returned with their booty to the cavern, the leader said to me: "Well, Baran, you certainly earned your name today, by proving yourself a most effective 'ram.' To your assaults with the culverin we owe our victory. Here is the treasure we took from the vanquished foe--take of it what you want, you have the first choice." Gold and silver galore lay before me, but I answered: "Thank you, Nyedzviedz, you know very well I have no use for money; instead, I want your daughter--for her alone I have served you; she is the reward I desire." To this reply the leader shook his head irritably, and said: "I am disappointed in you, Baran. You are, after all, only a tender-hearted dove that wants to bill and coo. The man who has a wife is only half a man. The true haidemak embraces his sweetheart, then slays her--or better: slays her first. Why do you desire to marry? Be wise, lad, and remain a celibate. If you will think no more of Madus I will make you my second in command." "But I can't, and won't think of anything but Madus," I returned, stubbornly; "and if you don't give her to me, you are not a man of your word." "You don't know what you are asking, Baran," again said the leader. "If you persist in your demand you will compel me to send you the way all our members have gone who proved themselves to be soft-hearted doves. The man who wants to bill and coo cannot remain with us. If you marry Madus you must leave us." I told him I would manage somehow to endure such a calamity, which made him laugh heartily. "I know very well, Baran, my lad, that it would not grieve you to leave us, if you were allowed to depart with Madus to the outside world. But that may not be. The man we pronounce a 'dove,' must go a different route. The youth who refused to leap into the abyss the day you arrived, was a dove. You saw what became of him. A hundred and more love-lorn swains, and cowards have gone the same way. You will find in every crevice the skeletons of the unfortunates. Do you still desire to join the ghastly company?" It did not sound very alluring--to celebrate one's nuptials among cadavers; but when I looked at Madus, who was standing by her father's side, the glance which met mine from her beaming eyes banished from my thoughts everything but her beautiful image, and I said: "It matters not whither I go if my Madus goes with me--be the journey to hades itself!" When Madus also declared she had no dread of undertaking the journey with me, her father summoned a priest--the same bearded rascal that had performed the ceremony of confirmation over me. His vestments this time were even more magnificent--('acquired,' I have not the least doubt, from some wealthy cathedral by my respected father-in-law and his comrades) and with all manner of unintelligible mummery he performed the ceremony, which united me and my beloved Madus in the holy bonds of matrimony. When the marriage ceremony was concluded, my wife and I each received from her father a costly, gold ornamented cap, and a richly embroidered mantle; a bag of provisions, and a jug of wine were also given to us. Then we were conducted to the same cleft in the wall of the cavern, in which the unfortunate Jurko had been entombed. When the heavy rock had been removed from the opening the robbers, one after the other, shook hands with us. The leader was so deeply affected he embraced both of us. After a lighted taper had been placed in my hand, we were thrust into the narrow passage which was immediately closed behind us. The noises in the cavern sounded like the low murmur one hears in a sea-shell held close to the ear. By the faint light from our taper I could see a smile of encouragement on my Madus' face, and obeyed without a question when she bade me follow her. We had forced our way through the narrow passage, which was hardly wide enough for one person, a considerable distance, when we suddenly came to a small chamber about the size of a room in a pleasant cottage. Here, Madus said, we should have to rest and pass the night. "Night?" I repeated. "We can easily bring the blackness of midnight upon us in this hole! We have only to extinguish the candle. But we shall never know when it is morning. Daylight never enters here. No cheerful cock-crow ever reaches this tomb. Here, no one will come to rouse us, and say: 'Rise, rise! morning, beauteous morning, is come.'" "Fie, fie, Baran," chided my Madus. "Do you already regret the step you have taken? Should you be sorry never again to see daylight--now that you have me with you?" "No, no," I answered, promptly, ashamed of my momentary regret. "No, no," and I set about preparing for our night's rest. We spread our bear skins on the floor of the cave, sat down on them, and ate our supper, becoming quite cheerful as the wine sped with pleasurable warmth through our veins. Suddenly Madus turned toward me and asked: "Where do you imagine we are, Baran?" "In paradise," I made answer, kissing her. Thereupon she roguishly blew out the light and asked again: "Can you see me?" "No," I answered, for I could see nothing at all. "Look again, Baran, and repeat after me what I say." I fixed my eyes where I believed her to be, and repeated after her, word for word, the Lord's Prayer, the _Ave Maria_ and the _Credo_, and as I did so, it seemed to me as if the dear child's countenance came into view, gradually growing brighter and brighter, until the gloom disappeared, and the subterranean grotto became irradiated as with the sunlight of noon. I did not tell her so, though, for women are so easily made vain; but from that moment I became convinced that Madus was my guardian angel. Never, in all my life, have I been so happy as I was with my beloved Madus in that underground cave, and I should have been content to stop there with her until the end of time! I would not have inquired if ever a morning would dawn again for us, had not Madus roused me from a sound slumber, and lighted the taper. "What do you imagine will become of us?" she asked, and I replied: "I believe the haidemaken are playing a trick on us, and that they will fetch us away from here after a while." "No, you are mistaken, Baran, we shall never again return to the cavern. The haidemaken do not expect to see us again." "But, surely, Nyedzviedz will not allow his only daughter to perish miserably in this hole?" I exclaimed. "Alas, you don't know him, my poor Baran," returned Madus sorrowfully. "My father's heart is impervious to pity. Those whom he banishes, as we have been banished, can never return to the cavern." I now became alarmed in earnest. Until that moment I had entertained a suspicion that the haidemaken were only trying to frighten me. I was cursing my folly--mentally of course--for having allowed the fascinations of a love-dream to lure me to so wretched a fate, when Madus rose from her bear skin couch, and bade me follow her. I remembered her radiant countenance of the preceding evening, and my confidence in her was restored. We passed onward, through the narrow corridor which traversed numerous caves, larger and smaller than the one in which we had rested. I kept glancing furtively, right and left, expecting every moment to see the helpless skeletons with which Nyedzviedz had tried to intimidate me. On, on we pressed, occasionally passing the entrance to a cave that was stored with all manner of plunder. At last I noticed that the corridor began to widen, and suddenly my soul was rejoiced to discover, far ahead, a faint gleam of light that became brighter and brighter as we approached. It was daylight! "Hurrah!" I shouted aloud, in my ecstacy clasping Madus to my heart. "We are free! We are free!" "Free? No, my Baran, far from it!" she returned gently and sadly. "We are approaching our life-prison. You will soon see it." The passage was now wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side. We did not need the taper now, for we had sunlight from the strip of blue sky we could see overhead. I pressed eagerly forward to see more of it. I could have drunk in at one long breath the entire heaven. At last we arrived at the end of the passage between the two tall walls of rock, and there below us lay the Viszpa Ogrod, which means: "Island Garden." And it is a veritable island; only, instead of water, it is encompassed by rocks--rocks so high, and so steep, that nothing wingless can ever hope to escape over them into the world outside. Heaven-towering walls of basalt, naked cliffs, sheer inaccessible, dome-shaped, and truncated, ranged one against the other in a compact mass like the facade of a vast cathedral, environ the Viszpa Ogrod, which, with its verdant fields, forest, fruit and vegetable gardens, lies like a gleaming emerald in a setting of rock, at the bottom of the deep crater. From the dizzy heights of the cavern wall leaps a stream, that is transformed to iridescent spray before it reaches the valley, there to pursue its sinuous course amid the fields, gardens, and tiny white dwellings upon which we looked down as through a misty veil. "That is our future home," whispered Madus. "Our life-prison from which there is no escape. To this island garden is banished all those haidemaken who prove too tender-hearted for their cruel trade, or tire of their adventurous life; also those who refuse to desert the women they love. Here, the banished dwell together and till the ground--they will never again see any other portion of the globe than this little valley." The Viszpa Ogrod revealed the secret of the haidemaken's power to defy a siege. This island garden made it possible for them to defy all the troops sent against them, for it contained an inexhaustible supply of provisions. When the robbers discovered it, it was a wilderness of stunted fir trees. No living creature could exist in it, for there was no water until the brook, conducted into the cavern from the opposite side of the defile, found an outlet into it, thence, through the ground, into Prince Siniarsky's salt mines. The water very soon wrought a wonderful change in the aspect of the valley. A portion of the stunted forest was cleared, and the ground planted with rye, vegetables, and various shrubs and plants which throve luxuriantly in this "garden" sheltered from the cold winds by the wall of rock. The firs left standing put forward new growth, and became stately trees--everything, even the human beings that came to dwell here, underwent a complete transformation. True, those whom the haidemaken sent to the valley had already become tender-hearted, or, weary of the wild life of the robbers; but, no matter what the life of a man had been before he became a member of the little community in the island garden, there he would forget the entire world, become an entirely new being. I speak from experience, for I, who have enjoyed a full share of this world's pleasures--everything that can rejoice the king in his palace, and the dreams of the prisoner in his dungeon--I never was truly happy until I went to dwell with my beloved Madus in the Viszpa Ogrod. A narrow path winds from the outlet of the rock-corridor down into the valley. Madus, who was perfectly familiar with the path, led the way, recognizing, while still at a distance from them, each occupant of the little cottages. The children ran to meet us, and, on hearing from Madus who I was, seized our hands, and with shouts of joy drew us toward the village. A bell was rung to announce our arrival. Later I learned from the inscription on this bell that it had formerly swung in the tower of Bicloviez monastery. Like everything else in the valley, it had been stolen. Everything, even the beautiful cloth and silk garments which clothed the women--nay the women themselves, were plunder. Robber and robbed dwelt together amid plunder in harmony, happy as Adam and Eve in Eden. They ploughed, planted, and gathered the harvest in perfect contentment. They shared their abundance with the cavern, and received in return plunder from all parts of the world. As I have said before, there were no animals in the Viszpa Ogrod when the robbers discovered it, and as it was impossible to convey full-grown cattle through the narrow passage from the cavern, calves, goats, and lambs instead were brought to the valley, which had become so well stocked with everything necessary to sustain a large army, that no potentate on earth could have reduced the haidemaken to starvation, no matter to what length the siege might have been extended. The only danger which threatened the cavern was the stoppage of their water supply. Were that cut off, the luxuriance and fruitfulness of the valley would vanish, and it would become again an arid wilderness uninhabitable for man and beast. This was the danger dreaded by Nyedzviedz when the troopers began to build their wall in the defile. The dwellers in the Viszpa Ogrod lived together like the family of Father Abraham in the promised land. The eldest of the men was the patriarch. He made all the laws; issued all the commands; allotted to each one his task and share of the harvest, giving to everyone as much as was required for the needs of himself and his household. There was no priest in the valley. There was no Sabbath. The pleasant days were working-days; when it rained everybody rested. There was no praying, no cursing, no quarreling. There, where every head of a household had once been a thief, no disputing about mine and thine was ever heard. There, every woman--and not one of them had been given an opportunity to vow fidelity to her mate before the altar, but had been forcibly conveyed to the valley--was so faithful, so modest, that no stranger could have told what was the color of her eyes. When Madus and I arrived in the valley, Zoraw, the patriarch, prepared for us a feast, to which were invited the rest of the community to the number of eighty. After the feast, Zoraw conducted us to the brook, where we drank with everyone the pledge of fraternity from a wooden bottle of fresh water--that being the only beverage in the valley. At the conclusion of this ceremony, the bottle was broken in pieces, to symbolize unalterable alliance. Then Zoraw measured off and assigned to us our plot of ground. The entire community lent a hand, and in two days our cottage was under roof, modestly furnished, and ready for occupancy. In the stable stood a cow and a goat for the housewife. When we were comfortably settled in our new home I was asked by the patriarch what manner of tools he should give me; and finding that I should be compelled to work--something I had never learned at school, or in the field--I chose the trade of smith, which would at least give me the handling of iron, without which I never felt contented. I became accustomed in a very short time to my new mode of life. I would work at my trade the allotted time every day, then go home to my wife, who would tell me how the ducklings had got smothered in the shell, how the milk had turned sour, and such like prattle. And one day she whispered blushingly in my ear the secret which makes the husband's heart beat faster with joy and pride. In listening to it, I forgot everything else in the world. The thought that I was to become the father of a family, that would grow up to know no other home but this peaceful valley, filled my soul with joy and content. This thought became to me what roots are to a tree; it attached me so securely to my little plot of ground, that I felt as if no power on earth could tear me away from it. My beloved Madus, and our little home, became doubly dear to me. Had all the wealth, all the splendor that came to me later, been offered me then in exchange for my Madus and the humble little home she filled with her joyous presence, I should have refused with scorn. THE KOLTUK-DENGENEGI. I had become perfectly satisfied with my peaceful and uneventful existence. My entire world now lay within the rocky rim of the Viszpa Ogrod. My entire happiness lay in the beaming smile with which my Madus greeted my home-coming every day. My labors in the smithy were always over by noon; the afternoons were devoted to work required to be done at home. One day I was siting in the hall-way of our cottage busily employed fashioning, from some crimson willow withes, a pretty basket-cradle, when a shadow suddenly shut out the sunlight from me. I looked up and was startled to see Nyedzviedz standing in the door-way. "You here!" I exclaimed. "Have you, too, been relegated to the Viszpa Ogrod because of the softened heart? Or have you come here to hide from an enemy?--Which?" "Neither, my good Baran," answered the leader. "I am not come to stop in this happy valley, but to fetch you away from it. We need you in the cavern. We cannot get on without you. We are planning a most important expedition, and need your assistance. A rich caravan is on the road to Mohilow; it is made up of Russian, Turkish and Jew traders, and is accompanied by a military escort. We propose to capture this caravan, and take possession of all the treasure and valuables, after which, we shall proceed to Berdiczov and loot the monastery. As the monastery is strongly fortified, and garrisoned, we shall have to batter down the walls; therefore we must take you with us, as you are the only one who understands how to handle our field gun. I shall appoint you second in command of the expedition." Madus had come from the kitchen while her father was speaking. She was not in the least glad to see him; on the contrary, she greeted him with a frown, and demanded angrily: "Why do you try to lure my gentle-hearted Baran away from me? He does not need your stolen treasure. He has all he wants here in his humble home. You buried us here--we are dead to you, therefore leave us here in peace." To which Nyedzviedz made answer by saying: "Baran, does the father or the husband control the wife? If you, the husband, don't know how to control your wife, I, her father, will show you what to do with the woman who speaks when she is not spoken to." I well knew what a hasty temper was the leader's, and persuaded Madus to come with me to the kitchen, where I gently argued away her opposition to my leaving home. I assured her it would be for our good; that when I had got together enough money to keep us in comfort I should return, and find a way to escape with her from the valley to some large city, where we should be safe from the haidemaken, and where she might sweep the dusty streets with a long-tailed silk gown, and be addressed as "gracious lady." This had the desired effect. She wept bitterly; but she bade me go with her father. When I turned to cast a last look into the valley, before we entered the rock-corridor, I could see my poor little wife's red kerchief still gleaming in the doorway of our cottage. Her favorite dove had flown after me to the entrance of the corridor; there it settled down on my shoulder and began to coo into my ear. I had to fling it away from me quite forcibly in order to frighten it back to its mistress. My former comrades greeted me with loud cries of welcome, and celebrated my return by a tremendous drinking-bout. When, after my long abstention from it, I again tasted wine, I forgot the Viszpa Ogrod and everything connected with it--as one will, when awake, forget even the most enchanting dreams. It is a well-known fact that the wine-drinker who abstains for a long period from his favorite beverage, then yields again to the temptation, becomes a more inveterate drunkard than before he resisted the fascinations of the cup. The haidemaken drank only Tokay; they made a point of selecting from the cellars of the prelates, and magnates whom they plundered, only the best vintages. The following night we set out for Mohilow, a twelve days' journey. I am almost willing to wager that not a soul, in the region to which we were going, really believed such a band of robbers as the haidemaken was in existence--or, if it had ever been heard of, the tales of its marvelous exploits were looked upon as kindred to the fables repeated in the nursery. As I said before, the band always traveled by night. During the day we rested, hidden in a dense forest, or in an uninhabited valley. We never entered a village to procure food, but carried with us rations of dried meat, varying our diet with mushrooms collected on the way. On learning definitely from the scouts we had sent to reconnoiter that the caravan was expected to reach Mohilow on a certain day, we concealed ourselves in a swampy thicket by the side of the road over which it would have to pass. Here we were forced to wait two days, during which our meat gave out, and we had to eat raw frogs and birds' eggs. The peasant carts passing along the road, with pretzels, smoked sausages, cheese, mead and wine for the market at Mohilow, were not molested by the hungry robbers, who would only have needed to stretch out their hands to secure the good things for which they languished. But the leader would not allow it. "We are here to fight, not feast," he said. Our patience was well nigh at an end, when, one day, the sound of a trumpet and drum announced the approach of the caravan. On mules, on horses, camels, and ox-carts, came the fifteen-hundred-odd human souls, their escort, a valiant company of soldiers in coats of mail, and helmets, and armed with halberds, and muskets. It was a motly crowd, outnumbering our band in souls; but inferior to us in strength. When, at a preconcerted signal, our men dashed from the thicket, the entire caravan fell into confusion. The soldiers fired off their muskets, heedless where they aimed; we, on the other hand, sent our shots where they would prove most effective. A frightful tumult ensued--it was: save himself who can; while the heavily laden carts and vans were left behind. I must admit that the haidemaken behaved atrociously. Never, in all my experience on the battlefield, did I witness such a scene of carnage. It made me ill; I became so faint with horror and disgust I sank unconscious to the ground. When I came to my senses, I saw a Turkish merchant hobbling on a crutch toward me. He was old, and seemed to have been seriously wounded, for he was covered with blood. He came straight toward me, and, sinking to the ground by my side, said in a pleading tone: "My son, I beg you, take my yataghan, and cut off my head." Your honors may believe that I was startled by so singular a request. "I shan't do any such thing!" I replied promptly, and with decision. "Pray do," he urged. "Cut off my head without further parley, and you shall have this koltuk-dengenegi," which is Turkish for "beggar's staff." "No, Baba," I returned, with the same decision as before. "I can't cut off your head, for I have no grudge against you. I am not an assassin--though I do belong to the haidemaken; I was forced into this band, much as Pilate was thrust into the _credo_--against his will, I'll warrant!" "Your countenance tells me, my son, that you are better than your comrades," said the old Turk. "For that reason I ventured to ask a favor of you. Come, hesitate no longer to perform the deed of mercy for which you shall be handsomely rewarded. Decapitate this old body; it will not be assassination; one can murder only a living being--so says the Koran, the only truthful book on earth--and I cannot strictly be called a living being. I have a deadly wound in the abdomen, and am bound to die sooner or later. Besides, I am prepared and desire to die. I can't flee any farther; and if I fall into the hands of your cruel comrades I shall be horribly tortured. Therefore, I beg you to release me from further suffering; cut off my head with this beautiful yataghan, which shall also be yours." But, not even then could I bring myself to grant his prayer, and relieve him of his sufferings and his bald head. "Leave me, Baba," I exclaimed impatiently. "If you want to get rid of your head, cut it off yourself with that beautiful yataghan; or else, hang yourself on one of those beautiful trees over yonder." To this the old Turk responded with pious mien: "That I dare not do, my son. The Koran--the only truthful book on earth--says, there are seven hells: one underneath the other, and each one more terrible than the one above it. The first hell is for true believers, like myself; the second is for Christians; the seventh is for the Atheists. The fourth, Morhut, is for those persons who commit suicide. Were I to take my own life, I should have to descend to the fourth hell, where, as well as in every one of the three hells above it, I should be obliged to remain three-hundred and thirty-three years before I should be permitted to enter paradise. Whereas, if I should lose my life at the hands of an unbeliever like yourself, I should--so says the Koran, the only truthful book on earth--go straightway to paradise." And still I hesitated; though it seemed but kindness to grant the old Turk's request, and send him speeding straightway into paradise. But, I remembered that our Bible (really the only truthful book on earth) says: "Thou shalt not kill;" and thrust the importunate old fellow away from me. But he renewed his pleading with increased urgency: "See, my son, I will give you this koltuk-dengenegi--" "Of what use would that crutch be to me?" I interrupted. "If you will screw off the top you will see that the crutch is filled with gold pieces," he replied; and to prove that he spoke the truth, he unscrewed the shoulder rest and shook several gold coins into the palm of his hand. The yellow metal dazzled my eyes: "The crutch would hold a good many coins," I said to myself, to which added the Turk's pleading voice: "You shall have it all, my son, if you will but grant my prayer." And still I hesitated. "I can't do it, Baba," I said. "Even if you gave me the crutch, I should not be allowed to keep the gold. No member of our band is allowed to keep for his own use alone any valuables that may come into his possession. Everything must be placed at once in the common treasury for the use of the entire band--and woe to the haidemak who would dare to keep for himself even a single Polish groschen! So, you see, Baba, your gold would be of no use to me." "Listen to me, my son," again urged the wounded Turk, who was growing visibly weaker; "you are young; I can see that this wild life is not suited to you. If you had my gold, you could escape to Wallachia, buy an estate--a castle--serfs, and marry. Perhaps you already have a sweetheart--if so, why shouldn't you live in happiness with her, instead of skulking about in caves and swamps like a wild animal?" This suggestion made me thoughtful. It brought back to my mind my dear good Madus. Ah! if only I might fly with her, far away, to some region where she might become a respected lady. If I had the Turk's gold! I could easily keep it secreted in the crutch. Some day, when the haidemaken were away on an expedition, I could easily stupefy the few members of the band remaining in the cavern by drugging their mead with Venice treacle; and when they were sound asleep I could fetch my Madus from the Viszpa Ogrod and with her escape to a far away land. This thought impressed itself so deeply on my mind--it became so alluring that, unconsciously, my hand went out toward the beautiful yataghan. "If I thought I could keep the gold hidden!" I said, unconscious that I had given voice to the thought. "That will be easy enough; just leave it in the crutch," promptly responded the Turk. "When you join your comrades make believe to have taken cold in the swamp yonder, say that the muscles of your leg have contracted and made you lame. That will not only give you an excuse to use the crutch, but it will most likely get your discharge; a hobbling cripple is not a desirable comrade in a band of robbers." Without waiting to see how I might take his suggestion, the Turk proceeded at once to show me how to bandage my left leg, so that it could not be straightened at the knee; how to keep my ankle against the crutch, and hobble along on the right leg. I thought of Madus, for whom I would have hobbled on one leg to Jerusalem, and let him show me how to transform myself to a cripple. "Now, my son," he said, when he had delivered his instructions, "take my yataghan, my beautiful yataghan, and cut off my head--only don't hack it off as a butcher would with a cleaver. Swing the yataghan, thus, in a half-circle--easily, gracefully, as you would the bow of a violin. I will kneel here at your feet, bend forward, thus; then do you strike just here: between these two segments of the vertebræ. Be sure to keep firm hold on the handle to prevent the blade from slipping--" He gave me so many directions, kept on talking so long that Satan, who is ever at one's elbow, gave my arm a sudden thrust, and, before I knew what had happened, a body minus a head lay at my feet, while a head minus a body was rolling down the hill-- "_Homicidium!_" dictated the chair to the notary. To this the prince appended: "Under extenuating circumstances. We must not ignore the fact that the deed was committed at the urgent request of the decapitated--under approval of the Koran, and instigated, I might say, forced, to the act by the wicked one at the perpetrator's elbow." "It was killing a human being, all the same!" said Hugo, "and I had cause soon afterward to repent most bitterly what I had done. After I had committed the bloody deed I set out to overtake my comrades. They had secured much valuable booty which they were carrying on their backs. When I came up with them, hobbling on one leg and leaning on my crutch, they broke into loud laughter: "What the devil is the matter with you?" queried the leader. "I am all used up!" I groaned. "I killed an old Turk, whose lame leg prevented him from running away with the rest of them; and before he gave up the ghost he cursed me and prayed that I might be compelled to hobble along on a crutch for the rest of my life. He had hardly got the words out of his throat before my leg became as you see it, and I can't straighten it." "That comes of standing in the swamp--cold water will affect effeminate fellows like you in that way," observed Nyedzviedz. "But don't worry, we have among us one who understands how to cure such maladies. Ho, there! Przepiorka, come hither." I was frightened, I can tell you! If my leg were examined it would be found to be in a sound and healthy condition. But there was no help for it--I could not escape an examination. So I drew up the calf of the leg so tightly against the lower part of the thigh that Przepiorka, after he had tried several times in vain to straighten it pronounced it permanently crippled. On hearing this decision, I forgot my role and would have straightened the leg to convince myself that it could be done; but, what was my consternation and alarm to find that I was unable to do it. The affliction I had pretended had come upon me in earnest! God had punished me. I was a miserable cripple, unable to take a single step without the koltuk-dengenegi. How I cursed him who had left it to me in legacy! CHAPTER II. THE BERDICZOV MONASTERY. "Don't worry," said Nyedzviedz again, when he saw my distress. "Don't worry! You can still be of great service to us, even if you are lame. We have long wanted to add to our number just such a cripple." Then he summoned a sturdy, broad-shouldered robber and bade him take me on his back and in this fashion I journeyed with the band, the stronger members taking turns in carrying me. When we arrived at Oezakover forest, where we halted to rest, the leader said to me: "You will leave us here, Baran, and hobble to Berdiczov as best you can. I want you to spy out the situation there for us and get all the information you can. Then you will return to the cavern and on the news you bring will depend our plans of attack; I propose to capture the monastery." The extraordinary success of the Mohilow expedition had made our leader so arrogant that, because he had, with three-hundred men vanquished two-thousand, half of whom were armed, he now aspired to nothing of less importance than a garrisoned castle. And the wedge with which he proposed to force an entrance was my crippled leg! From near and far--from distant lands even, all manner of crippled folk, and invalids afflicted with divers maladies, journeyed to Berdiczov in search of healing. The indigent limped and hobbled on crutches to the miracle-working spot; the well-to-do rode on mules; the peasant was trundled in a barrow by his sturdy spouse; the tradesman travelled in his two-wheeled ox-cart; and the magnate was borne in his sedan-chair by his servants. Berdiczov monastery was the property of the Premonstrant monks. It stood on an elevation in the center of a charming valley. It was strongly fortified, and surrounded by thick walls, which were protected outside by a deep moat and palisades. A thermal spring at the foot of the hill fed the moat and turned the wheels of a grist mill. The only entrance to the monastery was over a narrow drawbridge that spanned the moat at its deepest part. The multitude of visitors to the healing spring found lodgings in the little village outside the walls of the monastery; and only one hundred worshippers at a time were permitted to enter the chapel inside the gates. If the crowd gathered at the drawbridge at the hour for services exceeded that number then mass was celebrated all day long, one hundred of the faithful entering at one door, as the hundred that had worshipped passed out by the other. Day and night guards armed to the teeth patrolled the walls and the court-yard; and no visitor was allowed to enter with weapons of any sort, for enormous wealth lay heaped within the walls of the monastery. When I saw the heaps on heaps of valuables in the treasure-chamber, I no longer wondered that Nyedzviedz desired to possess it. There was a massive altar of pure silver, the gift of King Stanislaus; golden alms basins, engraved with the name and history of the donor, Count Leszinsky; images of saints with mosaics of priceless gems; golden chalices; shrines glittering with rubies and diamonds; gemmed thuribles; antique crowns which had once adorned crania twice the size of the heads of our day; costly reliquaries; and, amid all this splendor, countless numbers of crutches and staves, the votive offerings of the afflicted who had found healing in the waters of the spring. The crutches and staves were the first objects to attract my eye, and I said to myself: "How gladly would I add to this collection the old Turk's koltuk-dengenegi with all its gold, could I but find healing for my crippled leg." When the choral began, I can't describe the feeling which took possession of me as I listened to the beautiful melody. I had no thought then for the treasures of gold and silver--no glance for anything but the image of the saint above the altar. I could not escape from the reproachful eyes it fixed on me. I felt that it was reading all the wicked thoughts in my breast. But, as I listened to the beautiful music, all the evil intentions I had brought with me to the monastery faded from my heart; and when the last sounds died away, there was not, in all the devout company, a more bitterly repentant wretch than I. When the service was concluded, the worshippers passed in front of the prior to receive his benediction. The prior was a venerable saint with a flowing white beard; his countenance expressed infinite goodness and benevolence. We had been told not to offer any gifts to the monks on entering the monastery; but to leave whatever we might think fit to bestow, on departing. The venerable prior dispensed his blessing to all alike. He did not inquire if the recipient were a believer, or a heretic. Christians, Jews, Mohammedans, all alike, received the godly man's benediction. I quitted the chapel wholly repentant. I had completely forgotten the errand on which I had been sent. Not once did it occur to me that I was there as a spy, to examine the walls, the mortars, to learn the strength of the garrison. I took my place in the procession of cripples, and hobbled along with them, mumbling the prayers prescribed for us. When we arrived at the miracle-working spring, I and my fellow-sufferers were undressed and placed on rafts in the water--rich and poor alike, no distinction was made between the magnate and the beggar. I can't say exactly how long I remained in the water; but when I came out, the crook had left my leg, it was straight and sound as before I came into possession of the old Turk's crutch. "Miraculum! Miraculum!" shouted the entire company; while I wept like a little child, for joy and gratitude. With my crutch over my shoulder, instead of under it I returned to the prior, who received me with a benignant smile. I knelt at his feet and asked him to receive my confession. I told him every thing; that I was there at the behest of the haidemaken leader to spy out the strength of the fortifications and the garrison; that the band was preparing to assault the monastery, so soon as they should hear from me; that they intended to bring with them a powerful field-gun, with which to force a breach in the walls through which the four-hundred fearless robbers would enter and overpower the soldiery. When I had concluded, and the prior had given me absolution, he said: "Now, my son, go back to those who sent you here and tell them what you have learned. Let them come with their field-gun, and do you come with them. When you are ordered to bombard the walls, do you obey--" "What? father;" I interrupted in astonishment. "You advise me to do that?" "Yes. On the bombardier depends the effect of the bombardment! It rests with him to aim well, or ill! Better you at the gun than another!" I understood the sagacious reply, and said: "I shall take good care not to aim well, father." "On you, my son, will it depend that the relief troops I shall send for reach here in time to save us from the robbers." "And you may rest assured, father, that I shall know how to prolong the siege!" As a pledge that I would keep faith with him I gave him my crutch, gratitude also prompting the gift, for, not even a gold-filled crutch is too great a price to pay for a sound leg! "I will keep it for you, my son," said the benevolent sage. "If you succeed in averting the danger which threatens us you shall have the crutch back, and something in addition--something of more value than gold: aid to reform. Take this image of the Holy Virgin to your wife with my blessing." A changed man at heart, I returned to the cavern, where, however, I was forced again to tell untruths, in order to deceive the robbers. But it was for a good cause. My comrades received me with gratulatory shouts when they saw me walking on two healthy legs. I told them I had been healed by magic--by the incantations of a witch, and they believed me! Had I told the truth, and that I had received the blessing of the prior, it would have made them suspicious. We now held a council of war, at which I delivered my report. I knew from experience that, to gain credence for a lie, one must invest it with a modicum of truth. Therefore, I described, without deviating one iota from the truth, the treasures I had seen, and even added to them--as, for instance: I said there were barrels filled with gold and silver, which made the robbers' mouths water. Nyedzviedz was full of ambitious plans. He intended, so soon as he got money enough, to combine under his leadership all the predatory bands in the Carpathian region, and with them invade and plunder the wealthy Galician cities, castles, and monasteries. He felt confident that the common people would be glad to aid in plundering the prelates and nobles. I described the fortifications of Berdiczov monastery as almost impregnable, when the truth was, that I could, with the culverin, have battered down the walls the first day while the rusty old mortars would do little damage among the beleaguerers. I ascribed to the prior the strategic talents of a field-marshall. My description of the moat, with the formidable palisades concealed under the water, quite discouraged the robbers from the plan they had made to swim across it, and storm the walls. Indeed, I told such astounding tales about the powder mines under the walls and moat, that their confidence in me became absolute when I sketched my plan of assault. I proposed to batter the fortifications in such a manner, that the _debris_ would fall into and fill up the moat, which would enable us to cross it without injury, and enter through the breaches I had made in the walls. I won the leader's favor and approval to such an extent that he committed the entire conduct of the important expedition into my hands. At the conclusion of the council, I asked as a special favor to be allowed to spend a day with my beloved Madus before we set out on the expedition. Nyedzviedz at first was unwilling to consent. "I know," he said, "just how women-folk are. It is best for a soldier to have nothing to do with them. Their tears are sure to melt a soft heart." But I persisted in my request, and at last received permission to visit the Viszpa Ogrod. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon when I descended the steep path to the secluded valley. While yet some distance from our little cottage, I heard my Madus singing sweetly--I can hear her now, and see her as she came joyfully to meet me. How happy she was! The poor child believed I had come to stop, and as I did not want to cloud her joy, I put off until the moment of my departure, telling her that I was again to accompany her father on a distant expedition. One day at least I would spend happily. So, I let my Madus tell me all that had happened in the valley during my absence; I heard also how much dried fruit, how many smoked trout, how many cheeses, she had in store for the winter; how many yards of beautiful linen she had woven from the flax she had cultivated with her own hands. Last of all, she exhibited, with blushing cheeks, her little treasures: cunning little caps, and jackets, at sight of which my heart leapt for joy in my bosom. She confided to me in a whisper that, when Christmas should arrive, her Bethlehem crib would have received its occupant. Oh, how gladly would I have remained with her! But it could not be. I had more ambitious plans for her. I was bent on escaping with her to the great world, where she should--as she deserved--become a fine lady. After she had told me everything about herself, she asked me to relate what I had done while absent. When I told her how successful the expedition had proved, I found that the Madus who tended her doves and made cheeses in the Viszpa Ogrod, was vastly different from the Madus who had once accompanied the haidemaken expeditions. She grew pale with horror when I described the slaughter of the caravan; and the occurrence which resulted in my becoming the inheritor of the old Turk's crutch, and a lame leg. She became more composed, however, when I told her about the marvelous cure at the healing spring; and quite recovered her composure when I gave her the image of the Holy Virgin the prior had sent her. Ah me! that image was her death, as well as her salvation. The next morning I told her I had to leave her again. She sought with tears and caresses to dissuade me from going. She clasped her arms around my neck, then flung herself at my feet, and clasped my knees--she seemed unable to control her wild despair. I have often thought since that the poor child had a presentiment she would never again behold me in this life. I sought in vain to comfort her; in vain I assured her that I would never leave her again after I returned from this expedition, from which I hoped to secure what would enable me to establish a home for her in some large city. She was inconsolable. She accompanied me to the entrance to the rock-corridor, and would have gone clear to the cavern, had not her father met us just as we were entering the passage. He frightened her by saying it would be unsafe to venture among the haidemaken in her condition, as all robbers entertained the superstitious belief that the fourth finger from the hand of an unborn babe rendered the possessor invulnerable to bullet and sword. Nyedzviedz would not even allow a last embrace, but thrust us roughly apart; and forced me to precede him into the corridor. I kept looking back from time to time, so long as the entrance remained in sight. My Madus stood, looking after me, in the circular opening of the rocky wall; she seemed like a saint encompassed by a halo of light, and as the corridor grew darker and more gloomy the radiant image at my back increased in brilliance until a sudden turn hid the beautiful vision from my sight. That same evening we set out for Berdiczov--four-hundred haidemaken, with the culverin. CHRISTMAS. It was early Autumn when we began the siege, which I conducted in so skillful--from my point of view!--a manner, that December found us still outside the walls of the monastery. Three times I changed the position of our assaulting forces; but took good care every time to select a point far enough from the walls to prevent our shots from damaging them to any considerable extent. Nyedzviedz kept urging me to a nearer approach: he said we were so distant, that the cannon-balls from the fortifications had to roll over the ground to reach our lines. So, one day, after he had examined the ground, and discovered what he believed to be a more advantageous position, I was forced, in order not to rouse his suspicions, to comply with his request. While superintending the throwing up of intrenchments the first night I managed to secrete under the earth-works a keg of powder, and in the morning I told the leader that extreme caution would be necessary, now that we were so much nearer to the fortifications, as the monks were having powder-mines laid under our breast-works. I had heard peculiar noises during the night, I told him, and, suspecting what was being done, I had scattered a few peas on the head of a drum standing on the ground. The lively dancing of the peas had convinced me that my suspicions were correct. But the leader was incredulous. He decided to take observations for himself; and would spend the following night in the trenches, when he could also watch the result of our bombardment. This would make it impossible for me to carry out my plans for exploding the keg of powder hidden in the breast-works. But, I was not to be outdone. I happened to remember an expedient I had once employed with success, and resorted to it again: I drew the fuse through a long reed, one end of which I thrust into the keg. I had to be very cautious; for Nyedzviedz had a nose that could smell a match cord at long range; but with the fuse inside the reed, I could prevent the fumes from getting into the range of his olfactor. The powder exploded at the right moment, just when the leader was bending eagerly over the breast-work to peer after a bomb. After the smoke and dust cleared away, I drew him from under the heap of earth, from which only his legs protruded. He had not been injured in the least, but all desire to assault the enemy at so close a range had fled, and I was allowed to return to our former position, on the brow of a hill, a considerable distance farther from the fortifications. I consoled the dissatisfied haidemaken with the assurance that, when the real cold weather of winter should set in, the moat would freeze over; then it would be an easy matter to storm the walls at close range. I did not think it necessary to tell them that the warm spring would prevent the water in the moat from freezing. In the meantime came Christmas--an anxiously longed-for day in many respects. With the dawn of Christmas morning came a furious snow-storm, the north wind flinging down on us such masses of flakes that it was impossible to see ten steps away. It was just the sort of weather I had calculated on. The bombardment had to cease, as the monastery was completely hidden from view behind the veil of snow. The haidemaken retired to their tents, and amused themselves, gaming with dice and cards, for what stakes do you imagine? They had no money, remember! Why, the winner paid, and the loser received, a box on the ear! I hadn't any fondness for the game myself; but my comrades seemed to enjoy it hugely. While gaming, drinking, cursing, were going on in the other tents, I sat in my own, alone, and silent, pondering over my past years. I recalled the different anniversaries of the blessed day, beginning with the first I could remember when, held in my mother's arms, I removed from the Christmas-tree my first ginger-bread doll, which I was loath to eat because of its beautiful golden hue. Then, my thoughts turned to the humble cot in the Viszpa Ogrod; and I wondered, with a strange trembling in my bosom, if the little Bethlehem crib, my Madus had prepared for the reception of a precious occupant, now held its treasure. The monastery bells were ringing for the Christmas service; on the bastion a long procession of monks with innumerable lamps was moving toward the chapel. The wind was driving the clouds across the sky, and hundreds of witch-forms rioted above the camp, in the faint light which came from a mist-veiled moon. The snow-fall had ceased; only the wind, which was scattering the storm-clouds, still swept with unabated vigor across the plain, packing the fine snow more compactly together. Suddenly, amid the noise of carousing and shouting which came from the neighboring tents, I heard a sound that made me drop quickly to my knees, and lay my ear close to the ground. At last! At last! They were coming! I could hear distinctly the hoof-beats, when they crossed the rocky road from which the wind had swept the snow. Then, the sound ceased--they were come to the plain where the snow muffled the noise of the hoofs. Duke Visznovieczky's dragoons were approaching at a brisk trot to the assistance of Berdiczov monastery. I did not wait for them to come up. In the dark all cows are black! I said to myself: "It will be useless to try to convince the dragoon who raises his sword against me that I am this one, and not the other one!" So I wrapped myself in my mantle, slipped from the tent, and ran fleetly toward the monastery. When I paused to look back, after the relief troop had begun the attack on the robber camp, I saw the witch-dance I had seen earlier, it had descended to the earth, and with it was joined a tumult of demons; of black forms, and white, darting hither and thither; of furious sword cuts; frenzied cries; mad flight, and swift pursuit! The early morning assault was successful. The dragoons routed the haidemaken without a shot. What became of my comrades I cannot say, for I continued on my way to the monastery, where I shouted myself hoarse before the draw-bridge was lowered to admit me. Early mass had just been concluded. The monks with their tall candlesticks, chanting a psalm of praise, led the procession returning from the chapel; the cripples hobbling in the rear, hummed the antiphony. But, hei! didn't the devout company break ranks quickly when I appeared before them with the announcement: "Duke Visznovieczky's dragoons are come, and have attacked the haidemaken camp!" The psalm-singing ceased at once; and, instead, everybody was shouting: "To arms! To arms!" Even the canopy-bearers left the prior in the middle of the court-yard, and ran to fetch their arms; while the cripples hopped about on one leg and brandished their crutches and staves. By this time we could see that the beleaguerers were fleeing before the dragoons in every direction. The valiant burgers who, at the beginning of the siege, had taken refuge in the monastery, could now no longer repress their heroic feelings. Seizing whatever would serve as a weapon, the brave fellows dashed across the draw-bridge and sped toward the field of battle; the reverend fathers followed at a more dignified pace; the cripples brought up the rear, and assisted the worthy burgers to complete the work of destruction begun by the dragoons, by cutting off the feet of those haidemaken who had already been decapitated. Whether Nyedzviedz had succeeded in escaping the fate of many of his comrades, I could not learn then; nor did I care! I was too thankful that I had been spared from destruction and delivered from the clutch of the robber-band. Therewith ended my career as a haidemak. The prisoner here paused in his confession, feeling that he, as well as the court, needed a rest. "I am inclined to believe," observed the prince, "that the accused rehabilitated himself through his valiant act. So much as he sinned, so much he made good! He was healed by a miracle of God; therefore, it behooves us earthly judges to consider well before we pass sentence where the Heavenly Judge granted absolution." To this the chair, with obvious irritation, made reply: "If your highness intends to permit this malefactor to extenuate, in a like manner, all the rest of his misdeeds, when he gets to the end of the list we shall feel that he deserves canonization instead of punishment." PART III. IN THE SERVICE OF THE DUKE. CHAPTER I. MALACHI. The next day the prisoner continued his confession: My experience at Berdiczov monastery, my deliverance from destruction, as well as the miraculous restoration of my crippled limb, decided me to adopt the faith of the holy brotherhood. Their solemn ceremonies, their elevating devotions, their piety, made a deep impression on me; but the most comforting to me of all their rites was that of the confessional. It was such a comfort to unbosom myself to one in whom I could trust implicitly; to confide in him all the secrets that tortured my dreams by night, and my thoughts by day. And then, to receive absolution--to get back, as it were, the bond I had given to Satan! One day was not long enough for all I had to tell. I could have spent every day of the week in the confessional, pouring into the ear of the good Father Agapitus the sins which burdened my conscience. And one day I confessed, too, that I was becoming weary of the life in the monastery, where there was nothing to do but tend to the sick all day long; and that I wanted to go back to the world--if not to my former sinful life. After I had confessed, I ventured to ask the worthy father to recommend me to some Polish noble, with whom I should have little work and much amusement. There were many such places, I said, where the services of a man of my stamp were required. "My dear son," returned the worthy father, "I cannot recommend you to a Christian man of the world, for, although I could tell him that you are a pious confrater now, I could not say that you have always been honest. I know just the contrary, and I cannot give false witness. But I will do what I can for you. Here is the crutch you left with us--the gold is still in it. Take it, garb yourself in beggar raiment, and limp to Lemberg, where lives a Master Malachi in the Jewish quarter of the city. You need only to inquire for him, and you will be directed to his house. He is a wicked man, in league with Satan. He deserves to have been sent to the scaffold long ago--and he will get there should the Inquisition be established. Malachi is the man for your needs. Tell him what you require, he will understand you--especially if you tell him what your crutch contains!" I could understand clearly that a pious man like Father Agapitus could do nothing for me--so notorious a sinner! He could not give me a letter of recommendation, with false dates; it was enough if he directed me where to find an accomplished counterfeiter, who could supply my wants. So, I kissed his hand in gratitude; bade him farewell, and, with my crutch under my shoulder, set out for Lemberg, begging my way so that no one should suspect that I carried in my crutch the wherewith to pay for food and lodging. When I arrived in Lemberg I repaired at once to the Jews' quarter, where the streets are so narrow two wagons cannot pass one another. Directly I entered the principal thoroughfare, which seemed a veritable rag-fair from one end to the other, I was surrounded by a swarm of noisy children. I took from my pocket a denarius, held it up before them, and said I would give it to the lad who would conduct me to the house of Malachi, whereupon the youngsters began to quarrel as to which of them should become the possessor of the coin. The largest scamp among them, who succeeded by force of his superior size and strength to vanquish his fellows, offered himself as guide. He led me a pretty chase, through numerous byways and alleys, where there was hardly room for two persons to pass, to a shop in front of which was sitting an aged dame, with her cap drawn down to her eyebrows. Said my guide, after I had placed the denarius in his hand: "This woman knows where Malachi lives--she will tell you;" and before I could stop him, the little rascal was off down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. I turned to the crone, who kept nodding her old head as if she were assenting to anything I might say to her, took from my pocket a _Marien-groschen_, and holding it toward her, said: "Here, mother, this pretty coin shall be yours if you will direct me to Malachi's house." She nodded--as much as to say "very good;" rose from her chair, shuffled into the shop, where she filled a small vial with red Polish brandy. This she handed to me with one hand, at the same time extending the other for the money. "I don't want brandy--I want to know where Malachi lives?" I shouted at the top of my voice. The dame trotted back into the shop and brought a bottle of green Russian brandy. The little scamp had left me to deal with a deaf woman! When I bawled into her ear for the third time the name of Malachi, she fetched from the shop a packet of insect powder which she offered in exchange for the _Marien-groschen_. Then I bethought me of an expedient which is usually successful in like cases: I took from my pocket a crown and held it toward the dame. This cure for deafness proved effective. "Oh, you want to find Malachi?" she said in a cautious whisper, nodding understandingly. "Follow me." She closed and locked the shop-door, opened a little gate at the corner of the house, led me across a vegetable garden hung with soiled clothes; across a second; thence through a narrow passage, between two old buildings, into a wood-shed; from there into a cellar; then over a swinging bridge across an ill-smelling canal; and, lastly, through a long, seemingly interminable corridor, at the end of which she knocked with her staff at a wooden door, at the same time whispering in my ear, and taking the crown from my hand: "I can't tell you where Malachi lives; but I have brought you to the thaumaturgus, who knows everything; he will tell you where to find Malachi." The door opened, and I saw before me a venerable man with silvery hair and beard. He was blind. His tall form was enveloped in a black silk robe girt about the waist by an oriental sash. From his garb, I concluded that a coin of greater value would be necessary to procure the information I desired. "Are you the man who knows everything?" I inquired. The old gentleman was not in the least chary of words. With great readiness he declared that he understood the language of the birds of the air; the speech of the beasts of the field; that he could converse with dragons; could discover subterranean springs; could tell any man whether or no he was the son of his father; could even understand the tongue in which demons spake-- "But," I interrupted, "I don't want to know any of these things. If you will tell me where Malachi lives, I will pay for the information." "Ah, my son!" he responded, turning his sightless eyes heavenward; "that is a difficult question to answer. There are in this world as many Malachis as there are flowers in the field, and stars in the sky. There are seventy-seven in this very city; a Malachi Mizraim; a Malachi Meschugge; a Malachi Choschen; Malachi Pinkas; Malachi Honnowas--How do I know which Malachi you want?" "I want the one who is a--counterfeiter," I answered, with some hesitation. "Ah, my son!" again ejaculated the venerable sage, shaking his head sadly, "how sorry I am to hear that you are on such evil ways! All the Malachis with whom I have to do are honest, God-fearing men." I saw plainly that I should have to assist the old gentleman's memory; I pressed a gold coin into his palm. He turned it over and over in his fingers; tested it in various ways; and, after convincing himself that it was genuine, he delivered this apothegmatic solution of the riddle: "My son, he whom you seek, I cannot find. I have never seen him--I am blind. We will consult the Miracle." He stepped back into the room, to the table, where he groped about with his hands among the different objects, until he found a long steel needle. This he thrust between the leaves of a heavy book lying on the table, opened it, and placing his forefinger at the point of the needle, where it rested on the page, said, in a prophetic tone: "He whom the Miracle designates is Ben Malachi Peixoto, the Portuguese--not I, but the Miracle says so." "And where shall I find this Portuguese?" I asked. "When you go from the door of my dwelling, you will find his directly opposite. Knock twice, then once, then twice again, and you will be admitted. And now, my son, go your way in peace!" A stocky youth, with a candle, conducted me down a dark stairway, opened the door, and I found myself in the same street from which I had started on my quest. Malachi's house was the first one on the corner. I had been led a tramp, for half a day, hither and thither, up and down, through the entire Ghetto, to reach the first house in it! I knocked on the door as I had been directed; it was opened by a quince-colored lad. I cannot say for certain whether it was a lad or a lass, I think, though, it was a lad. I could not understand the language he spoke--indeed, I don't believe it was a language at all! He conducted me up a creaking staircase, into a darkened room, in the corner of which crouched a human form with its back to the door. He did not turn at my entrance, but kept his face turned from me all the time I was in the room. In front of him was a mirror in which he could see my reflection. The fleeting glimpse I caught of his face in the glass, told me that the mysterious creature had no beard; his face was quite smooth, which I believe is the fashion among Portuguese Jews; it had been embrocated with orpiment, which eats off the hair of the beard--a Mosaic law prohibiting the use of metal to remove hair from the face. "Is Malachi at home?" I inquired. "Malachi is at home; what do you want of him?" The man spoke in the third person, so that I could not have sworn that he to whom I addressed my inquiries was Malachi or not. "I will tell you my errand as briefly as possible," said I. "I want to secure a position in the household of Duke Visznovieczky, and require a patent of nobility to certify to my noble birth. I also want an academic testimonial; a certificate of baptism and confirmation in the Roman Catholic Church; and, lastly, I want a letter of recommendation from some grand duke or other, which testifies to my erudition, and skill in all the sciences, as well as to my excellent character. Of course I don't expect you to furnish me with all these documents for nothing. I am willing to pay your price for them. How much do you ask?" The man replied to my reflection in the mirror: "Malachi's answer to your insolent request is: You have applied to the wrong person. Malachi does not meddle with such criminal doings. Moreover, Malachi has nothing whatever to do with ragged beggars like yourself. If you desire to become such a knight as you describe, and have the money to pay for the transformation, go to Malachi's cousin, Malchus, the tailor, who sells gentlemen's clothing. He lives on the corner of Bethel street, beside the fountain. From him you can buy all manner of fine raiment. Malchus will transform you to a noble knight--if you have the money to pay for it. And now be gone from here, and don't come back again, for Malachi is an honest man whose lips do not utter falsehoods; his fingers have never been stained with the ink of forgery." Firmly believing that he was the Malachi I sought, I departed from his house with a disappointed heart, and betook myself to Bethel street, to the house beside the fountain, where I found Malchus the tailor. I would at least exchange my beggar's garb for the raiment of a gentleman. "How glad I am to see your lordship again!" exclaimed the little man, as I stepped into his door. "May I become as the dust of the street, if it doesn't seem a hundred years since I saw you last! But, does your lordship imagine I could fail to recognize the noble knight Zdenko Kochanovszki, who, in fulfillment of a vow, journeyed on foot, and garbed as a pilgrim, to Jerusalem and back? Have not I, Malchus the tailor, eyes to see? I'll wager my head against a button, that nobody but myself would recognize your lordship in those ragged garments. Could the beautiful Persida, from whom your lordship received the magnificent wreath at the tournament, see you now, she would say: 'Give this ragged beggar a penny, and drive him away.' She is a duchess now, the wife of the powerful Duke Visznovieczki. But _I_ have not forgotten your lordship; I still have the clothes your lordship left in pledge with me--also the embroidered leather-belt with the bag containing the documents. I kept them all, safely concealed, for I knew your lordship, the brave and noble Zdenko Kochanovszki, would return from the holy land and redeem his pledge." I saw at once that I should have to accept the personality thrust upon me by the loquacious little tailor, and call myself Zdenko Kochanovszki; and when I found how admirably the puissant knight's cast-off garments fitted me, I no longer hesitated to take possession of his name also. And that is how I became Zdenko Kochanovszki. When I was completely garbed--and a stately mazar, I looked in the knight's habiliments!--I asked Malchus what was to pay. "Why, surely your lordship remembers the sum I advanced on the clothes? Of course, I did not count in the loan the jeweled clasps your lordship desired to be sent to the beautiful Persida; so you owe me only a round hundred ducats--" "A hundred ducats?" I repeated in consternation. "Why there isn't in all Poland a waywode who can boast of so costly a suit of clothes." Malchus smiled slyly: "That is very true, my lord, and there is not in all Poland a magnate who can boast of more valuable documents than those in the bag attached to your lordship's leather-belt. When your lordship left them with me and charged me to care for them as for the apple of my eye, I knew they must be of great importance. So I have kept them safely concealed all these years. I don't know what the papers contain as I can read only what I write with my own hand. I don't understand Latin, or Greek; and I don't know how to read from left to right; consequently your lordship may believe me when I say I have not read the papers. Your lordship will find everything in the bag just as when it was placed in my hands for safe keeping." I opened the bag, and, on examining the documents, found to my surprise and delight that they were just what I wanted. There was a patent of nobility, with a Turk's head in the crest--(concerning the Turk's head I might justly have appropriated it for my own escutcheon, only I had not come into possession of it on the battlefield!) There was also an academic certificate, from the Rector of Sarbonne, with the baccalaureate degree; also certificates of baptism and confirmation, signed by the bishop of Cracow; a testimonial of valor from the imperial commander-in-chief, Montecucculi; and a pardon from the patriarch of Jerusalem--such as are bestowed on pilgrims to the Holy Sepulchre--all of which were the property of Zdenko Kochanovszki--who I was! Malchus continued to smile slyly while I was examining the documents, and when I had read the last one he said: "Doesn't your lordship think these handsome clothes are worth one hundred ducats?" I gave him a hearty slap on the back; then counted out a "round hundred ducats." The clothes were not worth one-tenth that sum, but I was quite satisfied with my purchase. I was now fully equipped for my entrance to the ducal palace; as Zdenko Kochanovszki I might without hesitation seek admittance anywhere. He to whom the name rightly belonged had disappeared eight years before, and had most likely lost his life in the Holy Land, or in the battle with the infidels in Hungary. Whoever still remembered the beardless youth, would not wonder at the great change eight years of hardship and danger had made in him; and would expect to find the man a different looking person from the boy. As for my looks--I doubt if my own mother would have recognized me. The duke was an old man, of a girth so enormous that he was obliged to wear a broad surcingle as support to his rotund paunch. His hair and beard were gray on the right side, but black on the left, which gave him a very peculiar appearance. When I presented myself before him, he seized both my hands, and exclaimed: "What! Zdenko Kochanovszki back again? The devil! What a man you are grown! Do you remember what we did at parting?" I was confused for a moment: how was I to remember what I had never known? However, I had to reply, so I stammered what I thought the most probable: "We drank to each other, your grace." "By heaven, you are right, lad! That is what we did! But, do you also remember our wager?" I ventured another guess, and answered: "Each wagered he could drink the other under the table." "Ha, ha, ha! Right--right!" shouted his grace, embracing and kissing me. "That's what we wagered--and the devil fly away with me if I don't match you again this very moment! Ho, there, fetch the bratina." The bratina is a huge golden beaker that holds two quarts. This was brought to me, filled with Hegyaljaner wine. Now, I had fasted for many hours, and was both hungry and thirsty, so that it did not require much of an effort on my part to empty the bratina at a draught--to the supernaculum! "The devil fetch me!" roared the jovial duke. "If I had not recognized you already, I should know you now!" I had no difficulty drinking his grace under the table; and from that hour I became an important member of his household. CHAPTER II. PERSIDA. "_Crimen falsi_," dictated the chair to the notary. "But"--the prince made haste to add--"But, _immediatum_, not _spontaneum_. The accused was led to the indirect committal of the act by the instructions of Father Agapitus; the real criminal is a Jew--it is he who deserves the stake. Therefore, the prisoner's transgression may be remitted." "If this continues," grumblingly commented the chair, "the prisoner will surely talk himself out of every one of his crimes. Well"--addressing himself to the accused--"I don't know what to call you, but for the time being Zdenko Kochanovszki, continue." Under that name, your honor, resumed Hugo, I lived the most memorable days of my life. I was treated by the duke as a good comrade and familiar friend. We hunted together for days in the ducal forests slaying the wild bulls and bears by the hundreds; and when we returned to the palace the merry-making began. There would be feasting and drinking; the most enchanting music by a band of Bohemian players; the court-fools would amuse us with all sorts of buffoonery; and when any of the jovial company succumbed to the beaker and tumbled under the table the attendants carried them to bed. Not infrequently it happened that his grace and myself would be the only two left at the table--we being able to stand more than the others. At times, too, I would entertain the company by relating the most wonderful tales of my pilgrimage, which were listened to with close attention. In all this time I had not seen a single woman about the palace. The grand-duchess was absent on a pilgrimage to Berdiczov, in fulfillment of a vow. I learned from one of the guests that the duke's marriage had not been blessed with an heir, and this was why the duchess had undertaken the devout journey. As she knew she should be absent several weeks, she took with her all the women servants, as well as her ladies-in-waiting--from which I guessed the fair Persida to be a shrewd, as well as a beautiful woman. I waited her grace's return with no little apprehension, for, with the exception of the grand duke himself, every one about the palace knew that Zdenko Kochanovszki had been a devoted admirer of the lady before her marriage. Indeed, it was said that her marriage to the rich old duke had sent the youthful Zdenko on his pilgrimage. That all this was unknown to his grace was certain, else the reception accorded to me, whom he believed to be his former boon companion, would not have been so cordial. There would be some sport when the lady returned home. Would she, too, see in me her quondam admirer? What would happen to me if the eyes of a loving woman should prove more keen than those of her husband? What would be the result if she saw through my masquerade? If she should say: "Away with this rogue--he is a deceiver! I know what dwells in the eyes of the true Zdenko, for I have looked into them. These are not Zdenko's eyes." And again: what would happen if she should believe me to be her one-time lover? and question me as her husband had done: "Do you remember the promise we gave to each other?" And, suppose I should be as lucky in guessing the reply as before! * * * * * The duke spoke boastfully of his dragoon's victory over the haidemaken before the walls of Berdiczov monastery. The robbers had been mowed down like grain; only the leader and a few of his men had escaped by the skin of their teeth; their field-gun had been captured and the gunner hanged on one of the tallest trees--your honors may guess that I took good care not to deny this statement! I praised the duke's heroism, and listened attentively to his tales about the terrible haidemaken, as if I had never heard of them before. At last, one fine day, the pilgrims returned from Berdiczov; and the joyous sound of women's voices was heard in the palace. Master and man hastened to welcome the fair ones. I alone had no one to greet. I was very curious to see what manner of woman the beautiful Persida might be--she for whose sake the owner of my name had gone out into the wide world. The duke hastened to assist her from the carriage on the arrival of the caravan. She was very graceful--tall, with a pale face, large, dark languishing eyes, full red lips, and coal black hair. When her spouse pressed his moist moustache to her lips, she made a grimace. He was overjoyed at her return. The duke's guests and attendants welcomed the returned duchess, each in their own fashion; the former pressed their lips to her hand; the latter kissed the hem of her robe. I did not want my first meeting with her grace to take place in the presence of the entire household; but the duke called me from the hall, where I had withdrawn, and said: "See here, my love, who is this? Look at him, and tell me if you recognize the lad?" I was afraid to meet the glance which scrutinized my features--I felt that I should be compelled to blurt out: "I am Baran, gunner of the haidemaken." "You don't recognize him, do you?" again said the duke. "I knew you wouldn't. 'Tis our long absent comrade Zdenko Kochanovszki." For one single instant I saw into that woman's soul. At mention of my name, a sudden light leapt into her eyes--a world of passion flamed for one brief instant. Her husband had not seen it, only I. Then the beautiful eyes became cold again, and indifferent, and the queenly head was gravely bent in recognition of an old acquaintance, the slender fingers were extended for the formal kiss of greeting. She did not vouchsafe another glance toward me, but turned toward the duke, laid her hand on his arm, and said with sudden friendliness: "_Comment vous portez-vous, mon petit drôle?_" Although her grace took no further notice of me, I saw my way clear for the future. With the return of the duchess the household regulations underwent a complete change. The noisy tipplers received their _congé_; the nightly carousals came to an end. Quite a different mode of life had been prescribed by the prior of the monastery for the ducal pair, if they wished his blessing to have the desired effect. All fast days were to be strictly observed; they might eat only sparingly of the plainest food--only of those dishes which conduce to strength: snails, frogs, and those vegetables which grow under ground. This sort of diet, as you may guess, was not suited to the palates of the duke's guests. One after another took his departure, until none remained but myself; and I had become indispensable to his grace, because of my ability to amuse him with adventurous tales. Every evening the duchess would send for me to read aloud in a religious book, about saints, until the duke would become sleepy. Her grace continued to treat me with extreme reserve; she never lifted her eyes to mine when she spoke to me, but always kept them lowered, as if she were addressing her remarks to my boots. She appeared to be extraordinarily pious; she would repeat a long prayer before and at the end of every meal. She never called me by name--always "Sir." Indeed, the only time she unbent from her frigid reserve, was, when she patted her husband's fat, bearded cheek, or pulled his moustache, to restore him to a good humor; but these occasions were rare. Before the duke retired for the night, the duchess prepared with her own fair hands his slumber draught, the recipe for which she had received from the prior of Berdiczov monastery. It was composed of all sorts of costly spices--an enumeration of which I may repeat later, should I take up the trade of concocting various potations, the efficacy of which may not be doubted. The chief ingredient of the duke's sleeping potion was hot, red wine; and he was wont to smack his lips and exclaim after he had emptied the glass: "Ah!--my love, that has quite rejuvenated me." He would spring lightly as a youth from his arm-chair, take his wife's hand, and gallantly conduct her to their private chambers, leaving me to the solitary perusal of the pious volume--to learn what had happened to St. Genevieve, when Attila's Huns besieged Paris. One evening we were engaged as usual with our instructive reading. The duke and his wife were seated in front of the fire-place; I, as always, occupied a chair at the table on which rested the ponderous "History of the Saints and Martyrs." I had been reading for an hour and more, how St. Genevieve had relieved Paris a second time from famine, when the duke suddenly interrupted to say he was so thirsty he must beg that his nightly potion be given to him at once. His wife prepared it for him; but, instead of rising to retire to his own rooms as usual, after he had emptied the glass, he settled himself back in his chair, clasped his hands over his paunch, and in a few minutes his powerful snoring again interrupted the reading. The duchess looked at him for several moments with an indescribable expression on her lovely face--a mixture of loathing, rage, and contempt; then, she sprang to her feet, came swiftly toward the table where I was sitting, and gave it so vigorous a thrust with her foot that it toppled over and fell, together with the Saints and Martyrs, to the floor with a loud noise. His grace did not stir; his snores continued with unabated vigor. Before I had recovered from my astonishment at her grace's behavior, she seated herself on my knee and flung her arms around my neck: "So you have come back to me, Zdenko? Tell me, do you still love me?" she asked in a passionate whisper, at the same time making it impossible for me to reply-- "Stop!" here interrupted the chair: "I don't quite understand how that could be?" "I do," promptly, and succinctly interposed the prince. "Continue, prisoner, what happened next?" I hardly know how to tell it, your highness. It was like a dream of paradise! I knew that every kiss I received and returned was deceit, robbery, sacrilege; I knew I was cheating the house which sheltered me; the master of the house who fed me; the unknown man whose name I bore--the woman--God--the devil--all--all. And yet, were you to ask me what I should do were I to be placed in the same situation again, I should reply: "Just what I did then--and if it cost me my life!" "Hardened reprobate!" exclaimed the chair in a tone of reprimand. Then he dictated to the notary: "_Adulterium cum stellionatum_--" "But," hastily interposed the prince, "he did not begin it. In this case, as in that of Father Adam: the woman was to blame. The prisoner will continue." I know it was a great crime--I know it very well, and it oppresses my soul to this day, although I have received absolution for it. In that moment of oblivion to all things earthly, the lovely Persida whispered in my ear: "Zdenko, if you could journey to the Holy Land for love of me you could also endure a season of purgatory for my sake, could you not?" Without stopping to consider, I answered: "Certainly I could!" "Very well, then, do not confess this sin which is half mine. Do not confide it to priest, or saint, for no matter to whom you might confess, misfortune would come to me as well as to you." I promised not to confess the sin; but I went about with it weighting my soul, much as a wounded stag roams the forest with a dart in his vitals. The old duke at last became so devout that he compelled every member of his household to repair to the confessional in his private chapel, every fast day. There was nothing to be seen of the priest who received the penitents, but his hand, in which he held a long ivory wand with which he would touch the penitent as a sign that absolution had been granted. The duke confessed first; after him the duchess; then I, the house-friend, and major-domo of the ducal household. When my turn came, I took my place before the lattice and said to the confessor: "Father, will you give me your word of honor that you will never tell what I confess to you?" "Don't ask such silly questions, my son," he replied. "Don't you know that the secrets of the confessional are inviolably sacred?" "But, suppose you should tell them sometime?" I persisted. "Then I should be burned at the stake." "Has it never happened that a priest betrayed the secrets confided to him in the confessional?" I asked again. "Such a case is not on record, my son. Not even the confession of a murderer may be revealed, though the priest knows that an innocent man will be hanged for the crime. He dare not speak to prevent the law from committing another murder. On the other hand, many a priest has suffered martyrdom rather than betray the secrets confided to him. An illustrious example is Saint Nepomuck, of whom I dare say you have heard?" "Yes, I have read about John Nepomucene; but are you a saint of that order?" "The vows I have taken, my son, are the same he took." "That is not enough, father; you must swear to me that you will never reveal what I tell you." And his reverence had to yield to my importunate request before I would make my confession to him. After he had solemnly sworn never to reveal what I should tell him, I made a clean breast of everything--and a rare list it was I can tell you! At the last transgression, however, I made a pause. I remembered what Persida had said to me. And yet, the sin I shared with her was the very one that most oppressed my soul. The father noticed my hesitation, and said: "My son, you are keeping back something. You have not told me everything. It is not likely that a stately young gentleman like yourself lives only on caraway-soup! There are many handsome women in this city; every one of them confesses her foibles--you, surely, are not the only saint about here! Remember, if you withhold but a single transgression, your tortures in purgatory will be the same as for nine-hundred and ninety-nine." The reverend father continued to threaten me with purgatorial fires, until at last I confided in him the secret which was only half mine. I had no sooner done so than I regretted it; I would have given anything could I have recalled my words--nay, I would willingly have journeyed straightway to purgatory, as I had told Persida I would, rather than betray the secret we shared together. But the secrets of a sinful love have wings--they will escape somehow. When I bent forward to receive the reverend father's benediction, he gave me such a thump on the head with his wand that the spot remained sore to the touch for several days. "He absolves one with a will, and no mistake!" I said to myself as I rose to go my way. It occurred to me for an instant, that it would be exceedingly comical if, instead of a priest, it had been the duke who received my confession. I turned to look toward his grace's arm-chair, and was relieved to see that his burly form occupied it, and that he was wrapped in devout slumber. THE IRON NECKLACE. Freed from the burden of my transgressions, I proceeded to do what is usually done by the prodigal sons who have been relieved of their old debts--I set about at once to make new ones. I looked forward with impatience for evening to arrive, for the hour of instructive reading in the book of Saints and Martyrs. On this particular evening the duke was even more friendly toward me than usual; he jested with me, and frequently compelled me to exchange glasses with him as a sign of his cordial friendship. When the hour arrived for the duchess to prepare the "rejuvenating sleeping potion," his grace became actually boisterous; his fat face grew crimson, his rotund paunch shook like jelly, with his incessant laughter. "See here, comrade," he exclaimed, taking from his wife's hand the goblet in which the hot, spiced wine was steaming, "this is a drink of paradise! When I have emptied it into my stomach, I fly direct to paradise--not the one described by our holy men, where all the men are old, and all the women pious; where there is neither eating nor drinking and where there are no amusements save harp-playing and psalm singing--no, I fly straightway to the improved paradise of the Mohammedans, where there is wine to drink and women to admire. There an enchanting Greek _Hetäre_ offers you the wine of Cyprus; the Roman bacchante offers Falernian wine; the Spanish donna serves Maderia; the Lesbian siren gives you nectar; the Persian bayadere brings Shiraz; the Wallachian fairy, Tokay; and the negress Abelera dips up sparkling Bordeaux in the hollow of her dusky palm and holds it to your lips--each more beautiful than the other, until at last you cannot decide which of the wines is the most delicious. That is _I_ cannot, for you have not yet made the journey. But you shall; for are not we good comrades--you and I? Is it not meet that I should let my heart's brother enjoy paradisal delights with me? To be sure it is! Very good! You shall go in my stead this very evening to Mohammed's paradise--but only this once, mind you! Here, take the glass, empty it to the dregs!" I was exceedingly embarrassed; I looked questioningly toward the duchess, who was seated on the arm of her husband's chair. He could not see her nod her head as if to say, "Do as you are bid." I took the goblet and emptied it to the dregs. Almost immediately I was overcome by a languor that seemed to transform my material body to vapor. I rose from the earth to the clouds which assumed the most fantastic shapes; on and on the breeze wafted me; over enchanting regions, amid talking trees and singing fruits; across a sea of radiant light swept by waves of harmony--amid music, and color, and perfumes, the quintessence of sweetness, amid gorgeous flames which became forms of transcendent loveliness: Delilah; Bathsheba; Salome; Laïs; Aspasia; Cleopatra; Semiramis; Circe; and the dusky Atalanta. The seductive forms gathered around me; they pressed toward me, smiling alluringly. They thrust on to every one of my fingers rings that glittered with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, until my hands became so heavy I could not lift them. Their embraces strangled me; their kisses burned on my face and neck like fire; the dusky Atalanta's coral lips drew the blood from my veins-- "Are you never going to waken from your satanic dream?" impatiently interrupted the chair. "Let him dream--it is rather pleasant," interposed the prince; but Hugo said: "I am awake. The place in which I found myself, when I opened my eyes, was not Mohammed's paradise, but an underground dungeon, the walls of which were dripping with moisture. The flickering light of a small lamp faintly illumined the narrow cell; and the rings which weighted my hands were heavy iron chains that creaked and clinked every movement I made. The kisses which burned on my face and neck were not from the lips of Delilah, Circe, and the rest; but from those horrible hundred-legged creatures, scolopendra, which covered my body; and the dusky Atalanta, who drew the blood from my neck, was nothing less than a hideous vampyre. The embraces which strangled me were not from the white arms of enchantresses, but from an iron band two inches thick and three fingers wide, fastened about my neck, and secured to a ring in the wall by a chain, that was only long enough to allow me to reach and convey to my mouth the mouldy bread and jug of water placed by my side--" "Served you right, you godless miscreant!" interpolated the chair in a severe tone. "You got your just deserts at last!" At first--continued the prisoner--I consoled myself with the foolish thought that I was still under the influence of the sleeping potion. I remembered that those persons who eat the flesh of sharks are said to have such dreams: delightful visions at first, followed by the tortures of martyrdom. But the iron neck-band was too painful a reality for me to remain long in doubt as to whether I was awake, or dreaming. The cold, hard, heavy ring betrothed me to death! How long a time I passed in thinking over what had happened I can't say; there was no night, no day, in that dungeon; nor was I told by sleep and hunger when it was midnight or noon. The lamp in my cell was a perpetual one, for the oil did not grow less; it was there, doubtless, to reveal to me all the horrors of my surroundings. Reptiles, all manner of creeping and crawling creatures moved over the stone floor and walls; vampyres hung in rows from the ceiling, watching me with their garnet eyes, ready to flash down on me the moment I lost consciousness in sleep. At last a sound roused me from the stupor into which I had fallen; a key turned in the lock, the iron door opened, and a tall man, whose face was hidden by a capuchin, entered, with a jug of water and a loaf of bread. "Well, my lad," he exclaimed, on seeing that I had not touched the bread or the water by my side. "Do you propose to starve yourself?" His voice sounded strangely familiar; I did not have to trouble my brain guessing where I had heard it before; he pushed back his capuchin, and I recognized the haidemaken priest who had performed the ceremony of confirmation over me in the cavern. "You are the haidemaken pater?" I whispered hoarsely, not trusting myself to speak aloud. "Then you recognize me, do you?" he returned, laughing. "I had an idea you would deny all knowledge of our former comradeship." "Are you the gaoler here?" I asked. "The gaoler?" he repeated, laughing again. "Not by a good deal! I am the court-confessor!" He sat down on the stone seat to which I was chained, and continued: "I dare say you are curious to learn how I come to be here? Well, when the duke's dragoons attacked the haidemaken at Berdiczov, I hastily donned my chasuble and capuchin, trusting to the vestments to save my life, which they did; but I was taken prisoner and brought to the duke. I could not deny that I was a haidemak, but his grace evidently had use for a person like myself, for he said to me: "You deserve to be hanged, reverend father, but I will spare your life on condition that you accept a proposition I shall offer you: I want you to act the part of court-confessor for a season, to receive the confessions of those persons I shall send to you. I suspect my wife of infidelity, but cannot find out who is the partner of her guilt. They both confess to the court-chaplain I have no doubt, but he is an honest old saint who would let himself be torn to pieces rather than betray the secrets confided to him in the confessional. Now, you are of a different pattern; it will not matter to you if the fires of purgatory are heated a few degrees hotter for your purification. If you don't accept my conditions you will have the opportunity at once of testing the temperature of purgatory; if you accept you shall have a respite. What do you say? Will you become my court-confessor?" "You may believe, lad, that I would have acceded to a much more difficult proposition in order to save my neck from the gallows; so I became confessor to the ducal household. When I saw you coming toward the confessional I recognized you at once, and guessed that you would have some pretty sins to get rid of. I was not surprised when you told me of your sinful dalliance with the beautiful young duchess; and quite envied your good fortune. I said to myself, 'I will not betray the lad; but make him do penance for the sin,' so I ordered you to put seven dried peas in each shoe and journey on foot to the shrine of the Holy Virgin at Berdiczov. Had you been content to do as I bade you, you would not be here now; but you began to haggle with me about the peas--you urged me to let you boil them before you put them into your shoes; and, to win my indulgence, you told me of the good turn you had done the monks of Berdiczov by betraying the haidemaken into the hands of the duke's dragoons. Ha! but didn't I want to fly at your throat when I heard that! I wanted to strangle you, I was so enraged to hear that it was you who had betrayed us and frustrated our fine plans to secure the monks' treasure. However, I contented myself with giving you a sound rap on the head and straightway communicated to his grace what you had confessed. You have got for your reward the entire ducal property, for you are chained to it so securely you cannot get away from it." The next query I put to the cursed haidemaken priest was: "What has been done with the duchess?" "You need not trouble yourself about her highness, my son; the duke is too shrewd a man of the world to make public the disgrace of his house. The beautiful Persida does not know that she has been betrayed. The causes assigned for your incarceration are forgery; the usurpation of the name of a noble knight; and for being a member of a robber band--for all of which you deserve death. That you have been condemned to suffer a hundred deaths for your dalliance with the lovely Persida, instead of only one for the transgressions assigned, no one will ever know. As for the duchess: one of these fine days she will, after eating a peach or a pear, get a severe colic that will result in her death. The funeral ceremonies in the Vieznovieczky palace will be most imposing--and that will be the end of her grace. It might come to pass, however, that the obsequies of his grace might precede those of the duchess. It depends on which of the ducal pair gets the better of the other! But, you have only yourself to think of, my son. I am here to offer you one of two alternatives: Ask to be tried before a court which will sentence you to immediate death on the wheel--unless the duke out of compassion for a good comrade orders your head to be cut off. The other alternative is: Elect to remain in this hole, chained to the wall, battling with vermin while you live, and becoming food for them when the breath leaves your body. _Tertium non datur._" To this I made answer that I preferred to be executed without delay, even were I to be broiled on a gridiron over a slow fire. I was quite ready to die. "Very well, my son, then I will proceed at once to administer to you the last sacraments--" "Go to the devil!" I cried furiously, when he approached me with the wafer he had taken from his pocket. "I won't have any more of your cursed mummery. You are no better than I am--you too are sure to go to hell!" "That is more than likely, my son," responded the accursed priest composedly. "The only difference between us is in the manner of our journeying thither. You will travel on foot--I on wheels. So, don't you think it would be well to let me give you a lift on the way? With the heavy pack of sins on your back you might hang on to the tail-board of my wagon!" I could not help but laugh at the rascal, so I said: "Very well, if your blessing will help me over the road more quickly, go ahead and let's have it!--and may the devil fly away with you!" He thrust the wafer down my throat and I had hardly got it comfortably swallowed when I fell into a deep sleep. The wafer contained a powerful narcotic. THE WHITE DOVE. In my death-like sleep I still saw the dungeon walls, still felt the iron fetters on neck, hands and feet. Instead of the tiny lamp flame, however, which had only dimly lighted the musty cell, a radiant light now filled it--a light that came from overhead. When, with great difficulty, I lifted my face toward the ceiling, I beheld an ethereal form bending above me; her white garments gleamed like snow under brilliant sunshine; her blue mantle was like the starry sky of evening. The coronet above her brow was like the crescent moon. The face was so radiant I could not look at it--my eyes were dazzled as when I gazed into the noon-day sun. The radiant vision held on her right arm an infant; the forefinger of its right hand was pressed against its lips. I believed the Holy Virgin had descended to me; but when the vision came nearer to me, kissed me, and called me by name, then I knew that it was my Madus--my poor deserted, forgotten Madus! I was so ashamed of the fetters which bound me. If she should ask why I wore them, how could I reply? "I wear them because of the beautiful woman who caused me to forget you." But she did not ask any questions; she smiled tenderly, and said in her gentle tones: "My poor Baran! How unhappy you seem! Cheer up--we are come to help you--to release you. My home is now in paradise--I will tell you how I came to dwell there. On Christmas eve, I was kneeling in front of the holy image you brought to me from Berdiczov, expecting every minute the arrival of the little guest for my Bethlehem crib, when I heard a familiar step outside the cottage. It was my father. I hurriedly snatched the blessed image from the table to hide it, for I knew the sight of it would anger him; but I was seized with such a terrible pain in my heart I had to press the image against it with both hands. I hardly recognized my father. His face was fearfully cut, and mutilated; one eye was gone. "Your precious Baran betrayed us," he gasped, glaring at me with the remaining eye. I opened my lips to speak for you, but before I could utter a word he said again: "You are his accomplice, you miserable creature! What are you hiding in your breast?" I could not lie, so I told him it was the image of the Blessed Virgin. "A gift from the Berdiczov monks I'll warrant!" he shrieked, seizing my hair and flinging me on the floor. I heard the keen blade of his cimeter hiss through the air--then, it seemed as if the sky fell over me. The next instant I found myself in paradise, with every pain changed to bliss. I may not reveal to you the secrets of that blessed realm, my Baran. I may only tell you that our little child is with me--he was born in heaven. This is he--he is come to save his father from death." As she spake these words the child bent toward me and took hold of the chains which bound my feet and hands. They fell asunder at his touch. But the iron band around my neck was too wide for his tiny fingers to clasp; it was impossible for him to break it. But he did what twenty-four horses could not have done: with one pull he drew from the wall the iron ring to which the neck-band was secured by a chain. "My blessed child!" I exclaimed, kissing the little hands. "If your strength is so great, then seize hold of my hair, and bear me with you to your home above the clouds." The little one laid his finger against his lips as a sign that he could not, or dared not speak; but the mother answered for him: "No, my good Baran, you cannot come to us. Before that will be possible you will have to endure many more trials in this world of shadows. You will have to abide here until you shall have performed a good deed for which some one will say to you: 'God reward you.' One single good deed, my Baran, will do more toward winning paradise than a hundred pilgrimages, or a thousand prayers." How sinful I am, your honors, is proved by the fact that I am still alive; and as it is not likely that I shall have an opportunity to perform the deed, which will call down on me a blessing from heaven, I shall never again behold my little angel son, and his mother, my sainted Madus. After the vision had spoken she beckoned me to follow her. The child touched the wall of the dungeon with his fingers, the stones parted, and we passed through the opening. The radiant form of my Madus illuminated the passage amid the rocks, the long flights of stairs we ascended. We seemed to thread our way through the catacombs. At last we emerged from the subterranean region into a dense forest. I saw how the shining garments of my conductress swept over the moss, giving to it, to the flowers, the grass, the trees, the same soft radiance that emanated from her form. Gradually the distance between me and the lovely vision widened; my feet became leaden; I could hardly move my limbs. Then the radiant appearance lost its human shape, until at last it seemed to me that I was looking down a long avenue between the trees at a faint glimmering light at the further end. The cold air blew across my face, and I awoke. I was in the forest of my dream, around me were mammoth trees between which, a long way off, I could see the glimmering light of the open. The same beggar raiment I had worn to journey to Lemberg clothed me; my crutch, emptied of its gold, lay by my side. I made my way toward the light at the edge of the forest. I could see no signs of human habitation anywhere. How far I was from the scene of my magnificence and disgrace I cannot say. When I looked at my beggar's rags, I could easily have believed my Lemberg experience an evil dream, had not the iron band about my neck been too convincing a proof of its reality. "Well," here observed the prince, drawing a long breath, "that is a most remarkable story!--a miraculous rescue of a transgressor through the aid of the Almighty Father!" To this the chair added: "I am inclined to believe that the prisoner's escape from the dungeon was effected through earthly, rather than heavenly assistance. It is more likely that the haidemaken priest, bribed by the duchess, conveyed the prisoner to the forest, and clad him in the rags which had been procured from the Jew Malchus." "_I_ believe the story just as the accused told it," asseverated his highness. "There are a number of similar cases on record--of notorious bandits having been released from imprisonment by the hands of an unborn babe." "And I assure your highness"--Hugo ventured to insist--"that everything happened just as I related it. From the moment of my waking in the forest, a white dove nestled on my left shoulder, and accompanied me wherever I went. If I turned to look at it, when it would coo into my ear, it would fly to my right shoulder; but it seemed to prefer sitting on my left." "Is the white dove sitting on either of your shoulders now?" queried the chair. "No, your honor," sadly replied the prisoner; "it is not there now. I will tell you later how I came to lose it." The prince announced his decision as follows: "As the prisoner's release from the dungeon was accomplished through a miracle from heaven, it would not be seemly for a human judge to oppose divine favor. This transgression, therefore, may also be erased from the register." PART IV. WITH THE TEMPLARS. CHAPTER I. IN THE HOLLOW TREE. With a ragged mantle on my back, a crutch in my hand, an iron band about my neck, and the white dove on my shoulder, where could I have gone?--even had I wished to leave the forest. The rags and the crutch were fitting equipment for a beggar; but what should I have replied had anyone asked me why I wore the iron band on my neck? I was disgusted with the world and its wickedness. Overwhelmed with remorse for the sins I had committed, I resolved to become a hermit and do penance--I would remain in the forest and adopt the rigorous life of an ascetic. After a brief search I discovered a brook that would supply me with fresh water; hard by its banks an oak tree, many centuries old, with a large cavity in the trunk, offered the shelter I should require. I collected moss and dry leaves for my bed; for nourishment there was a plentitude of nuts and wild fruits, and edible fungi. Wild bees furnished me with sweets. I bound together two dry branches in form of a cross, set it up between two large stones, and performed my daily devotions in front of it. During the day I roamed through the forest collecting stores for the winter; I laid up a supply of dried fruit, nuts, sow-bread and honey--the last I found in the upper part of my tree-house, where a swarm of bees had taken up their quarters. Of the raspberries which grew plentifully along the brook, I made a sort of conserve, which I packed into boxes made of the bark of pine trees. All these provisions I stored in my tree-house, which I had firmly resolved never to quit. But one thought disquieted me. If I remained in the forest how could I perform the good deed Madus had told me was necessary in order to win paradise? If I passed all my days in the hollow tree beside the brook, where no human being ever came near me, how was I to benefit my fellow creatures? How win the "God will reward you"--the open sesame to paradise? I pondered this over and over until at last an expedient suggested itself to me, by which I could make known my existence to my fellow-creatures and still remain in my hermitage. I looked about for two broad flat stones; these I fastened together at one side with a cord made of linden bark and hung them on the lower limb of a tree. With a third stone for a clapper I rang my primitive bell three times daily--morn, noon and evening--surely, I said to myself, some one will hear the sound and come to see what is the meaning of it. When the people in the neighborhood learn that a devout hermit is living in the forest, they will visit him, and perhaps bestow alms on him. But, in vain I rang three times every day, no visitors came to my hollow tree, save the fawns that came to drink at the brook, and the wild cats that came to prey on them. Many a time I rescued a young deer from the claws of the feline enemy. It was to be regretted that the dumb beasts I rescued could not have thanked me for the good deed. One day I returned later than was my wont from collecting moss and ferns to protect me from the cold of winter (I had already fashioned a door of willow withes to keep the snow out of my tree-house). What was my surprise to find the door open, and all my provisions gone! Not a trace of the nuts remained but the shells; there was not a vestige of the dried fruit; the boxes of raspberry conserve were lying about on the ground, broken and crushed, as if they had been trodden under foot by the marauders. Even the tent-shaped honey-comb in the upper portion of my dwelling was gone, the plundered bees were buzzing angrily around the tree outside. I could hardly refrain from uttering a malediction on the thief who had despoiled me of my winter store; but I remembered my pious vows, and reproached myself instead: "Shame on you, pious anchorite," I said, "were you so wedded to earthly possessions that the loss of them rouses your anger? You were too proud of your store. You were going to play the sovereign in the wilderness. Others had an equal right to that which you imagined belonged only to yourself. The truly pious anchorite does not lay up stores for the morrow. He depends on the Master to supply his needs. He must pay heed to nothing save his prayers for the wicked, and praises for the Master. You have been fitly punished for your arrogance." I said further, "Perhaps this has happened for the best. Who can say but the despoiler prayed that God might reward the one who had placed the provisions in the hollow tree. If so be that was the case, it was a fine hunger it took all my store to appease!" And again: "Who knows? Perhaps the hungry one is a great prophet--St. Peter himself, maybe. I have heard that that distinguished saint occasionally visits a poor man, and eats up a winter's supply of provisions, only to return it an hundred fold. If so be it was St. Peter then he will return tomorrow and so fill your tree with viands and treasure you will never again want for anything--and, maybe, he will also bestow on you a passport that will admit you to paradise whenever you choose to go!" Consoling myself with such thoughts, I sounded the bell as usual for vespers; then I drank heartily of brook water, lay down on my soft bed, and dreamed until morning, of flying hams and kindred paradisal delights. At sunrise, I rang the early matin bell; then hurried away, in order not to disturb the prophet when he came to prepare the surprise for me. I spent the entire day wandering about the forest, guessing what my benefactor would bestow on me in return for the nuts, fruits and honey he had taken--would it be the widow's oil-cruse with its never-failing contents? or, a pair of bread-supplying ravens? or, a barley loaf from Mount Gilead? or, a swarm of those savory locusts which had served as fare for John the Baptist? In my rambling I came across a heap of beech-nuts. I hesitated to gather them. What need to take the trouble? There would be plenty, and to spare, in the hollow tree. However, I filled my pockets with the nuts, then turned my face homeward. As I was rather late, I rang for vespers, and told my beads (I had made a beautiful rosary of acorns) before going to my hermitage. A deep growl came from the hollow tree when I approached it. "He is here!" I exclaimed joyfully. "He is waiting to see me. That he is no ordinary person I can tell by his voice!" I crept on hands and knees toward the tree, and peeped into the cavity. The next instant I was on my feet, hurling a million _donnerwetters_ at the shaggy bear, whose monstrous body quite filled the only apartment of my dwelling. I forgot that I was an anchorite, and cursed the brute roundly-- "_Votum violatum_," dictated the chair. "Broken vow--blasphemy! _Capite plectetur._" "By my faith!" interposed the prince with considerable emphasis. "I would have sworn too! _Qui bene distinguit, bene docet._ How goes the paragraph relating to blasphemy? 'He that curses his fellowman'--and so forth. But, it doesn't say anything about punishment for him who curses his 'fellow-bear.' You see, therefore, that the _votum ruptum_ does not fit this crime, for it was not the prisoner who broke the vow of the anchorite, but the bear; consequently bruin is the delinquent." "Very good," assented the chair. "Then the bear is the guilty party: _ursus comburatur_! The robbery of the temple follows: I am curious to hear how the prisoner will clear himself of that! That he will accomplish it I am willing to wager my head!" What was I to do? continued Hugo, when the mayor had concluded his remark. My house was occupied by a tenant who would not let me share it with him. I had nowhere else to go. I could not find another hermitage. If I could not be a hermit, I could become a beggar--begging was also a way to gain a livelihood, and I possessed the necessary equipment for it. In Poland, no one who can say: "Give me bread," needs die of hunger. The iron band on my neck might, after all, be of advantage to me; it would give me a sort of superiority over other mendicants. If I were asked how I came by it, I should say that it had been forged on my neck by the Saracens, who took me captive when I was in the Holy Land, and because I had made my escape through a miracle, I continued to wear the band as a penance. The good people to whom I told this story believed it; it brought me many a groschen and carried me comfortably across Poland. I had no sooner crossed into Brandenburg (I was on my way to my native city, where I intended taking up the trade of my father, an honest and respectable tanner) than I was surrounded by a crowd of people--not a charitably disposed crowd, but inquisitive. They wanted to know where I came from, where was I going, who and what was I and how I dared to have the impertinence to beg in their city. I replied that I was a pilgrim from the Holy Land; and that instead of thinking it an impertinence for me to beg from them, they ought to consider it a distinction to have in their community a mendicant with an iron collar around his neck. But the Brandenburgers are inclined to believe themselves more clever than the rest of the world. The bailiff seized me, dragged me to the market place, where he proceeded to question me for the benefit of the whole city. "Who are you?" he inquired. "I am hungry," I said in reply. "Where do you come from?" "From Jerusalem." "Don't you attempt to deceive me, sirrah! I know the way to Jerusalem. Through what provinces did you journey?" "Through Marcomannia, and Scythia; through Bess Arabia, and Arabia Petræa; through Bactria, and Mesopotamia; and now I come direct from Caramania--" "Stop, stop! You are saying what is not true," interrupted the bailiff. "Praise be to God! we Brandenburgers have maps, and know how to get to foreign countries. The way to Palestine is through Zingaria, Paflagonia, Cappadocia, and cinnamon-scented India. "Well," I explained, "I did travel through those countries too, but it was at night, when I couldn't see to read their names on the guide-boards." "And what means that iron band on your neck?" "That, your honor, was fastened about my neck by the black sultan, Zagachrist, who held me captive fifty-two years and three days." "You are not yet thirty years old." "No, in this part of the world I am not; but in Abyssinia, where the sun is so hot, the days contract to such an extent, that one of your years here would be six there." "What an unconscionable liar you are!" exclaimed the bailiff. "Heat does not contract. On the contrary, it expands, which accounts for the days being longer in summer than in winter. We Brandenburgers know that very well." He seized me by the collar, to drag me to prison, but I held back, and said in a loud voice--loud enough for the crowd to hear: "I tell you I am right; heat does contract. Just you sit on a hot stove and see if your leather breeches don't shrivel up under you." The crowd was on my side; but that trial in the market-place might have resulted disastrously for me, had not a knight just then chanced to ride that way. He wore on his head a plumed helmet; his body was protected by a coat of mail. From his shoulders hung a crimson mantle, on which was embroidered a large white cross. A heart-shaped shield swung from the pommel of his saddle. My eyes were at once attracted to this shield, on which were the ensigns armorial: a mounted knight like himself, and on the same horse a ragged pilgrim of a like pattern with myself. "Ho, ho!" here interrupted the chair in triumph. "You may have been able to hoodwink the Brandenburg bailiff, but you can't do the same with me! You needn't try to make this court believe you saw anyone wearing the coat-of-arms of an order that was abolished in the 14th century." "I know very well, your honor, that the order of the Templars was abolished at the time you mention, but a portion of them took refuge in Brandenburg, where the order exists to this day under the name of 'Dornenritter.'" Having made this explanation, Hugo continued his confession: At sight of the Templar a great commotion arose among the people crowding the market-place; the women pressed toward him to kiss the hem of his mantle, in their enthusiasm almost dragging him from the saddle. The knight had red hair, and a long beard of the same fiery hue. "There is the red monk," said the bailiff to me. "Do you try to make him believe you have been in Palestine? He has been there twice--once by land and once by sea--and he has slaughtered more than two hundred heathen and liberated thousands of pilgrims from slavery. Talk to him; he will know how to question you." I was in a fix, and no mistake. The knight would be sure at once to detect the errors of my geography. He rode quite close to me, passed his hand over his long beard and examined me from head to foot with his keen eyes. "Can you prove to me that you come from the Holy Land?" he asked in a voice so stern and deep-toned it made me start and tremble. But a lucky thought came to me; I had a convincing proof under my arm--the old Turk's crutch, the shaft of which was closely wound with brass wire in a fanciful pattern. "Will you examine this, Sir Knight?" I said in reply--holding the crutch toward him. "You, who are familiar with the Arabic characters, will find here a record of my wanderings--the entire history of my wretched captivity, and miraculous deliverance." It was the knight's turn to start and tremble. I saw at once from his countenance, that he knew no more about Arabic than--ah--than your honor, and that he was afraid I might betray him, and prove to the multitude that he had never trod the sacred soil of the Holy Land. The hand he extended for the crutch trembled, but he preserved a bold front, as he turned the brass-bound shaft around and around in his fingers, and pretended to decipher the oriental characters. After several minutes, he returned the crutch to me and said in an impressive tone: "This is indeed Arabic--or, rather, Saracenic, the language of Turcomania. Your crutch, devout pilgrim, testifies to the truth of everything you have told these good people. Come with me to my castle, where you will be a welcome and honored guest." Before he had quite concluded this speech, the bailiff had lost himself in the crowd--he was nowhere to be seen. I was hoisted to the shoulders of a pair of sturdy citizens, and, accompanied by the shouting multitude, borne in triumph to the Templars' castle, situated on a moat-encircled hill, a little distance from the city. Here, I was committed to the care of the guards on duty; they stripped me of my rags; lifted me into a vat of water, scrubbed me thoroughly, combed and shaved my head, and then put on me a scarlet habit of coarse cloth, which, to judge from its ample proportions, must once have garbed the form of a brother whose conditions of life had been more fortunate than mine. Attired thus, I was conducted to the refectory, where the red-bearded knight and twelve of his companions were assembled. "_Quadraginta tonitrua_, lad, you please me well!" exclaimed the red-bearded knight, who seemed to be the leader. "Never, in all my life, have I ever heard so glib a tongue at lying as yours! You must stop here with us. The devil has taken our sacristan--that's his habit you've got on--he died of small-pox yesterday." You may imagine my feelings when I heard that I was wearing the garment of a man that had succumbed to so loathsome a disease! I made bold to say that I had never learned the duties requisite to the office of a sacristan. "_Per septem archidiabolos!_" merrily exclaimed the knight. "I believe you. But, we will instruct you--never fear!" Here he noticed the iron band on my neck and added: "Ha, _Lucifer te corripiat_! Why do you wear that curious band around your neck?" In reply I stammered something about a solemn vow, whereupon the entire company burst into hearty laughter. "_Ut Belsebub te submergat in paludes inferni, trifurcifer!_" bawled the red knight. "Either you wear the band in pursuance of a vow--solemn or otherwise--or it was forged on your neck in punishment for a theft. If the former, then continue to wear it to the end of your days; if the latter, then we have an armorer who will relieve you of it in short order." To this I made answer: "Though I wear the iron band because of a solemn vow, the Sir Knights may believe it is in punishment for a theft." The merry company laughed again, and the armorer was summoned at once to relieve me of the uncomfortable collar. BAPHOMET. I now believed I had ultimately attained what I most desired--a comfortable position in a religious house, where I might pass the remainder of my days in peace, and free from care. I should have no further need to trouble about providing for food and drink, and the where to lay my head. My duties were light; I had to ring the bell for prayers three times daily; keep clean the church vessels, and take care of all the vestments. All my time not occupied with these simple tasks, I was permitted to devote to pious contemplation. I soon won the confidence of Knight Elias, the red-bearded superior. I was named Eliezer. It had taken me six months and more to beg my way through Poland, consequently, Passion week began soon after my arrival at the Templars' castle. I was apprehensive that I should not be able adequately to perform the duties requisite for my office during the solemn season, as I was not yet sufficiently familiar with the Roman Catholic service, having only lately become a neophite. But, when I confided my doubts to Knight Elias, he replied encouragingly: "Don't you worry, Frater Eliezer, every night during the coming week we shall rehearse scenes from the 'Passion Play,' which will make you familiar with the services expected of you." This assurance gave me confidence, and I looked forward with impatience to Maundy-Thursday, as on the evening of that day the preparations for the devotional ceremonies were to begin. Maundy-Thursday arrived. In the evening, after I had closed and locked the gates after vespers, Knight Elias bade me take a lamp, go to the chapel, and wait there until the clock struck the hour of midnight, when I should hear three taps on the door of the crypt. I was to open the door without delay, receive with becoming respect the guests who would appear, and obey every order they might give me. I did not betray the astonishment I felt on receiving this very singular behest. I never was what may be termed "faint-hearted." I dare say because my curiosity always was superior to my timidity; and I confess I was most curious to see what manner of guests would come out of the crypt. The last stroke of twelve was followed by three raps on the crypt door. I hastened to open it, and was amazed to find the stairway leading to the tomb brilliantly lighted, and mounting it were a half dozen or more female forms, clad in antique costumes--such as are seen only in the canvases adorning the walls of churches and royal palaces. All the women were highly rouged and powdered; one had her eyebrows penciled with black; another with minium, and another had hers tinted with gold. All carried in their hands gaily colored wax tapers. They were not in the least like the ghosts I had expected to see; and I was not in the least frightened of them either! Young blood coursed through my veins then, and it flowed more swiftly when my eyes rested on the beautiful visitors--even though they were denizens of another world! The ghosts saw at once that it was not the old sacristan who had admitted them; and believed it necessary to introduce themselves. The first one said: "I am Jezebel, wife of King Ahab. Fetch the baptismal basin, I want to perform my ablutions." The second announced: "I am Salome, daughter of Herodias. Bring me the golden ciborium." The third said: "I am Bathsheba. Bring the sacred oil, I want some for my hair." The fourth: "I am Delilah. Bring a chalice, I want a drink." The fifth: "I am Ashtoreth. Bring the censer, I want some perfume." "I am Tamar," announced the sixth. "Bring a lachrymatory, I want to fill it with my tears." There were seven in the company. The seventh had on her head a crown, and was clad in a robe of gold-brocade with a long train. "I am Mylitta, Queen of Sheba," she announced in a voice that sounded like a sweet-toned bell. "Bring me the pyx." Now, although the rest of the orders had confounded me with their impiety, I had obeyed them, because I had been commanded to do so. This last, however, made me hesitate; I could not lay sacrilegious hands on so holy a vessel. I shuddered, and looked with horrified eyes at the commanding phantom. Suddenly, she lifted her arm, and gave me a sound blow on the back, at the same time screaming: "Don't you hear me, dolt? I want the pyx." Feeling convinced that further hesitation to obey this visitant from another world would not be well for me, I went to the altar, and with a violently trembling hand lifted the sacred vessel from its accustomed place and brought it to the lady. "Now, follow us," she commanded; and the procession from the crypt passed on, I following in the rear, out of the chapel, up a winding staircase, to a part of the castle I had not yet been in. We halted in front of a gilded iron door; it opened in response to three raps, and I saw into a long, magnificently furnished saloon. There were no windows in it; a mysterious radiance shone from the niches in the walk, which were hung with gold-embroidered silk. As we crossed the threshold, a heavy curtain across the further end of the saloon parted, and several male figures, garbed in old-time costumes--Turkish, Roman, Persian, Chaldean and Egyptian--came to meet the women, who greeted them thus: "Welcome, Ahasuerus!" "Baal greets you, Nebuchadnezzar!" "Osiris, bless you, Pharaoh!" and so on, to Herod, Pilate, Nero, Sardanapalus--in all of whom I recognized my sir knights. My red-bearded patron answered to the name of Judas Iscariot. It was a distinguished company! The greetings between the knights and the ladies ever, my patron turned toward me. I was standing near the door--and said: "Malchus, come hither." I looked around to see who Malchus might be, but finding no one near me, guessed that I too had been given a name suitable for the occasion--that of the chief priests' servant, who lifted his hand against the Savior. My patron's next words assured me that I had guessed correctly: "If your ears have really been cut off, Malchus--which they must have been, since you can't hear, we must ask Ben Hanotzri to fasten them to your head again!" I had not yet learned to whom they alluded when they mentioned that name. After his last speech to me, my patron took my hand and led me up to the knight they called Nebuchadnezzar. He had strings of costly pearls wound in his beard and hair--as one sees in ancient Persian statues, and pictures. "What has Malchus done that he deserves to be admitted to the service of Baphomet?" he inquired. My patron answered for me: "He has been a heretic, an atheist, a thief, a murderer, a counterfeiter, an adulterer--" "The very man for us!" interrupted Nebuchadnezzar--and then I understood why my welcome to the conventual residence had been so cordial! I was asked to take off my monk's habit, and given the dress of a Roman lictor, in which character my first task was to remove the lid from a sarcophagus that stood in a niche in the wall. I was horrified when I saw that it contained a wax image of our Savior, as He descended from the cross, with the five gaping wounds in His body, and the crown of thorns on His head. The knights gathered about the sarcophagus, and began a discussion, to which I listened with fear and trembling. They spoke in Latin, and as I am quite familiar with the language I understood every word. One of the knights asserted, that Christ was an eon of the God-father, Jaldabaoth, who had sent Him to the earth, as the Messiah of the Pneumatici, and to vanquish his, Jaldabaoth's, arch-enemy, Ophiomorpho; that Christ, having failed for want of courage to accomplish the task, Jaldabaoth had allowed Him to be crucified in punishment; all of which was satisfactorily proved by Valentinus, the Gnostic. Another of the knights insisted, that Christ was an imposter, as was verified by Basilides of Alexandria, and Bardesane; and that His true name was Ben Jonah Hanotzri. The earth seemed to sink from under my feet as I listened to this blasphemous disputation. Though I am a wicked sinner, my reverence for all things holy is boundless. I held my hands over my ears to shut out the horrible words, but I could not help but hear some of them. The third knight maintained that the whole story of Jesus Christ was a myth--He had never been born--had never died. The entire legend was an emblem, a symbol that, like Brahma, and Isis, had never possessed a material body; and that all images of Him were idols, like those which represented Basal, or Dagon. I imagined that blasphemy could go no further; but the fourth knight convinced me that even hyperbole may possess a superlative. The fourth speaker was Nebuchadnezzar; _he_ declared he could prove from the Scriptures, that Jesus Christ was that Demiurge, who tortures mankind with laws; renders unhappy and wretched the dwellers on earth; prohibits all things that are pleasant and agreeable to the senses; commands man to do what is good for his fellows, though nature's laws prompt him to do that which is best for himself--be it good or evil for his neighbor. Consequently, it was the plain duty of every sentient being to defy this Demiurge, to disobey the laws promulgated by him; to practice, instead of refrain from: cheating, robbery, murder, forgery, intemperance, gluttony, debauchery; and that whoever it was that had imposed on mankind the yoke of bondage, the so-called virtues--were he eon, Demiurge, Ben Jonah Hanotzri, or Jesus Christ, deserved persecution, scourging, and crucifixion. "Who then," he demanded in concluding his sacrilegious harangue, "is the true Messiah?" "Baphomet! Baphomet!" shouted the entire company of knights and ladies as with one voice. Nebuchadnezzar then beat with his fists on a large tam-tam, upon which the curtain at the end of the saloon was drawn back, revealing a platform on which were two statues, life-size. The one on the right was Baphomet, with the two faces, one masculine, the other feminine. A huge serpent was wound twelve times about the statue; on each of the rings thus formed was engraved one of the twelve signs of the zodiac. One hand held the sun; the other the moon; the feet rested on a globe, that rested in turn on the back of a crocodile. The other statue represented Mylitta. She was seated on a wild boar; a crown of gleaming rubies and carbuncles adorned her brow. The knights and ladies, one after the other, approached the statues, kissed the shoulders of Baphomet, then the knees of Mylitta. After this ceremony, they joined hands, forming a circle around the images, and began to dance to a song they chanted in a tongue unknown to me. Before the dance began, I was told to fill all the sacred vessels with the wine contained in several large jars near the entrance. This was drank from time to time in toasts to Baphomet and his companion image. If my horror was great, my curiosity was greater. I mastered the former feeling, in order to see what would be the end of the sacrilegious orgy. The wine jars were soon emptied, and I was ordered by Iscariot to refill them in the cellar. On my return to the saloon, I found the company seated around the table; when I approached the Queen of Sheba to refill the chalice, from which she was drinking, she said to me: "Malchus, this crown of mine is so heavy; go down to the chapel and fetch me the one from the head of the woman of Nazareth." I went cold from crown to sole at this request. There was in the chapel a beautiful image of our Lady, with a crown of pearls and diamonds on her head--the gift of a pious princess. To this image the devout folk of the surrounding region made pilgrimages on holy days; and it was covered with all manner of costly gifts from the grateful believers. And this was the "Woman of Nazareth," whose crown I was ordered to fetch for the shameless wanton. "Didn't you hear the lady's order?" bawled my rufous-bearded patron, thumping the table with his mailed fist. "Go at once to the chapel and fetch the crown." If I had refused to obey I should have been killed; but I almost fainted with horror while performing the errand. When I returned with the jeweled crown to the hall of the worship of Baphomet, the demon of licentious revelry had been loosed; the women, as well as the men, were dancing with wild abandon. The Queen of Sheba snatched the crown from my hand, adjusted it on her dishevelled locks, then returned to the Phrygian dance, led by herself and Nebuchadnezzar; her hair stood almost straight out from her head, as she whirled around and around, so swiftly, that she and her partner seemed but one form with two faces--like Baphomet whom they worshipped. After all had indulged in the frantic revelry until they sank exhausted to the divans scattered about the hall, I was ordered to collect the sacred vessels and return them to the chapel, and then to go to my rest. "He must drink with me before he goes," cried Ashtoreth. "Here, Malchus!" she unloosed from her girdle a flask, and held it to my lips. The flask was an exquisite piece of workmanship; it was made of chased gold and richly set with Turkish fire opals. "This wine, Malchus," continued the lady, "is the juice of the grape planted by Noah. The stone jar in which it has been preserved for so many centuries stands beside the sarcophagus of my grand-mother Semiramis, in Nineveh--drink, it will do you good." On my hesitating, she suddenly flung her arm around my neck, drew my head close to her own, took a good pull from the flask, then pressed her lips to mine, and forced me to swallow the wine from her mouth. Never have I tasted a sweeter, a more intoxicating, more stupefying liquor! "Now drink," commanded the heathen queen, placing the flask in my hand. I put it to my lips; but perceived at once that the wine had a different taste from that I had received from her mouth. It was bitter, and had a peculiar bouquet. I took only one swallow; but pretended to send several more after the first one. "You may keep the flask as a remembrance," said the lady when I handed it back to her. She flung it among the church vessels I had collected together in the baptismal basin, the better to carry them back to the chapel. I hurried from the saloon with my precious burden; carefully washed all the vessels through three waters; then restored them to their proper places in the chapel. When I had reverently placed the crown on our Lady's head, I knelt at her feet, and penitently kissed the hem of her robe. "Now what shall I do with this thing?" I inquired of myself, surveying the wine-flask in my hand. "Where shall I hide it for safe-keeping? It is worth a deal of money. It would bring me enough to buy an acre of ground, or a mill with five wheels. I'll just fasten it securely, here under my lictor's cuirass for the present." I did so; then, without heeding where I was, I lay down, and almost immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I don't know how long I slept; I was roused by some one shaking me vigorously, and crying: "Wake up! wake up!" "Yes, yes, Iscariot," I muttered sleepily, "I'll get up directly." "O, Trifurcifer!" exclaimed a familiar voice; "the wretch calls me Iscariot! Just wait, you drunken rogue! I'll sober you!" The thorough drenching I received from the large can of water thrown over me, brought me to my senses. "Well, my pious Silenus!" growled the knight. "You are a fine fellow to set on guard, aren't you? I order you to keep watch outside the door of the crypt until midnight, and find you the next morning lying inside the cellar door, with your mouth under an open faucet. We were obliged to carry you up here--not knowing whether you were alive or dead." "Where--where is the costly flask Ashtoreth gave me?" I asked, feeling in vain about my body for the souvenir bestowed on me by the heathen queen. There was neither flask nor leather cuirass, only the old coarse habit I had inherited from my predecessor in office. "Come--come," angrily exclaimed the knight, shaking me again. "Stop dreaming, and hasten to the chapel; it is time to ring the bell for mass." I could hardly bring myself to believe that it was only a dream--it seemed so real, but I could find no trace of midnight revelry anywhere--indeed, I could not find the winding staircase, which I had ascended from the chapel to the hall of the worship of Baphomet. And yet I doubted. The chapel was filled at mass with devout worshippers. A solemn scene was when the knights, garbed in coarse gray habits, and bare-footed, crept on hands and knees to the stone coffin, in which lay a waxen image of our Lord. They kissed the marble steps leading to the platform on which the coffin stood, and when I saw them gather about the holy image, my dream seemed so real that, in my excitement, I would have cried in a loud voice to the kneeling congregation: "People! Christians! rise--rise! do not kneel in the presence of these blasphemers!" had not the white dove on my shoulder pressed her wings against my lips. Then the rich tones of the organ filled the chapel; and the women's voices chanting the "Miserere" sounded so familiar--exactly like those I had heard in my dream, singing bacchanalian songs--that I said to myself: "That is Ashtoreth's voice--that is Delilah's, and that deep-toned contralto is Jezebel's!" Again I saw the singers emerge from the crypt and move toward the winding stair-case. Ah! it was a dream after all! There was no winding staircase. Where I had seen the open door, which gave egress to it, was a blank wall; and against it the massive marble monument of the grand master, Arminius, who was represented by a recumbent knight in full pontificals, with hands devoutly crossed on his breast. Yes, it was only a dream! My heart was relieved of a heavy weight. It was such a relief to feel certain that I had not taken the jeweled crown from our blessed Lady's head; and that the Queen of Sheba had not worn it while dancing in adoration of an idol. When the services were concluded, and I approached the image of our Lady, to replenish the oil in the perpetual lamp at her feet, the doubts as to my having dreamed the scenes of the bacchanalian revelry came back in full force; some one had been tampering with the jeweled crown on the head of the sacred image--it had been turned around! There was a pearl in front of the diadem, and a ruby in the back--both as large as a hazel-nut. Today, the ruby gleamed like a coal of fire, where always before the radiance of the pearl had vied with the pure whiteness of the waxen brow. The crown had been reversed--I had not dreamed after all! This day was, as I have mentioned before, Good Friday--the day of universal fasting. The knights' observance of the day was so rigid that they would not even administer to a dying novice the medicines necessary to alleviate his suffering, because they were composed of manna and hydromel, both of which, containing nutriment, were considered food. Even I fasted the entire day--of a necessity, though, for there was nothing served in the refectory! My elastic conscience would have permitted me to partake--sparingly, of course!--of food; and I regretted that I had not possessed the forethought to lay aside from the banquet of the preceding night (if it really had not been a dream) the legs of a three thousand-year-old quail! But, had I done so, they would doubtless have vanished with the pretty flask given me by the heathen queen. When I made my duty-rounds as usual on Good Friday evening, I found my red-bearded patron waiting for me in the sacristy. He said to me: "This evening, Malchus, you will watch as before at the door of the crypt--but see that you stop there, and keep awake! Don't let me find you again in the cellar tomorrow morning." I said to myself: "I shall be very sure not to go to sleep this time!" The guests arrived earlier this evening. The clock in the tower had not yet ceased striking eleven, when the three knocks sounded on the crypt door. The ancient beauties did not think it necessary to introduce themselves as before, but they gave me the same orders for the sacred vessels. When I moved toward the altar, in obedience to the Queen of Sheba's behest, she called after me: "Don't look back, Malchus; if you do Satan will fly away with you!" I did not look backward; I had no need. When I held the gold lid of the chalice in front of me, it served the same purpose as a mirror, and in it I saw Jezebel walk up to the Arminius monument, lay her hand against the head of the recumbent statue, and thrust it to one side, whereupon the entire mass of marble swung noiselessly forward, revealing an opening in the wall through which I saw a winding staircase. Pretending not to have seen anything, or to notice anything unusual in the opening in the wall, I followed the ladies up the stair with the articles they bade me bring after them. The long table in Baphomet's hall was again loaded with all sorts of eatables: baked meats, pastry, sweets, fruits. "Meats!" I exclaimed to myself, "meats on Good Friday, when all Christians, even the Calvinists, fast and read their prayer-books to find consolation for their souls and forgetfulness for their stomachs!" And what a feast it was! One might well have believed that hosts and guests had not eaten anything for two or three thousand years! Had I been endowed with the hands of an Aegeon I could not have supplied the viands and wine as rapidly as the hungry and thirsty revelers demanded them of me. I seemed to be continually running to, or returning from, the wine-cellar. Similar scenes to those enacted the preceding night followed the banquet; only with variations one would hardly believe the human mind capable of inventing. The Queen of Sheba was even more reckless and abandoned than before; she ordered me to bring her the mantle from the shoulders of the "Woman of Nazareth." I hesitated again to perform the sacrilegious errand, but a sound blow on my back from Iscariot's fist sent me hurrying to the chapel. When I returned with the mantle the queen was in need of it, for she was not to be distinguished from the nude goddess on the back of the wild boar. I was so ashamed for her, I could not lift my eyes when I handed her the mantle. Ashtoreth laughed heartily at me, and exclaimed: "Here, Malchus, I will drink to Baphomet from this flask; then you shall drink to me." She drank first, then handed the flask to me; it was the same one she had presented to me the night before. I had learned something since then! I knew there were trick flasks with two compartments, which might contain two different kinds of liquor without becoming mixed. If the neck of the flask were turned to the right, one of the compartments would be opened; the contents of the other would flow, were the neck turned to the left. When the heathen queen placed the flask to her lips I had watched her closely, and had seen that her wrist turned slightly to the right. This movement I took good care to copy when I drank, and, as I had guessed, the wine was deliciously sweet. I took a good, long pull before removing the flask from my lips. "Very good wine, isn't it?" observed Ashtoreth. "A trifle bitter," I replied, making a wry face, upon which she filliped my nose with her finger, and exclaimed, laughingly: "You don't know what is good, Malchus! The wine in this flask is some of that left from the marriage feast at Cana. You may keep this flask, too; put it with the one I gave you last night." This remark set the entire blasphemous crew into a roar of merriment. "You may remove these vessels now," said Nebuchadnezzar, when the laughter had subsided, "and fetch us some _spiritus vini_." I removed the unclean church vessels and brought from the cellar a large stone jug of _spiritus vini_. The simple juice of the grape was not strong enough for the drunken demons; they wanted the more fiery brandy. An idea came into my head as I was going to the cellar. The _spiritus vini_ was made in Russia; the mouths of the jugs containing it were sealed so skillfully that only those persons who understood the secret could remove the cork. I had learned this secret while with the haidemaken. I opened the jug in the cellar, poured out some of the brandy, and filled it up with the drugged wine in the flask intended for me. Then I sealed up the jug and took it to the banquet hall. "Did you drink any of it?" demanded the knight whom the rest called Herod, when I set the jug on the table. "I swear by Baphomet I did not!" I replied truthfully. "Then open the jug," commanded Pilate. I made believe to pull and tug and twist the cork--I could not remove it from the neck. At last Ahab snatched the jug impatiently from my hands, and after trying in vain for several moments to accomplish what I had failed to do, he set it in a silver basin and struck at the neck with his sword. The jug was broken, of course, and the liquor filled the basin. Then, Bathsheba and Tamar flung into it figs, raisins and orange peel; Delilah took a lighted taper from the candelabra and set fire to the huge dish of crambamboli; at the same moment all the other lights in the hall were extinguished. Nebuchadnezzar now began to ladle out the burning liquor into goblets which he passed to the rest of the company. The flame dispensing king, with his four horns, the fire-sipping forms around him, their faces blanched to a death-like pallor by the green-blue light of the burning brandy, formed a group that excelled in hideousness every illustration I had yet seen of the _danse macabre_. I fled in horror and disgust from the infernal orgy, fully convinced that I was not dreaming this time. I was determined to make my escape from the abode of demons and idol worshippers. I said to myself: "If these human beings--that they are not phantoms I am convinced--came to the castle through the crypt, then I, another human being, may go out the way they entered." I took my lamp, descended to the crypt, and discovered that one of the memorials, which lined the walls, had been shoved to one side. An examination of this memento to a deceased knight revealed that it was not a slab of marble, but a sheet of tin painted to imitate the more solid material. Nor was the niche it covered a tomb, but the outlet to a narrow stairway that ascended in steep spirals from the crypt, opposite to the one which descended to it from the chapel. [Illustration: "I took my lamp, descended to the crypt"] I mounted seventeen steps, when further progress was barred by a statue--that of Saint Sebastian. The heroic martyr was represented bound to a tree, his body filled with arrows, as he had appeared when being tortured to death by the commands of the godless Diocletian. I had seen this statue often enough by day in the reception-hall of the castle; then it stood in its niche face toward the room; here, at the head of the secret stairway from the crypt, it stood with its face also toward me. "Surely," said I to myself, "St. Sebastian must know something about the secret outlet." And he did. I began to examine the niche; then the statue. I noticed that three of the arrows in the breast were brass, and that the one in the middle was brighter than the other two, as if it had been taken hold of frequently. I mounted the pedestal, and, with one arm around the saint to steady myself, I tried to turn the brighter arrow. After a little, it yielded to the pressure of my hand, and the statue, as well as the niche, began to turn slowly on an unseen axis, and in a few moments I saw the starlit sky above me. Then I turned the arrow in the opposite direction, and found myself returned to my prison. I had solved the mystery of the phantoms' appearance in the chapel! I returned to the chapel and examined the mechanism concealed under the Arminius monument. What would be the result, I asked myself, if I turned the head of the grand master back to its proper position? I did so, and the monument swung back to its place, concealing the entrance to the hall of Baphomet. By this time the blasphemers in the hall were sound asleep, and heaven alone knew when they would waken! And when they did, they would not be able to get out of their Satan's temple, for it had neither door nor windows. No one would know what had become of them--whither they had gone. When they found a way out of their prison--if ever--I should be far enough away over mountain and valley! I sketched a rapid plan of escape: I would go to the Archbishop of Aix-la-Chapelle and lay information against the knights of Baphomet; and, in order to gain credence for my story, I would take with me the desecrated church vessels. No devout Christian should drink again from the chalice defiled by the lips of Salome and Delilah; should have his offspring christened from the basin polluted by Nebuchadnezzar; should receive the holy water from the aspergill, defiled by being used to stir the infernal mixture concocted by Tamar and Bathsheba; not one of the vessels should be used again, until they had been thoroughly cleansed and re-consecrated by the proper authorities. "A most praiseworthy determination! You proved yourself a true Christian!" exclaimed the prince, deeply incensed by the impiety of the _dornenritter_, the mere hearing of whose licentious conduct made a godly man feel the need of absolution. "You did what any honest and respectable Christian would have done in your place!" "Didn't I say so?" in triumph exclaimed the mayor, beating the table with his staff. "Didn't I say the rascal would talk himself out of the church robbery? Instead of sentencing him for the crime, he is commended for it." Hereupon the prince and the mayor became involved in so animated a dispute that each sprang from his chair and begun to pound with his fists on the table with such vigor that the candle-sticks, ink-horn and sand-box danced quite a lively jig. The argument continued until his highness suddenly remembered what was becoming to his dignity; then he rapped the court to order and announced that the hearing was adjourned until the next day. * * * * * The following morning Hugo resumed his confession: I found a stout leather bag in the sacristy, into which I put all the church vessels of gold and silver which had been defiled in the bacchanalian orgies. I did not forget the Virgin's diadem, either. My left shoulder ached dreadfully under the heavy load, but, because the white dove I told you about was perched on the other shoulder, I would not shift the bag from side to side, which would have made it easier to carry. The revolving Saint Sebastian enabled me to escape from the castle, but I still had a high bastion to scale. I found the rope ladder by means of which the women had climbed over, and very soon I was on the high road, travelling as swiftly as I could for the heavy bag, toward the harbor-- "Hold!" interrupted the chair, "I've caught you at last! If what you have told us is true, why didn't you go at once with the bag of church property to the burgomaster of the city, and tell him of your discovery at the castle? The impious revellers might have been taken into custody that same night." "Yes--yes--" the prince made haste to add, "why didn't you do that, instead of thinking it necessary to escape on a ship?" "I believe I can explain my action to the satisfaction of the high-born gentlemen," deferentially responded the prisoner. "You will understand at once why I wanted to take a ship, when I tell you the name of the city. It was Stettin. It was in possession, at that time, of Gustavus Adolphus, whose heretic generals cared very little whether the Blessed Virgin or Baphomet were worshipped in the Catholic churches, which had already been desecrated more than once by themselves. Indeed, the relations between the knights and the heretics was most friendly, because the former had joined forces with the Swedes, and had fought bravely against the imperial beleaguerers. They were loyal comrades in arms with the heretics. That is why I deemed it wiser to escape from the city--" "And you were right--quite right!" with unmistakable approval in his tone, commented the prince. "The Swedish heretics were not the proper authorities to settle so sacred and important a matter. The _furtum sacrosanctorum_ may be stricken from the list of indictments." "As may all that follow!" growled the mayor into his beard. "Now we shall hear how this innocent criminal disposes of the _homicidium_!" PART V. THE HOMICIDE. CHAPTER I. ON BOARD MYNHEER'S SHIP. A convincing proof of my honest and pious intentions is, that notwithstanding I was in great need of money--I hadn't a penny to my name!--it never occurred to me to help myself from the alms-box at the door of the chapel, which, at such seasons like Passion Week, was always well filled. I had no "motive" to carry the box with me--it had not been defiled by sacrilegious hands. I still wore the dress in which I had masqueraded as a lictor: the Roman balten, the leathern caliga, the chalizeh sandals with straps, and the ancient Hebrew pallium. Anywhere else in the civilized world a man garbed as I was would have been arrested as a vagabond lunatic; but I was not molested in Stettin. That city, under Swedish domination, was a free port; the mouth of the Oder was crowded with vessels of all sorts, from all countries. The quay swarmed with negroes, Spaniards, Turks, Chinese--all nationalities, all the costumes of the globe were represented. Consequently no one, however striking may have been his garb, would have attracted special attention. Nor did I, as I passed through the crowd in search of a vessel that was lifting her anchor, preparatory to sailing at once. Chance led me to a Dutch ship. The owner of the craft, Mynheer Ruissen, paid no attention to me until after we were out of the harbor, and were scudding before a favorable wind. Then, as he was passing along the deck, his eyes fell on me, where I was sitting near the rail, with my bag by my side. He stopped in front of me, thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat, and, after a moment's close scrutiny, addressed me in a language I had never heard before. He tried several different tongues--oriental by their sound--with the same result. I could only indicate by shaking my head that I did not understand him. At last he became impatient, and exclaimed in Flemish: "Potztausend-wetter! What language does this fellow speak, I wonder?" I understood him then, and told him I could speak Dutch, and that I was not a heathen from the Orient, but a native of Europe, and a Christian like himself. "And where are you going, may I ask?" "Wherever your ship will take me," I answered. "Have you the money to pay for your passage?" "Not a solitary batz." "Have you anything of value?" "I have a beautiful golden flask set with precious gems, which I will give you as a pledge, or in payment--as you prefer." "Did you come by it honestly?" "I will take my oath that I did not steal it. A beautiful woman gave it to me as a souvenir. May I sink with this ship to the bottom of the sea, if every word I tell you is not true!" "Na, Na,! you needn't mind swearing in that way," hastily interposed Mynheer. "I don't want my ship to go to the bottom of the sea! Is the flask worth enough to pay for your passage to Hamburg?" "It would fetch more than your whole ship!" He paused a moment, then asked again: "What have you got in that bag?" "Gold and silver vessels, and jewels." "Are they souvenirs too? There, there, you needn't mind swearing again! I won't arrest you--it's no concern of mine how you came by them." I told him then that if he would take me to his private cabin, I would tell him how I came to have the valuables in my possession. He led me to his cabin, where he bade me place the leather bag in the corner. Then he ordered one mug of beer to be brought; filled a porcelain pipe--about the size of a thimble--with tobacco, thrust the stem between his lips, but did not light it--I dare say, because he feared it might burn out before he had emptied the beer mug, from which he took an occasional sip while I was telling him my story. When I had told him of the scandalous scenes in the castle, and of my escape with the denied vessels, which I had decided to take to the archbishop, Mynheer removed the pipe from his lips, deliberately knocked the tobacco into the palm of his hand and emptied it into the tobacco-pouch. Then he drained the last sip of beer from the mug, thrust his hands into his pockets and said: "Well, my son, you have acted cleverly, and stupidly at the same time. To fetch the things away with you, was clever--very! But, to decide that you--by yourself--a poor unknown devil, would be believed by the archbishop, when you accused so powerful an order as the _Dornenritter_ of blasphemy and sacrilege, was stupid in the extreme. Nobody will believe your story; you will be ridiculed, and told that you dreamed all these things." "But," I interposed, "how could I have dreamed things, no living being ever saw with his eyes, or heard with his ears? How could I have dreamed the Baphomet worship? How could I have dreamed names like Jaldabaoth and Ophiomorpho, and that disquisition around the sarcophagus?" "Why, you stupid lad! Don't you see they will say you have been reading the secret pamphlet which was published by the opponents of the Ancient Order of Templars? But, what was permitted to King Philip will not be tolerated in you; you will not be allowed to tell stories about Baphomet idolatry, and serpent worship. And, suppose you are allowed to tell what you 'saw with your eyes and heard with your ears'--you have no witness to prove that what you say is true." "Oh, haven't I?" I cried, triumphantly producing from the leather bag the pyx with its contents. "Here is my witness: this sacred wafer, defiled by the idol-worshippers. See! here in the center of it, is the print of Ashtoreth's slipper heel, where she trod it under foot. You see, it is directly over the banner of the _Agnus Dei_?" Mynheer deliberately adjusted his large spectacles on the bridge of his nose, and scrutinized the wafer. "_Donnerwetter_!" he growled, "you are right, lad, this is the symbol of Baphomet: a half-moon, a double-headed serpent curved to form the figure 8. Hm, hm--you have acted in a praiseworthy manner after all! By bringing this wafer with you, you have saved the souls of many devout Christians from eternal damnation, in that you have hindered them from kneeling in adoration today at mass before this symbol of Baphomet! Indeed, half Stettin will owe thanks to you if, instead of damnation, it wins salvation! Your brave and valiant deed will save from the flames of hell at least twelve thousand souls! Therein lies the wisdom of your action; the unwisdom will come to the fore when you ask yourself: 'What shall I do with these desecrated vessels?' "You thought to arraign an entire order--nay, two, for those wanton females must belong to an order of some sort. To accuse a religious body is always extremely dangerous--specially so, if the order be composed of women. I am afraid it will result in your ruin; you will most likely be arrested for stealing church property--the punishment for which is death at the stake. What will your word be worth against the denials of the knights? Do you imagine that any trace of their scandalous revelry will be found? Not by a good deal! You will be pronounced a wicked calumniator; unless you want them to cut off your tongue, you will keep it silent between your teeth!" "Then what shall I do with these things?" I asked in perplexity, giving the bag a thrust with my foot. "Shall I take them back to the castle?--" "That"--interrupted Mynheer--"would be the stupidest thing you could do. The sir knights would, beyond a doubt, have you walled into some corner of the castle, where you might await the resurrection with what patience you could summon!" "Then, what would you advise me to do?" I asked again. "Well, my son, _I_ say, that what you have in your possession belongs to you; accept it as the gift of heaven--though you acquired it from Satan. When we get to Hamburg I will direct you where to find an honest man whose business it is to relieve pious folk of any treasure they may have taken from Satan--or, found where it was not lost. I am acquainted with a Christian of that sort; you need not be afraid to trust him--he is honest as a Quaker, and would not cheat anyone--on Sunday! I think I may trust you to dispose of your treasure as cleverly as you--appropriated it, which, after all, is the chief secret of trade!" CHAPTER II. THE MOO-CALF. I dare say your highness, and gentlemen of the court, have heard a good many stories about the moo-calf? I shall abstain from expressing just here an opinion of the mysterious creature as, by so doing, I should anticipate the denouement of one of my most remarkable adventures. I think almost every dweller in Coblentz has heard of the moo-calf's strange doings; for there are numerous records in the chronicles of the city, of its mysterious appearance and behavior. The moo-calf ordinarily appears in those cities where the Jews have multiplied excessively, and attained to power. It is a well-known fact that a calf is the meekest, the most innocent of animals, that it has never been known to assault anyone, that it would be the least likely of all the animal kingdom to wield a boundless tyranny over an entire community. Therefore, I do not believe _all_ the terrifying tales I have heard about the moo-calf. Do any of the gentlemen here believe them? Several members of the court admitted that they believed the tales; some thought a portion might be true, others were non-committal. So much time was given to the discussion, that the chair was at last obliged to interfere. He said to the prisoner--after rapping impatiently for order: "You are not here to ask questions, but to be questioned. Now let us hear what _you_ have to say about the moo-calf?" Hugo bowed and resumed his confession: When we arrived at Hamburg, Mynheer so managed matters, that it was evening when he and I went ashore. With the bag of valuables on my back, I tramped after him to the suburb of St. Paul, to seek in the winding, and zig-zag streets of the "Hamberger Berg," the house of the honest Christian, who would relieve my back, and incidentally my mind, of the load of treasure. We pushed our way with whole skins through a confusion of menagerie booths, puppet-shows, jugglery and rope-dancing exhibitions, which their proprietors importuned us to patronize, avoided with some difficulty the crowds of tipsy sailors, and at last arrived in front of the house we were seeking. The name of the owner was Meyer--a by no means rare cognomen in Germany! He was a Lutheran, as eleven-twelfths of the residents of Hamburg are. They alone possess the rights of citizenship. Mynheer Ruissen took Herr Meyer to one side, and communicated to him what business had brought me to Hamburg, whereupon Herr Meyer without further ceremony invited me to sup with him. "I hope"--here impatiently interrupted the chair--"you don't intend to waste more of our time by an enumeration and description of the various dishes you partook of?" "No, your honor, though it would not take long to tell what we had for supper. Herr Meyer placed before me nothing but bread, cheese and water. He could not say enough in praise of the bread and cheese, and he boasted that the water, which he said was from the Elias fountain, possessed the most remarkable properties. While I ate, he examined in turn each of the vessels I had taken from the bag and placed on the table, exclaiming over every piece, and making a peculiar noise with his tongue against the inside of his upper teeth: "A baptismal basin! Tse-tse-tse! How could you dare to take this? A censer! tse-tse-tse! Young man, did it never occur to you that you were defying Satan when you put this into your bag? A communion-cup! tse-tse-tse! I should think your soul would be oppressed with its weight of sin! And--actually!--the Holy Virgin's diadem! Woe-woe-woe, to you, miserable sinner!" I could listen no longer to his lugubrious comments: "Oh, hush, Master Meyer," I interrupted, "what use to talk like that? You needn't think to frighten me with your lamentations. I am a Lutheran like yourself--rather let us talk about the value of these things: What will you give for the whole lot? But, before we talk business, bring me something more palatable to eat and drink. Your bread and cheese and water are not to my taste." "Very good, you shall have something else," with sudden alacrity responded Master Meyer, whose opinion of me was evidently improving. He hurried to the kitchen, and soon returned with some salt fish, and a jug of good cider, which he placed before me. Then he proceeded to appraise the church vessels, and the diadem, telling me the while that I ought to be thankful his dear old friend Mynheer Ruissen had led me to him. How easily I might have fallen into the hands of the papists, who would certainly have imprisoned me--and perhaps put me to death; or into those of the Jews, who had swarmed from Spain into Hamburg, and were ruining all honest tradesmen. The rascally Hebrews would offer only ridiculously low prices for articles they suspected had been acquired by means not altogether legitimate, and would give in payment for them counterfeit money. And, wasn't the cod-fish I was eating most appetizing? After he had examined my treasures two or three times, he said he would give me six hundred thalers for the lot--and that I might drink all of the cider into the bargain. "See here, Master Meyer," I replied, "your fish is so salty it makes one want to drink continually, and your cider is so sour, I would rather not eat your fish than to have to quench my thirst with the cider. And, moreover, I will take my treasures to the Jews' quarter, where I shall no doubt find some one who will give more than a paltry six hundred thalers to a poor shipwrecked traveller for a lot of articles that are worth at least twenty times the sum you offer." At these words my worthy host beat his hands together above his head, and exclaimed: "My dear son! how will you find your way to the Jews' quarter at this late hour? It would be very unwise--nay, dangerous, for you to attempt it. Don't you know that the moo-calf makes its appearance about this time?" I shrugged my shoulders to indicate that I was not afraid of a moo-calf. "But, my dear son, you don't know what a terrible creature the moo-calf is. It has become even more terrible and ferocious since the Jews have multiplied to such numbers in Hamburg. These Spanish Jews understand all sorts of witch-craft. It was they who discovered that if a young calf is fed on human blood instead of milk, it will become savage as a lion. This is the sort of moo-calf they have turned loose in the Hamberger Berg. It roams through the streets at night, terrifying to death every person it meets, and scatters the watchmen in all directions. It tears the bells from the house doors; it has teeth so sharp that it can snap off the pole of a halberd as easily as if it were a pipe-stem; and its tongue is rough as a cloth-shearer's brush. It roars like a lion, bellows like a wild bull, snorts like a whole herd of wild horses; clatters through the streets like a luggage van, clappers like a fulling-mill, and crows like a cock that is possessed. It takes special delight in pursuing honest men and fathers of families, who suspect their wives and daughters of adventure, and if it chances to catch one of them, _he_ will not very soon forget the moo-calf--that is if he escapes with his head to remember it! Another favorite trick with the calf is: to steal upon a pair of lovers, and roar at them with such a terrible voice that they die of fright--" "And what sort of looking beast is this moo-calf?" I interrupted. "Why, no one can tell what it looks like, my son. Those who have been unfortunate enough to encounter it on the street have had a stream of fire blown into their eyes from the beast's nostrils, and they were not able to see for weeks afterward. The man who is brave enough to thrust his head out the window when he hears the moo-calf bellow, will be sure to regret his curiosity, for his head will swell to such a size that he will not be able for several days to get it back through the window. That is why no one is able to tell what the monster is like. I only know that it has the power to stretch its neck to such a length that it can look into the upper windows of a house. Oh, I can assure you, it is a most horrible creature!" I had had ample time, while he was descanting on the moo-calf's terrible doings, to replace my treasures in the bag. "Then there really is such a monster?" I observed, shouldering my load. He swore by all he held dear, that the moo-calf not only existed, but that it roamed the streets of Hamburg almost every night. "Have you any desire to make a bet with me?" I asked. "A bet?--on what?" "That I can eat a whole calf at a sitting--especially when I have a ravenous appetite as now. Fetch me your moo-calf and I'll devour him, hoofs, hide and tail!" I dropped the bag from my shoulder to the table, drew forth the short Roman sword, which was part of my lictor's costume, and sharpened it on the steel. "Now, fetch on your moo-calf," I repeated, again shouldering the bag and making as if I were going to quit the house. "And you really are not afraid of the moo-calf?" exclaimed Master Meyer, placing himself in front of me, believing I intended to pursue my way. "I see you are a headstrong lad, but, as I have taken a fancy to you, I don't want you to run any risks. Come, make up your mind to stop here until morning. We will agree on a price for your treasures; and then have supper together." "No, thanks," I returned, my face still toward the street door. "I don't want any more dried codfish. The season of fasting is over--besides, I am no priest, and if I were I shouldn't object to wine." "You shall have whatever you want, my son. Put down your bag, and make yourself at home." And he hurried into the kitchen to give his orders. After several minutes he returned, clad in an entire suit of new clothes; on his arm he carried another handsome suit, which he begged me to accept as a present from him, adding that I would find in the pocket of the coat in a purse the sum he was willing to pay for my treasures, and with which he knew I would be quite satisfied. When I opened the purse I found in it fifty doubloons, and a slip of paper. "What is this?" I inquired, holding the paper toward him. "A promissory note for two-thousand thalers, payable in three months." I knew very well that a note of hand was as good as money, and was quite satisfied with the trade--only, the time of payment was too long distant to suit me. "It is a Hamburg custom, my son," replied Master Meyer when I mentioned my objections. "The money must have time to mature." I was obliged to be satisfied, besides, fifty doubloons would be quite enough to keep me in food and raiment for three months. The supper Master Meyer now placed before me was of a sort I would not have believed his larder capable of supplying--judging from the fare he had offered me first. There were pasties of all sorts, game, confections and a choice selection of wines. Of the last I took special care not to imbibe too freely. Master Meyer's family joined us at the repast; there were three daughters, comely, and of marriageable age; and a son. The latter, I was informed, was a student at the university. I thought him rather advanced in years for a student! There was not the least resemblance between the three young women; no one would have taken them to be sisters. They were merry creatures, sang and played on the harp and the guitar. One of them, a blonde, was very pretty. I noticed that she stole frequent glances toward me, and when her eyes met mine she would blush and smile enchantingly. I was still young, and not at all averse to a flirtation. Moreover, I was a widower. I had had enough experience with the fairer sex, however, to teach me that it would be well to be on my guard. Master Meyer had introduced me to his family as "Junker Hermann." The blonde daughter's name was Agnes. She was a sentimental and romantic maid. I sat by her side at supper, and was so flustered by the glances from her blue eyes, I could think of nothing more sensible to say to her than: "that when the dear Lord should bestow on me a family, I would have just such spoons as her father's"--with which we were eating the chocolate cream--and that my own and my wife's crests should be engraved on the handles. This remark led me to observe further that I thought the initial letters of Hermann and Agnes would form a pretty monogram. My fair neighbor could not see just how the letters might be arranged. I told her it was very simple: the A need only be inserted between the two uprights of the H to make the union perfect. I wanted the Meyers to believe that I was a genuine cavalier, so I said to the father--after I had emptied my third glass of wine: "That ring on your finger pleases me very much. I should like to buy it." "Well, you see, Junker Hermann," he returned slowly, turning the ring on his finger, "this is a costly piece of jewelry. The carbuncle alone is worth fifty thalers; besides, the ring is an heirloom. I wouldn't sell it for seventy thalers." "Would you sell it for eighty?" "I wouldn't let anyone but you, Junker Hermann, have it at any price! As you seem to have taken such a fancy to it, then take it, in God's name, for eighty thalers." "All right," said I. "Just keep the eighty thalers out of the two-thousand you owe me." At mention of the two-thousand thalers Agnes helped me to a second dish of chocolate cream. "I will draw up a note for the amount," said her father. "We are only human, and no one can tell what may happen to me." "Write whatever you like and I'll scrawl my signature to it," I replied disdainfully. When he had quitted the room, Agnes whispered to me: "I am very sorry father sold his ring. It is a talisman in our family, and was given to my mother as a wedding-present." "And suppose"--I whispered back to her--"my buying it does not take it out of the family?" "I don't quite understand you," she replied, casting down her eyes, and blushing. "I shall make my meaning clearer when I may speak to you alone." "That can be arranged very easily, Junker Hermann; when the family have gone to their rooms for the night, we can meet in the bow-window chamber--then you can tell me what you have to say." The father now returned with the note to the dining-room. It was for one-hundred thalers, that being the sum--principal and interest--I should owe Master Meyer at the expiration of three months. I did not think it worth while to waste words over the usurious interest charged; but signed my name with cavalier _sangfroid_, and the ring was transferred from Master Meyer's hand to my own. As my hand was considerably larger than his, which was exceedingly thin and bony, I could only get the ring on the second joint of my little finger. Just at that moment Rupert, the elderly student, must have made a teasing remark to his sister; for the three at once set upon him, and began to belabor him with their fists, and cry out that he should not have any more wine that evening. "Very well," he exclaimed, laughing, "then I'll go to the tavern and get some." He invited me to accompany him; saying that we should find at the tavern some good company and bad wine. I excused myself on the plea that I was very tired, and wanted to rest. He departed alone, and we heard him singing, and knocking against the doors with his stick, as he staggered down the street. Good-nights were now exchanged, and each one went to his or her room. I waited with considerable impatience until the house had become quiet; then I stole on tip-toe to the bow-window chamber. This apartment is in the top story of the house, and projects several feet over the street. A bright moon illumined the cozy chamber, so that a lamp was not necessary. I had not long to wait; the soft rustle of feminine garments very soon announced the coming of my charming Agnes. I met her at the door, took her hand in mine, and drew her into the bow-window. She asked me without further ceremony, to explain how the ring I had bought from her father could remain in their family now that I was the owner of it. "Nothing easier in the world! my dear Agnes," I made answer. "I need only to slip it on your finger as an engagement ring." She understood my explanation, and allowed me to place on the third finger of her left hand the ring for which I owed one-hundred thalers. After this ceremony I asked--as was natural--if I might seal the bargain with a kiss-- "Ha! I knew that was coming!" interrupted the chair; "we don't care to hear that sort of evidence." "Why," pacifically interposed the prince, "Why, a kiss is nothing out of the way." "_One_ kiss would not be; but it would not stop at one; a second and a third--and heaven only knows how many more would follow, and-- "Pray allow me to contradict your honor," respectfully interrupted the prisoner. "There was only one. I will admit that I was about to help myself to more, but I was hindered--" "By the white dove on your shoulder, of course!" interrupted the mayor's ironical tones. "No, your honor, not the white dove. Just at the moment I was going to take the second kiss, there came from the street directly underneath the bow-window, the most unearthly sounds--as if a herd of angry elephants were bellowing for their supper. I never heard so hideous a noise. It was a mixture of the squealing of a wild boar; the neighing of a horse; the blare of a trumpet, and the clattering of a heavy wagon over cobbles." "Jesu Maria! the moo-calf!" shrieked my terror-stricken betrothed, tearing herself from my arms. The next instant she had vanished, with my hundred-thaler ring. Furious with rage, and not a little fear, I sprang to the window, flung back the sash, and thrust out my head--never once thinking of the dire result which would follow such action: my head swollen to the size of a barrel. However, that did not happen to me; but enough pepper was blown into my eyes to prevent me, most effectually, from seeing anything on the earth, or in the heaven! I howled with pain and rage--compared to the sounds which came from my throat, the moo-calf's bellowing was the weakly puling of an infant. But, such was the fear of my host and his daughters, of the fiendish brute, that not one of them ventured to come to my assistance. I was obliged to grope my way unaided to my room, and to wash the pepper from my blinded eyes as best I could. While I was thus engaged Rupert returned home, and joined his howls to mine; he said the moo-calf had attacked him, and almost done for him. His face and clothes were proof of a rough and tumble encounter with something: the former was scratched and bleeding, and his garments looked as though he had had a scuffle with an enraged eagle. His bed and mine were in the same room, and neither of us slept very much that night. The student was frightfully ill; he kept muttering constantly something about the moo-calf; while I sat by the basin until daylight, mopping my eyes with water. The cursed moo-calf! Why didn't he bellow before I gave my costly ring into Agnes' keeping? It was not at all likely that I should soon have another opportunity to be alone with her! The next morning Master Meyer gave me to understand that the duties of hospitality would not be extended beyond one day; and that I would better seek a lodging more suitable to the station of a young man of quality. He would be glad to have me visit him frequently; and if I wanted to be amused Rupert, who was perfectly familiar with all the ways of the city, would be delighted to be my guide. I did not see the lovely Agnes again alone; so I made up my mind to write, and tell her how much I thought of her. I question now, whether any of the numerous letters I sent her through Rupert, ever reached her hands. From that day, there was no end to amusements. Rupert was the very lad to make me acquainted in the shortest time with all the resorts of entertainment, and many companions of questionable reputation. I was introduced to a Spanish hidalgo; a Scotch laird; a Brazilian planter; a Wallachian boyar--that their patents of nobility grew on the same genealogical tree with my own I suspected from the very first. They were, individually and collectively, hearty drinkers, reckless gamblers, and fearless fighters. That the money they squandered with lavish hand was not obtained through honest means I was confident, and I was equally confident that the entire crew looked on me as their own special prey. But, I taught them a thing or two before very long! At our drinking-bouts, I always left them under the table. While with the Templars I learned a valuable secret: how to drink all the wine you wanted without becoming intoxicated. I shall not reveal this most valuable secret here. I have an idea, that when the court sentences me, I may win its clemency by revealing what I learned from the _dornenritter_--the secret which would be of incalculable value to all mankind-- "We shall see about it--if the time ever comes when sentence shall be passed on you!" observed the chair. To out-drink me, resumed the prisoner, after this digression, was impossible, though they tried their best to do so. Had they succeeded in stupefying me with wine, I am quite certain they would have robbed me of the note for two-thousand thalers, which I always carried with me. I suspected that the series of drinking-bouts had been arranged to enable Rupert to steal the note; had he succeeded, Master Meyer would have been relieved of paying what he owed me. But my secret enabled me to frustrate their plans. Nor did they succeed in getting hold of any of my doubloons. The first time we engaged in a game of dice, I detected their scheme to cheat me; the dice were loaded. As I had played that sort of game before, I astonished and discomfited my companions by the frequency with which the sixes always came on top when I threw. They, and not I, lost money. If they attempted to quarrel with me about my good fortune, they found that, skilled though they were in the pugilistic art, I could take care of myself. I learned some wrestling tricks while I was with the haidemaken, and they served me well in my bouts with those notorious fighting-cocks. I was not the one to get worsted. But, no matter how angry I might be, I always took good care not to injure any of them seriously; had I done so, they would very soon have had me behind prison bars. I was also extremely careful in my intercourse with the women I met. My white dove accompanied me wherever I went, but I never spoke of her to anyone. I would tell my companions, after they had dragged me from one den to another without succeeding in attaching me to any of the alluring nymphs, that I had no eyes for any woman but my charming betrothed, to whom I had vowed eternal fidelity; and that I was obliged to adhere all the more rigidly to my vow, because Rupert, being the brother of my sweetheart, might betray me to her were he to see me paying attention to another girl. Then the student would swear that a "whole ditch full of devils" might fetch him (a favorite oath in Hamberger Berg polite society) if he so much as mentioned my name to his sister. I might flirt with whomsoever I chose, he would not betray me. But, I persisted in turning a deaf ear to the fascinating damsels I continued to meet night after night in the various drinking shops we frequented. I knew very well that a tidy wench would be more apt to get hold of my carefully guarded note of hand than would any of my brawling comrades. I wasn't going to let anyone steal it; I had decided that I would take the money home to my poor old parents. The two-thousand thalers would make of them real gentle folk; father could buy a little fruit farm; and a fur coat for himself; and the old mother might promenade to church in a silk mantle, bought with the money her son had given her-- "And which he obtained by selling stolen church property," sarcastically interjected the chair. "The end justified the means," quickly, but with due respect, retorted the prisoner, whereupon the prince laughed heartily. The mayor's face became crimson; he said in a tone of reprimand: "That phrase was not devised by the pious Jesuits to excuse the man who steals church property, and sells it to obtain money for his family. The prisoner will continue his confession." In this manner I passed three months. The day before the one on which my note fell due, I spent in my lodgings sleeping quietly. That night I accompanied my friends, as usual, on a round of the different taverns we were wont to frequent. We scattered the night patrol; smeared the windows of several professors' houses with wagon grease; sang rollicking ditties in front of the houses in which we knew there were pretty girls; belabored all the Jews we found abroad at that hour, and kept the entire "Berg" in a state of excitement, until long after midnight. We marched arm in arm, forming a line across the street that reached from house to house, to the "Three Apples"--a famous tavern at that time--where, for a wager, we drank all the liquid medicines in the store of an itinerant quack doctor, who had stopped there for the night. It is just possible it was the medicaments that confused my brain--though I am convinced they were perfectly innocent of any intoxicants. Rupert became so helpless, he lay like a log on the tap-room floor; the innkeeper ordered the rest of us out of the house. As it was too early to go home, the Scotchman suggested that, as Rupert was not with us, we should go around to Master Meyer's, where he and the rest would keep watch in the street, while I made a "window-call" on my betrothed. "That's a bright idea of yours!" I exclaimed. "How am I to get up to my pretty Agnes' window? Her room is in the top story, in the gable. I am not a moo-calf that can stretch its neck to the luthern." "Why are we your friends?" chivalrously demanded the Spanish hidalgo. "Are not we here to help you? We will form a pyramid: three of us will support two others on their shoulders, and you will form the apex. You can then rap at your lady-love's window, and we will remain immovable, while you exchange kisses with her." The quack's medicaments had, as I said before, confused my brain; I agreed to the silly plan suggested by the hidalgo, and we turned our unsteady steps toward the Meyer residence. When we arrived in front of the house, the first thing we did was break the lantern which swung from a rope stretched across the street, in order that the darkness might screen us from the sight of passers-by. The acrobatic feat of building a human pyramid was easily accomplished; and I was very soon standing on the shoulders of two comrades whose feet in turn rested on the shoulders of the three forming the base. I had no difficulty in reaching to the sill of the bow-window; that room, I knew, opened into Agnes' sleeping-chamber. I had rapped once on the glass--cautiously, for I did not want to rouse any one in the lower rooms; and was about to repeat the knock, when the fiendish bellowing I had heard once before made the blood run cold in my veins. My comrades under me cried out in terror: "The moo-calf is coming!"--and the next instant I was hanging by my fingers to the sill of the bow-window, with my legs wriggling like those of a frog caught on a hook. I could hear my valiant comrades scampering for their lives down the street. I did not want to call for help; for, if old Meyer saw me dangling in front of his window, he would believe me to be a burglar, and shoot me without ceremony. I could not swing myself up to the window-sill, for the sash was closed; so, I hung there, and tried in vain to find a projection below me, on which to rest my toes. Meanwhile, the bellowing monster came nearer; I could already hear it snorting under me. I hung motionless as an executed criminal on the gallows, hoping the calf might not notice me. It was a vain hope! The brute came directly toward me, and when I looked down, I saw the hideous horned head stretch upward--nearer, nearer. I could feel the rough tongue lick the soles of my shoes--then my ankles. I drew up my knees, and lifted myself as high as I could; but the elastic neck stretched out longer--the horrible tongue licked higher. I felt as if my trousers were being brushed with a curry-comb, and I thought to myself every moment: "Now the devil will seize me!" I wriggled and kicked in vain--nearer, and nearer, came the long horns which threatened to spit me on their sharp points. Fiendish laughter seemed to come from the red throat, as the tongue licked higher and higher. It reached my thighs--then my waist, and before I could guess what might happen, the little bag hanging from my belt, in which I carried the note for two-thousand thalers, was snapped from its chain, and disappeared down the brute's gullet. My fear vanished with the note. Not even Satan himself should take it without a struggle! Heedless of the moo-calf, as well as of the danger to my legs, I let go my hold on the window-sill and dropped. Fortunately my mantle carried me like a parachute through the air, so that I was not even shaken by a too sudden contact with the pavement. I now stood face to face with the dreaded moo-calf. It was not a creation of the imagination, but a veritable monster, and a most hideous and frightful one too, at that! It had four huge legs and feet like an elephant; a neck two fathoms long, at the end of it an enormous head with horns; the long red tongue hanging from the open jaws was covered with scales shaped like saw teeth. "You may be the devil himself," I cried, drawing my sword, and stepping up to the monster, "but you must give me back my purse." Quick as thought, the long neck was drawn in, and the head thrust at me with a force that sent me staggering backward several feet. A faint-hearted man would most likely have taken to his heels, but I was too enraged at my loss to think of seeking safety in flight. What! had I purloined the _dornenritter_ treasures for this? _They_ were now in Master Meyer's possession, and the two-thousand thalers were in the stomach of this moo-calf! All this passed like lightning through my brain, as I picked myself up from the pavement, where the brute had flung me, and again approached him. "Either you take me with you to hell," I exclaimed hoarsely, "or I'll tear my purse from your entrails!" Again the monster drew in his neck, spread his legs apart as if to brace himself, and gave utterance to another marrow-freezing roar. I remembered the dose of pepper I had received from him, and held the corner of my mantle in front of my face; this shielded me also from the sparks of fire he blew from his nostrils. I was prepared for the second assault, and when the brute again shot out his head toward me, I dropped nimbly to the pavement, and the head swept over me into the empty air. Before it could be drawn back, I was on my feet, and buried my sword to the hilt in the creature's breast. What was my surprise and horror to hear a despairing moan--not from the moo-calf's throat, from its belly--an unmistakably human voice. "I am killed--murdered!" cried the voice, as the moo-calf fell in a heap to the pavement; and from the shapeless leather envelope staggered a human form--my comrade, Rupert, the student. The blood was spurting from a wound in his breast--my sword had pierced clean through him! "So, you are the moo-calf?" I exclaimed in amazement, surveying the wounded man leaning, gasping for breath, against the door of his father's house. "The devil take you," he groaned. "Why didn't I kill you at once, when you were hanging from the window, instead of fooling with you? Now, the old man may play the moo-calf himself, and scare customers from the Jews' quarter! It's all up with me! Ho, Agnes! Mettze! Come quick! Summon the patrol! Sound an alarm!" I saw a female form appear in the bow-window. It was Agnes. When she recognized Rupert's voice, she began to shriek "Murder! murder!" I turned to fly, but Rupert, who had sunk to the pavement, weak from the loss of blood, seized hold of my leg--even in death he thought only of revenge! I jerked my leg from his grasp with such force, that he fell backward, striking his head against the door-post. He did not stir again. I did not stop to search in the skin of the moo-calf for the promissory note; I took only time enough to catch up a handful of mud from the street, and fling it into the face of the girl, who was leaning from the window shrieking "Murder!" into the night. It silenced her for a few moments, and I fled down the street with strides that soon took me a considerable distance from the scene of the tragedy. In my terror I imagined that a multitude was pursuing me, crying: "Catch him!" "Hold him!" "There goes the assassin!" I fled through unfamiliar streets and by-ways, across bridges, to the outskirts of the city. There I saw, in an underground den, lights and moving forms; and heard dance-music and riotous shouting. I tore open the entrance-door, dashed down the steps, and fell into the arms of an overgrown rascal, who was clad in the uniform of the Munster guards. The fellow locked his arms about me, and said laughingly: "You are welcome, comrade! You have come to the proper refuge. You must have been close pressed, I declare! You are puffing like a porpoise! But, have no further fear--you are safe now. Come, sit and have something to drink." He pressed a goblet of wine into my hand, thrust his arm through mine, and drank _smollis_ with me, by exchanging his bear-skin hat for my cloth barret-cap. "There, my son, now you are one of us. You have drank our wine, and are now under the command of our worthy captain." I had stumbled upon a body of recruits for a partisan corps. The company was made up of desperate characters, who were glad enough of this chance to escape prison, or the gallows. As for myself, I was forced to put a good face on a bad business! Only twelve hours before, I had been a distinguished cavalier, was called Junker Hermann; and had a promissory note for two-thousand thalers in my pocket. Now, I had neither station nor money, and as I had good cause for not wanting to keep the name by which I was known in Hamburg, I gave the recruiting sergeant my own true patronymic. After I had been properly registered, I asked the sergeant: "What is the name of our captain?" "Meyer." "There are a good many Meyers in the world. Is the captain related to the Berg-Meyers?" "You've guessed it the first time, my son! The captain's father lives in the Hamberger Berg, and is a well-known receiver of stolen goods. Rupert, the captain's brother, is a pander." I dare say many a man in my place would have been frightened at this discovery; but _I_ congratulated myself! If I were pursued--I argued--the officers of justice would seek for me everywhere else but in the company commanded by the brother of the murdered man; and if Captain Meyer ever discovered that it was I who had relieved him of the brother with whom he would have been obliged to share his inheritance, _he_ certainly would not reproach me for it! This, honored and high-born gentlemen, added Hugo in conclusion, is the true history of the homicide for which I am arraigned. I have not added to, or taken from it; but have related the events exactly as they occurred. "_Qui bene distinguit, bene docet!_" observed the prince thoughtfully. "We call it murder, when the person committing the deed strikes what he knows to be a human being. But, if the man encounters a ferocious monster that he believes to be a moo-calf, and kills it as such, and it turns out to be a human being, 'murder' is certainly not the term to apply to the deed. Moreover, the person who is so devoid of sense and dignity, as to conceal his human form in the hide of an irrational beast, is himself responsible for whatever may happen to him! Therefore, this indictment may also be stricken from the register." "Perhaps, your highness," observed the chair with a covert sneer, "would like to suggest a reward for the prisoner, for delivering the city of Hamburg from the terrorism of the moo-calf?" The prince's reply made it obvious that he had not noticed the chair's sarcasm: "I-think-not," he returned slowly. "As the prisoner is likely to be condemned to death for one or more of the other crimes, it would be useless to bestow on him a certainly deserved reward." A further hearing was postponed until the next morning. PART VI. CHAPTER I. THE FORGERY.--ONE CIPHER. I passed an entire year under the command of Captain Meyer, during which time I may say I committed no more--nor less, evil than my comrades. I do not hold it necessary to mention the seven mortal sins, of which all soldiers are guilty when in the enemy's country--those sins become virtues then. Were I to enumerate the pillaging, homicides, conflagrations, in which I took active part, it would be rather a _captatis benevolentiæ_ than an enforced confession. This much, however, I will confess: The regions visited by Captain Meyer's corps never expressed a desire for our return. A whole year of such a life was quite enough for me; and, as I had enlisted for only a twelve-month, at the expiration of that time I asked for my discharge. The captain expressed regret at my wanting to leave him; but made no objection when I gave him my reason for quitting the service; I was home-sick, and wanted to see my poor old mother and father. The old folks lived in Andernach, near which we were quartered. I had not seen them for full ten years; and I decided that I would spend the rest of my days with them. The gold and silver I had once counted on taking to them, to solace their old age, was not now in my possession: Satan, through whose aid I had obtained it, had taken it away from me again. But, if I could not give my parents curse-laden wealth, I was able to offer them two strong and willing arms which, after so many years of sinful struggling, longed for the honest toil that would call down a blessing from heaven. I would adopt my father's trade; become a pious believer, and try to be of some use to my fellow-creatures. Before I could do this, however, I should be obliged to commit a forgery--as the world would call it. The burgomaster of Andernach, and the manager of the tannery in that place, were so very scrupulous, that they wanted to know all about my antecedents, before they would consent to receive me as a citizen, and journeyman. Not for the world would I have forged an entire testimonial for honesty, and respectability; but I did not think, that to add a single cipher to the honorable discharge I had received from Captain Meyer was anything out of the way. A tiny, innocent, worth-nothing, insignificant cipher, that could harm no one, take nothing from anyone! And I did not place it in front of the figure 1 either--thus giving it the precedence over the more valuable numeral. If the honorable, and high-born gentlemen will but look at it from a different point of view from that usually taken, I feel confident they will not think my transgression so heinous after all. Heaven knows! _Ten_ years' service under Captain Meyer contained sufficient torture to purge the most hardened criminal, and make him fit for citizenship in any respectable community! This, your highness, and honorable gentlemen, is the forgery to which I plead guilty. "Humph!" ejaculated his highness. "It is not worth mentioning! Who would take the trouble to notice such a trifle? Proceed to the indictment next on the list--" "On which there is still another crime less!" grumbled the chair impatiently. CHAPTER II. THE LEGACY. Discharged soldiers travel on foot. It is the more expeditious way if the roads are bad, for a wagon is heavier than a man. The man has only two feet to draw from the mud; while the wagon has four wheels. Besides to travel on foot is cheaper. When I arrived in Andernach I had, remaining from the money I had saved during my year's campaigning, only one thaler; but my heart was so light, the lightness of my pocket did not trouble me. How glad I was when I caught sight of the familiar towers of the palace, and the ruins on the Templeberg. How often, when a lad, I had clambered among those ruins, in search of hawks' nests, and Roman coins. If I had only broken my neck on one of those innocent quests. Everything was so familiar; the large mill-stone factory; the cranes on the quay; the rafts on the river; the long avenues--yes, even the old receivers of customs at the Coblentz gate! I recognized the old fellows at once; but they did not remember me. I might stray through the entire town without hearing a single voice call to me: "Welcome, welcome! Why that is Hugo!" I was so changed in appearance! But I remembered everybody and everything! I did not need to ask my way through the narrow streets to the tanneries on the banks of the river. I remembered the names of all the families that lived in those narrow streets. At last I came in sight of the house in which dwelt my parents--the dear, familiar home of my boyhood! There it stood; and beside it, the same tall mulberry tree with its branches shading the street. Perched among those branches, I had learned to decline the classical formula: "_Hic gallus cantans in arbore sedens, kukuriku dicens!_" At the moment of my arrival, however, instead of a _gallus cantans_ on the tree, an auctioneer's assistant was standing under it, and vigorously beating a cracked drum. "What is going on here?" I asked of the man, in whom I recognized an acquaintance of my boyhood. "There's going to be an auction, Master Soldier." "What is to be sold?" "Everything that belonged to the old tanner. You may take a look inside if you like," he added, nodding toward the house. "It won't cost you anything." "But why are you selling the old man's property?" I asked again. "To get money, naturally!" "For whom?" "For the numerous Jebucees, Sadducees, and publicans, to whom the old man was indebted. If they sell everything--to the brood of sparrows under the eaves!--there will not be enough money, by a good deal, to pay all he owes." "Why," said I, "the old man was a good manager; and his wife an industrious and thrifty house-wife, when I knew them." "And so they were! The old man was all right, until he took to drinking." "Took to drinking? Why did he do that?" "Well--you see, he had a worthless son, who ran away from home about ten years ago. The scamp joined a band of robbers; and when he left them, he gave out that he was a Polish count; played all manner of tricks; broke out of prison; robbed churches. Every year the news which came to the old man about his Hugo grew worse; until at last he was afraid to venture on the street, for the whole town was talking about his worthless son. So he took to drink--had it fetched to the house, and drank harder and harder--especially after his wife died--" "Dead?" I interrupted. "Is the old dame dead?" my heart almost burst because I had to keep back the words "my mother." "Yes, Master Soldier, she is dead, and it is a mercy the good old soul did not live to see this sorrowful day! But, you must excuse me. I have got to beat this drum, so that a good lot of people will come to the sale." A dozen or more purchasers came in response to the summons. I took up my station by the open window, and looked into the familiar room, where the buyers were higgling over the various articles to be sold. My mother's Sunday mantle was just then under the hammer--the pretty silk mantle with the silver fastening at the neck. How I wished I were able to put an end to the disgusting higgling, by shouting in the window: "I'll take the whole lot for a thousand thalers!" But, alas! there was only a single, miserable thaler in my pocket. The mantle at last became the property of an old-clothes dealer: he flung it around his shoulders, and made believe to promenade to church. It was a revolting sight! The entire higgling crew laughed uproariously, and clapped their hands. I could endure it no longer, my heart was bursting. I stepped back to the drummer, and asked: "Is it long since the old dame died?" "Not so long but you may find her grave if you care to see it. She is buried in the cemetery on the Templeberg." "And where is her husband?" "Well"--and he scratched his ear--"that is a question I am unable to answer: what was immortal about him, is in heaven, or hell, or purgatory--who can say? Flesh, bones and skin, are about to be buried in the earth--just where though, I can't tell you." "Buried now?" I repeated. "Why, there's no bell tolling for the funeral?" "No, Master Soldier, the death bell doesn't ring for such corpses. The poor old man hung himself--just here, on this limb above us!" "Hung himself?" I repeated in horror. "Yes, Master Soldier--he hung himself on that limb! You see he couldn't stand it when, after he had been told that his property would have to be sold to pay his debts, he heard that the burgomaster had received from Hamburg a warrant to arrest Hugo, his vagabond son, who had murdered a comrade of his in that city." You may imagine my feeling when I heard these words! They banished from my mind all thought of making myself known as the long-lost Hugo, and the determination to keep my identity a strict secret was strengthened by the drummer who, at every beat he inflicted on the cracked calf-skin, exclaimed: "The rascal!" "The vagabond!" "The gallows-bird!" and similar titles of honor! I deemed it wise to join him in execrating the reprobate, whose evil conduct had forced the honest old tanner to end his life on the green branch over our heads. The bloody deed I had committed in Hamburg had driven my poor father to a suicide's grave. I could listen no longer to the monotonous drum-beats, and the call which came from the house: "Who bids higher?" I stole away from the house to which I had brought disgrace and death. I stole away to that city of the silent multitude, where there is no higgling, no outbidding, no "who bids higher?" Here, the wooden cross at the head of the grass-grown mound of earth, serves the same purpose, and serves it as well as the majestic marble monument. After a long search among many familiar, and some unfamiliar names, I found, on one of the wooden crosses, the name to which I had a claim. Underneath that mound, bare of green sod, with no mourning wreath of never-fading flowers adorning the cross, rested the woman who had left behind her on earth nothing but a drunken husband, who drank to forget his shame; and a worthless son, whose name was a public disgrace in every city in the land. I flung myself beside the mound. I dared not give vent to my sorrow in moans and tears, for fear a grave-digger, or some passer-by might hear me, and suspect me to be the son of the woman in the grave. The Hamburg magistrates had offered one hundred thalers for my arrest; consequently it behooved me to be very cautious. I pretended I had chosen that spot to rest; and lay very still; for, just then, a good many people--chattering old women, noisy lads, and all sorts of shabby folk--were passing through the cemetery, toward the further wall. The crowd seemed to be expecting something--an imposing funeral, I said to myself. I soon found out why they were so eager to get to the boundary wall of the cemetery: In the strip of earth just outside the wall was the suicide's grave. He is not to rest among the respectable Christians; but in the strip of unconsecrated ground outside the sacred inclosure. No priest leads his funeral train; his body comes to its last resting place in the knacker's cart, on a bier made of four rough deals. The coffin is unpainted; there is no name-plate on the lid. The bell on the neck of the knacker's old steed tolls him to the grave. Instead of a solemn funeral dirge, there is the noisy chatter of the curious mob; and in lieu of funeral oration are the knacker's stupid and offensive jokes, which he cracks while he prepares to lower the coffin into the grave. Before he does this, he takes a knife from his pocket, and whittles a few chips from the coffin; and over these the gaping crowd--especially the old women--quarrel and higgle, gladly giving their last pence for the relics. And these people never suspect that the man who leans heavily against the broken cross, hard-by the new-made grave, might rush suddenly upon them, and with the stump of the broken cross crack the skulls of those whom he chanced to strike! At last the knacker took note of me: "Well, Master Soldier," he called, "and how goes it with you? Don't you want to exchange a few pence for a chip from the coffin of the man who hung himself? There is great virtue in such a bit of wood! It will preserve you from lightning, and--" "I would rather have a nail out of the coffin," I interrupted, "for iron will attract lightning, which is what I most desire." The fellow was ready enough to comply with my request, but he said the nail would be worth a thaler. I gave him the thaler, the last money I possessed in the world! and received the nail--my legacy from my father! Later, I had a ring made of the coffin-nail, and I still wear it on the fore-finger of my right hand. "Well," enunciated his highness, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket; "you certainly were punished for your misdeeds, my son. Your sufferings must have been greater than if you had been tortured on the wheel." The chair's comments were inaudible amid the sounds of emotion, which came from behind the prince's handkerchief. PART VII. CHAPTER I. PEACEFUL REPOSE. I was now without a heller in my pocket; and yet I did not feel poor. I thought to myself: I am a man, born this day--nothing, and nobody. I am so much better off than the new-born babe, in that I shall not have to be taught how to walk and talk, need no one to feed me, and rock me to sleep. I determined I would not remain longer on German soil. If I remained, only one of two alternatives was left to me: If I desired to associate with respectable folk, I should have to allow them, when they discovered who I was, to cut off my head; and if I went back to my old life, or into the army, I should have to cut off the heads of my fellow-creatures. I had no desire to do either. After my varied, and troublous experiences, I yearned for peace and quiet. My plans were soon formed. There was considerable trade in lumber, between Andernach and Holland. Innumerable rafts, composed of huge tree-trunks for masts, and piles for dams, were floated down the Rhine; and to the owner of one of these rafts I hired myself as rower. The wage was fair: thirty pfenings a day, with bread, cheese, dried fish, and a jug of beer. I never drank my portion of beer, but sold it for three pfenings, to one of my comrades on the raft, who got thirsty twice daily. I drank only water. When my fellow rowers would curse and swear, because a strong wind, or the current, drove the raft against the rocks, I would remonstrate mildly with them; and assure them that such speech in the mouths of Christian men was displeasing to God; and when, to pass the time, they would sit down to a game of dice, I would withdraw to the further end of the raft. If they urged me to join the game, I would reply: "Thou shalt not covet what belongs to thy neighbor." After awhile the jeers of my comrades attracted the attention of the owner of the raft. "Hello, lad; what's the matter with you? You don't drink, don't gamble, and don't swear--you are damnably pious, it seems to me! But, you are a first-rate worker; and I shall sell you in Nimeguen for at least three times as much as any of those lazy louts." "You are going to sell me and my comrades in Nimeguen?" I exclaimed in amazement. "Why, certainly! What the devil else should I do with you? You can float down stream on the raft; but I couldn't float you up-stream!--and I couldn't carry you on my back, could I? But, don't you worry. I'll find good places for the lot of you. There will be plenty of buyers for the rowers, as well as for the raft, and the price every fellow brings will be equally divided between me and himself!" "What becomes of the men--usually?" I ventured to inquire. "Well, I don't believe _all_ are chopped into sausage-meat! The Hollander likes to be a sailor--but only a captain, or a pilot. He likes also to be a soldier, but again he prefers to be a captain, or the commandant of a fortress. Therefore, common seamen and private soldiers are in demand; and for this the ignorant stranger is good. Consequently, you need only say which you prefer: to become a sailor, or a land-lubber--and take your choice." I deliberated a moment, then I said to him: "I will tell you the truth, Captain, because I have vowed never again to let a lie pass my lips. I am tired of soldiering. I have shed so much blood on the battlefield, that the remembrance of it oppresses my soul. I don't want to be a soldier; I would rather go to sea, and be rocked by the waves." "Well, you are an ignorant dunce!" he exclaimed. "Don't you know that, if you go to sea, you will get right into the thick of battle? The Dutch fight all their real battles at sea. They keep an army on shore, only that they may have troops to capitulate when a fortress is starved out by the enemy! The soldiers never get any actual fighting. Punctuality, sobriety, irreproachable conduct--these are the Dutch soldier's strong points--and, the devil fly away with me, if you don't rise to be a corporal in less than a twelve-month, if you join the army! What were you before?" "A gunner." "Well, you can be a gunner in the Dutch army." "But, what have the gunners in the Dutch artillery to do if there is no enemy to shoot at?" I asked. "Oh, they find enough to occupy their time. On Saturday evenings they have the management of the fire-works, which are set off in the park; and on the other days of the week they prepare the rockets, and other things, for the Saturday evening's display." That is why I became a gunner in the artillery, in the goodly city of Nimeguen. Sixty dollars was the price paid for me, the half of which I received. I was now in a community that exactly suited me. Here was no mighty uproar, no rioting, no drinking. Here, no vain braggart youths molested the wives of the staid burghers. Here were no conflicts between the military and the citizens. All were at peace with one another. On Sunday mornings the armed, and the unarmed residents went together to church; and in the evening all drank their pints together amicably in the beer-houses. The soldiers were allowed, when not on guard duty, or otherwise engaged in the fortress, to work for the citizens; the money thus earned belonged to themselves. And there were many chances to secure employment. The entire city of Nimeguen was a huge flower-garden, in which was grown that most important article of commerce: the tulip bulb. It is a well-known fact that not only entire Europe but all the lands under the dominion of the Turkish sultan, would suffer a greater financial loss, were the Dutch tulip-bulbs to remain out of the markets for a year, than if all other crops were to fail for the same length of time. By saying this, I do not mean that the carnation is not also a necessary luxury--if I may so term it; but the tulip is, and will remain, the most important article of commerce in the lands I have mentioned. One tulip-bulb is worth as much as a peck of wheat. But it is of different values--according to the color. There are tulips which only kings and sultans can afford to have bloom in their gardens. I was fortunate enough to secure employment for my leisure hours, as gardener's assistant, on the estate of a widow who was "tulip-wealthy." The lady would visit her tulip beds early every morning, to see them in bud; and again late in the afternoon, to see the full-blown flowers. At such times I never got a glimpse of her face; for she always wore a huge cap, from which only the tip of her nose protruded. But I decided, after I had been on the estate a week, that the fair owner must be young, for when she addressed a remark to me, which she did occasionally, her voice was so low--as if she feared I might hear what she said. To judge by the enormous quantities of bulbs she sent to market, the widow must have been very rich; but the bulbs were not her only treasures. She possessed a collection of shells, fresh, and salt-water, that represented a very tidy sum of money. In Holland, as well as in England, and France, the shell had also a commercial value; and wealthy collectors vied with one another to secure the finest examples of the _spordilus regius_; the "sun-ray" mussel; the rainbow-hued "venus-ear"; the "queen's cap"; the "tower of Babylon"; and "Pharaoh's turban," and would pay as high as two hundred dollars for a perfect specimen of the shell they wanted. I have known a perfect _scalaria preciosa_ to bring one hundred zequins. This shell is more valuable than the pearl; and my fair employer possessed a whole drawerful of them. Her sainted husband had collected them; and they would have sold for more than would a three-master loaded with grain. More than one nabob had offered fabulous sums for the collection; and it was said that a British peer, who was devoted to the study of conchology, had even gone so far as to offer his hand and title to the widow, in order to gain possession of the much coveted treasure. The widow who hesitates loses a title; while the lady was considering the peer's offer, there was a sudden fall in the price of shells, and my lord sailed away to England. What caused this depression in the shell-market you ask? Well, as your highness, and the honorable gentlemen, must know, every sea-creature like the _scalaria_ builds its house with the volutions turning to the left. One day a sailor, whose home was in Nimeguen, returned from a voyage to Sumatra, and brought with him a large number of _scalaria_ with the shells turned in just the opposite direction--from left to right. Now, a shell of this order was a decided _lusus naturæ_, and the price for the ordinary pattern at once depreciated. The bankers and nabobs, who had formerly vied with one another in their quest for the _scalaria preciosa_, were now so inflamed with the desire to possess a _scalaria retrotorsa_, that they willingly paid from two to three thousand thalers for a single specimen. On the other hand, the ordinary _scalaria_, which had sold readily for one hundred ducats, could now be bought for ten, and fifteen thalers. This was a heavy blow for my widowed employer, and she soon found that she had not the strength to bear it alone. When I heard of her loss, I summoned enough courage to say to her: "If this unlucky business about the shells is all that troubles you, my dear lady, I think I can help you. I have a scheme that will in a very short time produce shells which turn to the right--and in such quantities, that you can supply all the shell-markets in the country." The widow reflected several moments, then replied: "But, I couldn't think of allowing you to employ witch-craft to secure such shells for me. I do not approve of magic. I have always held aloof from sorcery, charms, conjuring, and all such infernal practices; and, as I hope some time to be united with my beloved husband, who is with the saints, I could not bind my soul to the wicked one, by countenancing any sort of magic, or idolatry." "There is neither magic nor idolatry connected with my scheme to benefit you, gracious lady," I assured her. "What I have in mind is a purely scientific experiment. It is fully described in a large book written by the learned Professor Wagner, who was a very pious man, as well as a very clever scholar." "The book I allude to, gracious lady, treats of the sympathy and antipathy of plants, and cold-blooded animals; and is all about creatures made by our Heavenly Father. It is a noteworthy fact, that the bean vine always twines from left to right around the stake which supports it; while the hop as invariably winds from right to left--neither of them ever makes a mistake. If, however, the bean and the hop be planted close together, then, the two plants being antipathetic one to the other, the bean will twine to the left, and the hop to the right." "_Quid fuit probatum._" "From such experiments the learned professor was led to experiment with living creatures. He found that, when an acaleph which forms its shell from right to left in the flower-beds at the bottom of the ocean, chances to lie in close proximity to a _nautilus pompilius_, which belongs to the cephalopods, and builds from left to right, the two, because of their antipathy for each other, will reverse the order of their volutions." "From this it is clear that those conchologists, who have created a veritable social revolution with their _scalaria retrotorsa_, and have shaken the foundations of prosperity in the Dutch low countries, have accidentally come upon such shells which, in consequence of an antipathetic propinquity, have reversed their order of building--and by so doing, my dear lady, have caused you great loss and sorrow. But, you need sorrow no longer, if you will graciously assent to my proposition. It will, I feel confident, bring you a fortune so enormous that even the queen regent will envy you!" "But, what is your proposition?" queried the pious soul, and for the first time, half of her face emerged from the depths of her cap. "It is this, gracious lady: Order your agents to bring from the ocean living _scalaria_, and _nautili_, which are to be secured with least trouble during the mating season. We will prepare for them here a large basin of sea-water, with sand from the bottom of the ocean. In this we will plant sea-weeds, place our living shells among them, and feed them with star-fish, holothures, and other soft-bodied marine creatures. After a season our shell-fish will spawn; the eggs of the _scalaria_ cling together--like a string of pearls; those of the _nautili_ adhere to one another by sixes, in shape of a star. "When we shall have secured a number of broods, we will fasten together the ends of a _scalaria_ string, forming a circle, in the center of which we will place a star of _nautilus_ spawn; and you will see, when the tiny creatures escape from the eggs, that they will build their houses in a reversed order from the parent shell." My plan was quite clear to the fair widow; she gave her orders at once to her agents, for the _scalaria_, and _nautili_, and from that moment treated me with great respect and affability. Meanwhile, I continued to perform my duties: I polished my guns mornings; inspected the soldiers' coats, to see if any of the buttons had been sewed on wrong side up--the lower part of the state's coat of arms uppermost--and reported to the captain that everything was in order. Saturday evenings I attended to setting off the fire-works; and every week-day afternoon I worked in the widow's garden. What I earned I laid by. I never touched pipe, nor glass--not even when they were offered to me; and to whomsoever I addressed a remark, I gave the title belonging to him. Thus, I gained the respect of all my fellow-citizens. I had become what I had long desired: a respectable God-fearing man-- "Now, look out for a special bit of rascality;" _sotto voce_, interjected the chair. I admit it was to win promotion that I conducted myself with such propriety, continued the prisoner. I was extremely desirous of attaining a lieutenancy. When the living _scalaria_, and _nautili_, arrived together with the creatures which were to serve as food for them, they were placed in the large basin with a wall about it, I had prepared for them in the lower portion of the tulip garden; and in due time the spawn was ready for further operation. My gracious employer was greatly surprised to learn that the eggs of the shell-fish have a peculiarity which distinguishes them from the eggs of birds and insects. With the development of the embryonic fish, its envelope also extends; one such egg, which at first is hardly as large as a lentil, increases to the size of a hazel-nut. In this condition its outer covering is very thin--merely a transparent membrane, through which the now quickened animal may be seen revolving with the celerity of a spinning top. One may even detect the pulsations of its heart. "The fellow has actually taken it upon himself to deliver a lecture on malacology!" irritably interposed the chair. "I am sorry to prolong the hearing, your honor," deferentially returned the prisoner, "but, I beg you will allow me to finish what I have to say on this subject, in order that I may explain why I was accused of conjuring. I desire to prove that what I did was not accomplished by aid of any infernal power; but through my own intelligence, in discovering, and making use of one of Nature's secrets." As I mentioned before, one may perceive, in the embryonic mollusk, the incessant rotary movement from left to right. In order to keep the two antipathetic broods constantly in the close juxtaposition necessary to influence their development, I was obliged to handle them frequently, as the eggs would move about-- "Stop!" interrupted the chair, "mollusks have no eyes; how then were those you hatched able to see their antipathetic neighbors, and move away from them?" Their antipathetic sensations informed them. Though mollusks have no eyes, they are endowed with other remarkable organs--such as are not found in warm-blooded animals. However, to cut my story short, the quickened _scalaria_, and _nautili_, immediately began to form their shells in the reversed order I had expected, and the secret of fabulous enrichment was solved. During the mysterious process of nature--while the shell-fish were industriously rearing their priceless houses--my patroness daily spent a half hour or more beside the sea-water basin; and would even, now and then, assist me to restore the creatures to their proper positions. At first she would push her sleeves only an inch or two above the wrists; but, after awhile, they were tucked above the elbows, and I could admire as much as I wanted the beautiful white arms--a favor no modest woman will allow anyone but her own husband. As the work had to be done, and as we did not want a third party to have cognizance of our experiment, the fair widow was obliged to assist me, and the natural result of the bared arms was: I became her legal husband. Therefore, it was neither through magic, nor witch-craft, nor yet through seductive arts employed by myself, that I became the legal protector of the richest, and handsomest young widow in Nimeguen. ("The truth of the matter is: the modest Dutch widow bewitched the valiant gunner, and compelled him to marry her!" was the chair's sarcastic interpolation.) Well, be that as it may, the lady was amply rewarded for marrying me. The _scalaria retrotorsa_ resulting from my experiment, brought her enormous wealth. We did not know, at last, what to do with all the money that kept pouring into our coffers; but, the larger portion of her reward by far, she found in the conjugal fidelity I vowed to her. I would not have believed that I possessed so many of the attributes necessary to the making of a pattern husband, and my wife would have been entirely satisfied with me, had I been a captain like her first spouse. But I was only a gunner! My predecessor had been a captain, it is true, but he had never seen a battle; and when, on _Corpus Christi_, he commanded the city militia, and gave orders to fire the salute, he always pressed his hands against his ears to shut out the noise. Still, his title gave his wife the right to call herself "Frau Hauptmannin;" while, as my wife she was merely "Constablerinn"--a degradation intolerable to any proud-spirited woman. I tried to purchase at least a lieutenant's commission; but there were fifty-six applicants for the position ahead of me; and there was no telling how many years I should have to wait for my turn. My wife at last became so sensitive that, in order to escape being addressed by the inferior title, she ceased to go out of the house; and when she had occasion to make mention of me to any one, she always spoke, or wrote, in this wise: "The husband of the widow of Captain Tobias van der Bullen." That honorable and high-born gentlemen, is how I came to be called--through no fault of mine!--by my twelfth false name: "Tobias van der Bullen." I must confess, it was an extremely dull life. Of what use to us were the hoards of gold in the treasure-chests? We did not know how to spend them. I did not drink wine; I was not allowed to smoke at home, because it was an unclean habit. And I was always at home, when not at the barracks, because I had nowhere else to go. At the merchants' casino, of which I might have become a member had I so elected, all the conversation was about matters I could not endure. The men were so grave and sedate, there was no fun in trying to play tricks on them; and the women were virtuous to such a degree, that not one of them would have allowed a barn-yard cock to scratch worms for more than one hen. As all married men know, women are peculiar creatures. There are times when they become impressed with a desire to possess certain things that--so say the sagacious doctors--it is unwise, nay dangerous, to refuse to gratify the request. I have heard said, that a woman has been known to long for a dish of shoemaker's paste; another believed she would collapse if she did not get a frog to devour; still another, vowed she could not survive, if her husband did not rise from his bed at midnight, and hasten to the nearest grocery for a box of superfine wagon grease! Now, my wife was seized with a longing to possess a sheet of parchment--a desire, you will say, that might easily have been gratified. But, the sort of parchment she wanted did not grow on every bush! A document, engrossed with the words which certified that her husband was a captain, was what she craved. But, where was I to procure it? Chance one day brought me face to face with an old acquaintance, Mynheer Ruissen. He recognized me at once. It would have been useless to deny my identity; moreover, there had been established between us a certain good-fellowship that justified me in believing I might safely take him into my confidence. He told me how zealously the officers of the law were searching throughout Germany for the fugitive, who had substituted tin church-vessels for the gold and silver ones used in the Templars' castle; and for having caused the wonderful metamorphosis of the Hamburg moo-calf. ("Fine phrases for robbery, and assassination!" commented the chair). It was fortunate for me that I was known in Holland only under the name of my wife's deceased husband; had the worthy Dutchmen known who I was, the German authorities would not have remained long in ignorance as to the whereabouts of the fugitive criminal they were seeking. I confided to Mynheer Ruissen my desire to obtain the title of captain in order to prevent my wife from grieving herself to death. "Well, my son," he observed after a moment's deliberation, "it isn't such an easy matter to get to be a captain--on shore. There is no war now. These Hollanders prefer to look on fighting at a distance. If you want to become a captain, come with me to sea. I am on my way to East India, with small arms and cannons for the nabob Nujuf Khan, of Bengal. There's a general in his army, who is a countryman of yours--a Reinhard Walter. He was an adventurer like yourself when he went to India; and now he is a distinguished man. He changed his name to 'Sommer,' and the natives out yonder call him 'Sumro.' He is in need of soldiers, especially skilled gunners. If you will come with me--who can tell?--you may become not only a captain, but a prince within a twelve-month." The tales Mynheer Ruissen related of General Sommer's success in Bengal were so marvelous, they inflamed me with the desire to try my fortune in that distant land; besides, the wearisome dullness of my monotonous existence in Nimeguen was driving me to madness. I decided to accompany the Mynheer, whom I introduced to my wife. She was almost beside herself with delight, when he told her he knew of a land in which there grew a tree, called the banyan, with a thousand branches, every one bearing a hundred figs, in every one of which might be found a captain's commission. And these wonderful figs might be had for the plucking, by any one who would take the trouble to journey to that distant land. "You must start at once, my dear," said my wife in urgent tones--as if she feared there might not be any of the figs left for me, if I delayed going immediately. "At once! You must on no account miss the ship!" With her own hands she packed everything I should need for the journey--not forgetting soap and tooth-brushes! And she did not weep at parting with me. You see, the women of Holland become accustomed to having their husbands go away on long journeys, to be absent for years. I confess I was not sorry to go; for, I knew that, if I stopped at home, when the third member of the family arrived, it would be my task to rock the cradle. I preferred to be rocked myself by the waves on a good ship! Two days later I bade farewell for a time to Europe, and set sail with Mynheer Ruissen for India. A favorable wind sent us skimming out of the harbor; my wife waved a farewell with her handkerchief from the shore. "Did you commit any crimes on the high seas?" This query from the chair interrupted the voyage for a few moments. "Nothing worth mentioning, your honor." "Then, just skip over the entire ocean, and don't waste our time with descriptions of flying-fish, and chanting mermaids. Debark without further delay in Bengal, and let us hear what rascalities you perpetrated there?" PART VIII. IN BENGAL. CHAPTER I. BEGUM SUMRO. The next morning Hugo resumed his confession: I hope the honorable gentlemen of the court will pardon me, and not imagine I wish to prolong this hearing, if I mention what may seem trifling details. They are absolutely necessary to render intelligible the recital of my most serious transgressions: idolatry, polygamy, and regicide-- "All of which you will prove to have been so many praiseworthy acts!" interpolated the chair. To begin with--continued the prisoner, paying no heed to the chair's interpolation--from one of the upper windows of a tall tower that stands on the left bank of the Ganges, in the neighborhood of Benares, projects a bamboo pole as thick as a man's waist; and from it depends, by an iron chain, a large iron cage. A man is confined in this cage. His food is conveyed to him from the window of the tower, through a long hollow pipe of bamboo. The cage hangs over a large pool of water that is fed by an arm of the river, and swarms with voracious crocodiles. It is a horrible sight, in the late afternoon, to see these ferocious brutes lift their heads from the water, and grin at the man in the cage. If he should break the iron bars which confine him in his airy prison, and attempt to escape by leaping into the pool, the hungry monsters would devour him skin and hair. "Who is the man?" queried the chair. "No less a personage than his royal highness, Shah Alum, the heir to the throne of the great Mogul." "Why is he confined in the cage?" "Because he extended the hospitalities of his roof to his highness, Mir Cossim, the nabob of Bengal, whom the English banished from his territory, after the battle of Patna. Later, after the battle at Buxar, Shah Alum himself fell into the power of the English; and Mir Cossim was obliged to flee to the protection of the nabob of Andh, whose commander-in-chief was the General Sommer, of whom Mynheer Ruissen had told me. The English demanded of the nabob of Andh, that he deliver to them Mir Cossim and Sommer: whom they wanted to cage, and hang beside Shah Alum, to keep him from getting lonely! But the nabob of Andh allowed Sommer to escape; and he fled across the Jumna, where he organized another army. He was again defeated by the English, and fled to Joodpoor, where he placed himself under the protection of Prince Radspoota. Here he organized troops after the manner of those in Europe, and vanquished the rajahs of Chitore, and Abeil. Again he was compelled by the English to flee--but not by the force of arms this time; his enemies intimidated the prince, his protector; and, in order not to cause his highness any inconvenience, Sommer went to Delhi, the chief city in India, where he sought the protection of Najuf Khan. The full name of this ruler is: 'Mirza Nujuf Khan Zülfikar al Dowlah, commander-in-chief to the Great Mogul.' From him Sommer received a hearty welcome." "This Sommer," observed the chair, "seems to have been a vagrant like yourself." "I consider that a great compliment, your honor, and thank you for it!" returned the prisoner. Then he resumed his confession: Sommer had an opportunity the very first day to prove his gratitude for the friendly reception accorded him by Najuf Khan. The mutinous Mahrattas made a sudden attack that night on the residence of the Khan, and would have assassinated him, had not Sommer hastened with the loyal Mahrattas to the rescue, and vanquished the mutineers. And they were fine fellows--devilish fine fellows, too--those mutinous Mahrattas! The crack troop of the imperial army! They had once compelled a former commander-in-chief, who had failed, for some reason or other, to pay the troops, to sit, bound hand and foot, and with bare head in the scorching sun, until he gave orders to have them paid. ("I think it will be well to keep that episode from the ears of our troops," observed the prince with a meaning smile.) In gratitude for his rescue, Najuf Khan charged Sommer with the organization of his army; and in a short time he, Sommer, got together a force of natives, and Europeans, sufficient to conquer a neighboring province, the chief city of which is Agra; he also captured the so-called impregnable citadel of Drig, in which rock-fortress he imprisoned nabob Nevil Szig. In reward for this victorious campaign, the emperor of Delhi appointed Sommer king of the conquered province of Sardhana. Thus, the son of a grocer in Treves became the sovereign of an East Indian province. I trust the honorable gentlemen of the court have received this somewhat prolix preface with favor. I believed it necessary, in order to familiarize you with the marvelous changes, which are worked by a mysterious fate in that tropical clime, where alone such changes are possible. If I could but delineate approximately the peculiarities of that region, of the atmosphere I breathed, the ground I trod, I believe the honorable gentlemen would say: "Arise, and go your way in peace. You are not to blame for what you have done. Your transgressions are but the fruits of the soil which produces also the boa and the upas tree." The province of Sardhana is ten times as large as the grand-duchy of Treves; and the revenue of its sovereign four times that of the grand duke. It is a very fruitful country, rich in grain, wool, and tobacco. Sommer built a fort near his residence; and with the aid of his troops kept the neighboring provinces under subjection. He forced a passage through the forests of Mevas, into which, until then, none of the foreign conquerors had been able to penetrate; which had formed an impassable barrier for the great Alexander on his triumphal march; baffled the hordes of Djingis Khan, whose inhabitants sallied forth only when they desired to levy tribute on a neighboring tribe. After vanquishing these savages, Sommer directed his attention toward the inhuman Balluken, who offered the blood of young girls in sacrifice to their gods, and in a very short time succeeded in dislodging them from their rocky retreat. Ultimately, he undertook to subdue the royal Pertaub Singh, which he accomplished--but not through the force of arms: by his powers of persuasion, which he possessed to a marvelous degree. Sommer's patron, as was natural, wished to bestow on his successful commander-in-chief a new reward for all these conquests. There was a beautiful young girl, named Zeib Alnissa (the Hindoo for "ornament of her sex"), the daughter of one of the most influential princely families in Delhi, and this girl the emperor sought in marriage for his favorite. Sommer informed his patron that he would espouse the beautiful Zeib Alnissa if she would adopt the Christian faith. "Why," exclaimed the emperor, "can't you love a woman who worships Brahma?" "Oh, yes, your imperial highness," responded Sommer; "it is because I should love her very much, that I want her to belong to my faith. I am not a young man any more, and I have a profligate son whom I have been forced to disown. If I should die, my wife, according to the Brahminical custom, would be burned alive with my body. If she becomes a Christian, she will not have to ascend the funeral pyre, but my throne, where she will reign as Begum, and prevent my kingdom from falling into the hands of my worthless son." The emperor conceded that Sommer's argument was just; and permitted the foreign missionaries to convert the lovely young princess to the Christian faith. This was a concession never before granted to a European in India. Zeib Alnissa adored her husband. She accompanied him on every expedition he undertook; watched over him; guarded him from the secret enemies and treachery which encompass every East Indian sovereign. The successful commander-in-chief had many enemies and rivals. The English company had long ranked among his opponents. Not infrequently he was rescued as by a miracle from great danger by the watchful care of his devoted wife. Ultimately, however, his enemies succeeded in their attempts on his life; and the brave commander-in-chief succumbed to the poison secretly administered to him. He died in the arms of the faithful Zeib Alnissa, just about the time I arrived in Sardhana, to take command of his artillery. His widow, under the title of Sumro Begum, ascended the throne, thus preventing, as her husband had desired, her step-son from inheriting it. This son was a truly immoral and wicked fellow. I saw him for a few minutes after the Begum's accession to the crown, and after she had confirmed my appointment as commander of the fort. He actually had the effrontery to try to bribe me to betray the Begum into his power; and, on finding that his efforts were useless, he threatened to revenge himself on me when he should come into possession of the throne. "Very well," I retorted. "When that time comes I shall become a regicide." How little I dreamed then, that my words were prophetic! Meanwhile, Sumro Begum grasped with a firm hand the reins of government. She increased her army, and added several pieces of ordnance to the artillery. Seated on a spirited battle-horse, or elephant, she inspected the manoeuvers in person. Her neighbors in the adjacent provinces very soon learned to fear and respect her; even the emperor gave her credit for great prudence and wisdom. Indeed, so great was the influence she wielded, that her voice frequently decided the issue in the discussions at court. Those East Indian dignitaries are a jealous folk. When Gholam Kadir found that his influence at the imperial court was secondary to that of Sumro Begum, he marched with his troops on the capital, and began to bombard the palace. Sumro Begum, however, heard the thunder of the cannonading, and hastily summoning her troops, joined her forces to those of Prince Ivan Buk, and drove the jealous Gholam Kadir back to his province. The revolt in the interior of his empire concluded, the emperor was at liberty to turn his attention to the foreign invader. Kuli Khan had captured the fortress of Ghokal Gur. This valuable stronghold had to be recaptured; and troops were not lacking, but leaders were. Sommer's loss was most keenly felt; but Sumro Begum was still to the fore, and she was worth a dozen ordinary generals. The imperial troops had been trying for three weeks to recapture the fortress of Ghokal Gur. They had become tired of the continued ill-success of their undertaking, and had abandoned themselves to feasting and carousing. One night, after all tipsy heads had been laid to rest, Kuli Khan, with his Mongolian cavalry, surprised the imperial camp, and began to slaughter the stupefied troops. The enemy in the fortress could see by the light of the burning tents the horrible butchery going on outside the walls, and decided to take a hand in it. The emperor's tent was riddled with bullets; two of his palanquin bearers were killed, and he was obliged to seek flight on his own feet. But, whither to turn he knew not, as he was in the center of a furious cross-fire. It is quite certain that he would have been destroyed, together with his entire army, had not Sumro Begum hastened to the rescue, with her admirably disciplined troops, officered by Europeans. On hearing of the emperor's danger the heroic Begum summoned her body-guard--hardly one hundred men--entered her palanquin, and hastened, with the battery under my command, toward the thickest of the fight. When she saw that the enemy from the fortress was taking part in the massacre of the half-sober imperial troops, she called to me: "Follow my example!" Then, she sprang from her palanquin, mounted a horse, and at the head of her body-guard, charged upon the enemy. I knew very well what was expected of me! I placed my battery in such a position that the guns would clear a way for the Begum. In a very short time the valiant enemy, who had sallied forth from the fortress to take a hand in slaughtering their beleaguerers, were in a wild retreat toward it. Sumro Begum met them at the draw-bridge, took the commander prisoner, and, with him in chains at her side, entered the fort, of which she took possession in the name of the emperor. She left all but ten of her men to guard the fort, and returned to the assistance of the emperor, whose troops, taking courage from the example of the brave Begum, plucked up heart, turned upon their butchers, and after a severe struggle gained the mastery. The rising sun witnessed the annihilation of the enemy. The fort was again in the possession of the emperor, who, in face of his entire army, embraced Sumro Begum, and called her his "dear daughter." He did not hesitate to declare, in the presence of his commanding officers, that he owed his life, the lives of six imperial princes, his empire, and the rescue of his army, to the brave woman. To this the Begum, with a modest blush, made reply: "Not to me alone is due all this praise, your imperial highness. The greater portion belongs to my commander of artillery. This is he"--she drew me forward and presented me to the emperor. "To him must be given a fitting reward for the great service he has done your imperial highness." The answer to this was: "Let yourself be the brave man's reward!" With his own imperial hand he placed the lady's hand in my own, and betrothed her to me with a ring from his own finger. At the same time he appointed me co-regent of Sardhana, under the name of Maharajah Kong. Thus, I became--not a captain, but a maharajah. "And all this really happened?" inquired the chair. "Yes, your honor, and more too--as you may read in the court chronicles at Delhi." "We will hear the rest tomorrow," observed the prince. "It is enough for one day to have heard how the son of an Andernach tanner became assistant sovereign of a province in India." CHAPTER II. IDOL WORSHIP. The next day the prisoner resumed his confession: I was now ruler of a province, with a revenue of twenty lacs of rupees. I had a remarkably handsome and clever wife, with eyes than which no gem was brighter. But, there was a thought that troubled me night and day: What was to become of my wife in Holland? My religion forbade two wives. This thought so troubled me, that at last I confided it to Sumro Begum. "I don't see why you considered that necessary," interrupted the chair. "You had already told so many lies, another one would certainly have found room beside the rest!" I beg your honor to remember that I vowed at the grave of my poor father to lead a God-fearing life, and to let nothing but the truth pass my lips. The ring made of the coffin-nail, which I wore on my thumb, constantly reminded me of my vow. Therefore, I considered it my duty to tell Sumro Begum that I had a legal wife in Holland; and that, were I to go back to her, I should find my child on her bosom. The Begum was not in the least offended when I made my confession; on the contrary, she commended me for telling the truth. "He who proves himself faithful to the absent one, will certainly remain loyal to the one at hand," she quoted. Only a religion stood between her and me; and that might easily be changed. "If we remain Catholics, of course two wives are out of the question," decided the Begum, "because that would be bigamy. If we go over to the Brahmans, their sacred books forbid the wife to occupy the throne with her husband, and the widow from marrying again. But, there is the faith of Siva; it permits a man to have more than one wife; it acknowledges no difference of rank between man and man--as do the Brahman and the Christian religions--nor does it consider a woman a soulless animal, men and women are alike human beings. An adherent of the Siva faith may even take a foreigner to wife; he may eat at the same table with his wife, or wives, after the grace before food, prescribed by the Prophet Bazawa, has been repeated. We will adopt this faith, then you may keep your other wife, and I will share with her your love and respect." I thought over this suggestion for several days, for the fate of an entire province depended on my decision. On the one hand a people whose prosperity depended on how I would settle the question; a yearly income of several million thalers, a beautiful and clever wife with a heart filled with love for me, with all the delights of paradise on her lips--on the other: the Roman pope, with St. Peter's keys in his possession! In my position, your highness, and honorable gentlemen, how would you have decided? "Get along with you, _perversus nebulo_!" exclaimed his highness, smiling. "You want us to commit ourselves, do you? I'll warrant you suspect what would have been our decision! I don't in the least doubt but even the mayor here, would elect to kiss a beautiful woman rather than the pope's slipper--especially if the choice were submitted to him in the province of Sardhana! It is enough: you became an idol worshipper--forced to it by circumstances. It is your own affair, and one which you will have to settle with a higher tribunal than this one. This indictment may be erased from the record." Not even the mayor objected to this decision. At first, though, he wrinkled his brows and looked serious; but in the end he smiled with the rest; and dictated to the notary, that the transgression last confessed might be recorded as condoned by the court. Most worthy and honorable gentlemen, resumed the prisoner, I must now tell you something about the customs and manners of that land whither I had been led by the hand of destiny. Even the sky over there is unlike ours. Why, the sun of Holland would not do for a moon in India! Yon flaming heavens heat the blood and brain to boiling; the humid atmosphere creates phenomena which are like the phantasmagoria of delirium; triple suns, and wreaths of flame appear in the sky; when frequently the mysterious _Fata Morgana_ portrays inverted landscapes, and cities; the vivid coloring of the clouds causes the most brilliant hues on the earth below to appear faded and insignificant. Forests, fields, houses, human beings, at times take on an ocherous hue, as if the world were dead; and when a rain falls, it is a deluge of fire from a sky of brass. And sometimes, the cloud-burst will be like a rain of blood, and the whole earth will glow with the most brilliant crimson hue. On very, very hot days, when the native farmers trudge along the high-road (the high caste native never travels on foot, nor appears in public at midday) the dust rising from their feet looks like a fiery mist, and makes one think he is looking on the damned in hades walking amid the flames! And there too the soil is so different from ours. There the plants we grow in pots in our hot houses thrive and luxuriate under the open sky, and form a wilderness, the lurking place of tigers and lions, in which the fragrance of the very air is intoxicating as wine. The hundred different varieties of fruits, which ripen in succession throughout the year, explain sufficiently how a people that outnumbers the entire population of Europe are able to subsist on vegetable diet alone, without the nourishment of meats, which their religion prohibits. The borasses palm supplies them with honey, oil, wine, and sugar; another palm yields flour, butter, and milk; and they have a tree on which grow loaves of bread the size of a human head; raw, this vegetable bread is a sweet fruit; baked, it is as palatable as a bakers' loaf and-- "Stop! stop!" cried the chair, rapping on the table with his stick. "That is going too far! Of all the lies you have told us, this one about loaves of bread growing on a tree is the most outrageously incredible." "I am very sorry that your honor refuses to believe there is such a tree. The proof that I am not lying may easily be obtained, if your honor will send a deputation to India, to make inquiries concerning the truth of my statements, if it turns out that a single one of them is lacking in truth, then your honor may disbelieve all the rest." "Oho!" sneered the chair, "you would like to postpone this trial for a year or more, while a searching commission travelled to the end of the world and back--wouldn't you? We prefer to believe that living creatures also hang on trees like fruits." "And so they do!" responded the prisoner. "There is a sort of large squirrel, or small dog, that has wings and flies, and at night hangs by its hind legs to the limbs of trees, and looks like a gourd." "Didn't I say so?" again interrupted the chair with a choleric laugh. "Flying dogs that sleep hanging by their feet! Go on with your fables, you reprobate!--this honorable court is sitting for the sole purpose of believing every lie you choose to tell. I am curious to hear how your bread growing on trees, and your flying dogs are going to clear you of the crimes of bigamy and regicide." I am coming to that, your honor. The entire world which environs the human being in that distant land, works an irresistible influence on his nature, and the native inhabitant compels, with his peculiar religion, customs, his deeply-rooted prejudices, the foreigner resident to adopt a mode of life antipodal to that he led at home. The majority of the natives wear no clothing at all; while the rest bend under a costly burden of greatest splendor. The Indian is a mixture of the ideally perfect, and the grotesquely hideous, heroic at one moment, cowardly the next, free as a bird, and restricted as an anchorite. He is to be envied for his paradisal simplicity, and admired for his gigantic creations. His cities surpass in magnificence and grandeur those of Europe. His churches are mountains, enormous edifices hewn by artist hands from a single rock; with thousands of majestic columns, and armies of idols; while his huts are more abjectly wretched than the dwellings of our beavers. The Indian, with his thousand gods, to all of whom he renders service and sacrifices--and of whom not one possesses the power to help him--is so gentle-hearted, that he will not take the life of an animal; allows himself to be devoured by lions and tigers; crushed under foot by the rhinoceros; bitten by serpents; and stung by venomous insects--and yet, he considers it no sin to exterminate an entire neighboring folk. Oh, that is a strange country: where the aristocrat, if touched by a member of another caste, considers himself defiled, and possesses the right to cut off the hand, or arm that touched him, and the mutilated pariah accepts the punishment as his due. Where the wife is burned alive on the funeral pyre of her husband; where the invalid is placed on the banks of a river, and declared to be already dead, so that, should he recover, he may not return to the living, but seek the "community of the dead," which is made up of one-time invalids, recovered like himself. Dwelling amid such a people, every idea the European entertains when he lands on that shore very soon fades away; for, there, they have different virtues and different sins. "This lengthy dissertation I take it," interrupted the chair, "is for the purpose of acquainting the court that bigamy and regicide are permissable crimes among that wonderful people?" Bigamy is permissable, your honor, on conditions: if the first wife consents, her husband may marry a second. But, before the consent of the first wife is secured, he may not kiss and embrace his second. CHAPTER III. MAIMUNA, AND DANESH. My beautiful Zeib Alnissa was a wonderful woman. On the day of our wedding, which was celebrated with truly Asiatic splendor, when meal-time came, and I took my seat at the head of the table, she could not be induced to sit by my side; but seated herself at the extreme lower end of the board. This custom, she said, we should have to observe, until we received my first wife's consent to our marriage, which would give my second the right to repeat the Bazawa grace before food. Until my new wife was entitled to perform this ceremony we were not allowed to drink from the same cup; were not permitted to clasp hands, or look into each other's eyes. I might not have respected all these rigid laws, which kept me separated from my beautiful bride, had not Zeib Alnissa herself understood how to compel me to respect them. The Siva religion prohibits the use of wine, which is to be regretted; for, in that tropic zone, grow hundreds and hundreds of different sorts of fruits, which would yield nectarious beverages, the taste of which would cause one to forget all about wine, and disgust one with beer. Tons of deliciously sweet and aromatic sap flow from the pierced palm, and the agave, and its effect on the human senses is nothing like the stupor which results from drinking our liquors; it is rather a state of exaltation. My charming bride understood well how to entertain me with tales of her native palm forests. She related the history of Prince Kamir Essaman, and the Princess Bedur. She told me how the prince, who lived in India, and the princess, whose home was in Persia, were brought together while they slept, by the two friendly genii, Maimuna and Danesh, who bore the sleeping lovers on their pinions to the place of meeting, and then back to their homes again. It was an interesting tale, but I grew very sleepy while listening to it. I am convinced that the spicy potion Zeib Alnissa prepared for me caused the drowsiness, and I only remember that, as I sank back on my pillow, she placed the prohibitory unsheathed sword between herself and me. The moment I closed my eyes in sleep I quitted this earth. I could hear the rustle of wings as I was borne swiftly through the clouds, which parted with a sound like thunder--as when they are rent by lightning. By the light of the stars I could see that I was lying on the wings of the Jinnee, Danesh. He was of gigantic form; his wings, like those of a bat stretched from horizon to horizon; his hair looked like bamboo rods, and his beard like palm leaves. So swift was our flight that the moon changed from full to last quarter above us. A meteor raced to overtake us, but, when it came abreast with Danesh, he thrust out his foot, and gave it a kick that burst it, and sent myriads of sparks flying in all directions. Looking downward, I saw China, which I recognized by its porcelain towers, and long canals. Then Thibet, with the snow-clad summits of the Himalayan range, and the great Mongolian plain. At last we arrived over Mount Ararat. I knew where I was, by the tongues of flame which encircled the mount like a wreath. They were the altars of the fire-worshipping Parsees--the source of Baku's eternal fires; and Danesh was one of the great spirits of the flame-adoring heathen. On the summit of Mount Ararat was a magnificent palace--to describe its splendors is impossible to the human tongue! Its walls were covered with the names of those persons who have been happy, and have thanked God therefor. The letters in which the names are written are so radiant, they make night as light as day. Here, in a sumptuous apartment, with silken hangings, and glittering with gems, Danesh laid me gently down on a divan; and immediately began to laugh in a tone that sounded like thunder. In answer to his laughter, there came a sound from the air, as if the balmy south wind were murmuring a complaint. "You are the one-hundred-thousandth part of a minute late," called Danesh. "And you are three-hundred-thousand eons ahead of time," replied the second Voice; and the next instant Maimuna descended from the sky. This Jinnee was also of giant stature, but of feminine form. Her ringlets were of sea-coral, her wings of gleaming mother-of-pearl, and on them she bore a woman whom she laid by my side on the divan. Then the two genii suddenly changed to vapor; one blue, the other yellow; and while I was staring at them the two columns of smoke sank into two large crystal decanters, which stood on the table among the costly viands and wines. Then I turned to look at the woman by my side--it was my own wife, the one I had left in Nimeguen, only that she was more beautiful, and garbed more elegantly than I had ever seen her. Her voice too was sweeter, her caresses more endearing; she seemed more like a celestial being than a woman of flesh and blood. We showered kisses on each other; I could read in her radiant countenance how overjoyed she was to be with me again; and I was enraptured to clasp her once more in my arms. [Illustration: "I could read in her radiant countenance how overjoyed she was to be with me again; and I was enraptured to clasp her once more in my arms"] We committed a thousand foolish acts; laughed, teased each other like children. We seated ourselves at the bountifully spread board; I shared every bite she took; drank out of her glass; we sat on the same chair, drank of every bottle, and found each one sweeter, more delicious than the last. "Let us taste what is in those bottles too," suggested my wife, pointing toward the two decanters--one blue, the other yellow. "Yes, let us," I assented, and I drew out the glass stoppers. But, instead of wine, two columns of vapor rose from the decanters, one blue, the other yellow, and filled the room. The vapor took shape, first the blue then the yellow, and one became Danesh, the other Maimuna, and we knew that our bliss was at an end--that we should have to part. We added our names to those gleaming on the walls, to certify that we also had been happy there. After I had written my name, it occurred to me that I had something important to tell my wife; so I said to her: "My love, I must tell you that I have become a king; and that I have taken a second wife. I want to ask a favor of you; will you consent to let me kiss and embrace her as I do you?" The woman replied: "I do consent." That I might have proof of our having spent a blissful hour together, and that she had given me the desired permission to take a second wife, she pressed my hand so tightly in her own, that the wedding ring on my finger--the one with which I had espoused her--burst asunder. And that she also might possess evidence of our meeting, I gave her the "lingam"--the symbol of the Siva faith--I wore on my arm attached to a gold bracelet. I also tore from the canopy over our divan a small piece of the material of which it was made--crimson silk woven with dragons in gold thread. Then the two genii took us again on their wings, and soon I was speeding again amid the clouds, with the glittering stars above me. The icy summits of the Himalayas were already gleaming with the rosy hues of dawn, on noting which Danesh increased his speed. I heard the sea murmuring below--a ray of sunlight from the eastern mountains pierced through Danesh like an arrow, he dropped me and I fell to the earth. Fortunately I had not far to fall--only from my bed, in the palace of Sardhana, to the floor! "Was it necessary to tell us what you dreamed?" angrily demanded the chair. "Well, your honor, if the court at Nimeguen accepted my dream as evidence, and based its decision on it, I think it may also be recorded here. Moreover, the vision I have related is an important factor in this case." I was so deeply impressed by my dream, that I related it to Zeib Alnissa as an actual occurrence. I assured her I had really been with my other wife, in proof of which I showed her the broken ring on my finger. "It is a most wonderful occurrence!" was Zeib Alnissa's comment, when I concluded my recital. "Write out the whole vision, exactly as you related it to me, and we will send it to your wife in Holland. One of my captains shall hasten with the document after the messenger you have sent to her with the letter asking her to consent to our marriage." I acted in accordance with the suggestion, and wrote on a long strip of Chinese palm-paper, which is tough as leather, a full account of my vision. The Begum then sent for seven bonzes, who were skilled writers, that they might, by signing their names to the account, certify that what I had written had really occurred; that Maimuna and Danesh were a well known pair of genii, who maintained direct communication between India and other portions of the globe, and that there was on Mount Ararat a magnificent palace for the use of lovers who came from distant parts of the world to meet there. All of which was to prove indubitably that I and my wife from Holland had been together in the palace. This document dispatched, I believed the question of the prohibitory sword between me and Zeib Alnissa settled; but I was mistaken; she did not repeat Bazawa's grace at supper. "On what are you waiting now?" I asked. "Haven't I asked my other wife for her consent? Haven't I been with her, and given her my lingam?" "Yes, but she has not yet given you anything. Until I have her written consent in my hands, I dare not repeat Bazawa's blessing," was Zeib Alnissa's smiling reply. "And I shall have to wait at the gates of paradise, content myself with inhaling the perfume of the flowers within the walls, until our messenger has twice traversed the ocean between India and Holland?" "He will need to cross only once. I ordered him to take with him several doves, the species with green feathers known as bridegroom's doves. When your wife has written her consent, the messenger will bind it under the wing of a dove, and it will fly from Holland to us here in two days. So, you need reckon only the outward voyage." But that would take considerable time too! I began to wonder how I should have comforted myself had I, instead of becoming an adherent of Siva, adopted the faith of Brahma, or Vishnu, or any other of the many-handed, many-footed deities. "Knave, what about Jehovah?" interposed the chair with just indignation. "Jehovah, your honor, does not forbid polygamy. The patriarch Jacob had two wives; David had four; Solomon the wise had one thousand four hundred. But, it would be a pity to waste precious time over dogmatic discussion. Besides, my wondering resulted in nothing. One hundred and ten days and nights I passed in the society of my charming bride; we ate at the same table; slept under the same canopy; but not once did I clasp her hand, or kiss her lovely lips." "I am curious to know how you managed not to do either," observed the prince. "Does your highness desire me to relate what happened on every one of the one-hundred and ten days and nights?" "Not by any means!" hastily interrupted the chair. "We want only a summary of your doings out yonder." The prisoner bowed, and resumed his confession: I determined that I would not again drink the sort of sleeping potion which had sent me speeding among the clouds on Danesh's back, and communicated my decision to Zeib Alnissa. "Very well," said she, "then I will prepare a drink for you that will keep you awake all night." That would suit me. In India the preparation of elixirs of all sorts has reached a high grade. There is a drug which, if taken by a man of mild disposition, will make him warlike and fierce; it is called "bangue." By administering to the peaceable elephants a decoction of the "thauverd," they can be made quarrelsome and ferocious for the combats arranged for the Shah's guests. "Therat" will give one the inspirations of a poet; after taking it, the most unimaginative person will become a romancer, and composer of verses. The "Nazzarani" tax can be collected from the natives only when they have become docile and tractable from having eaten "mhoval" flowers--a species of manna. Zeib Alnissa gave me some "panzopari" to chew; it possesses a singular property; it will make even the noisiest tippler so sober and sedate that his brain becomes the seat of all wisdom. Then she began to speak of her plans for the future government of our province, and other equally important matters; continuing to talk to me until morning. And during the whole time I remained quiet, and listened attentively; but I saw what I had not yet noticed: that my incomparable bride had a mole in the middle of her left cheek, and I also discovered that she might be alarmingly loquacious if she chose. I could hardly wait until the sun rose. Nothing will so effectually sober a man as advice from his wife; and the remedy is frequently made use of in India as well as in Europe. A true Indian Singh--that is what a nobleman is called out there--undertakes nothing without first consulting his wife. Indeed, there are some who never give an answer to a question until they have asked their wives what they shall reply. For instance you ask: "What sort of weather are we going to have this afternoon, Gholem Singh?" "I will consult my wife and tell you," he answers. In the afternoon he will say to you--and no matter if a deluge of rain begins to fall while he is speaking: "We shall have fine weather this afternoon." The following day my bride and I set out on a tour of our kingdom--a ceremony necessary to my installation as rajah. An entire brigade on horses, elephants, and camels, accompanied us as escort. The Begum and I rode on separate elephants, as Indian etiquette does not permit man and wife to occupy the same "sovari"--that is what the sedan with a canopy on the back of an elephant is called. The Begum travelled with the vanguard; I brought up the rear with a good cannon bound to the back of my beast. A cannon, by the way, is a very convenient travelling appendage to a journey in India, as one is frequently called on to give a warm reception to the legions of predatory bands which infest the highways and byways. My bride and I met only when our elephants chanced to come alongside each other at the resting places. We took part in all sorts of festivities. We bore with patience the wearisome ceremonies attendant upon the adoration of the serpent, and Taku-worship; we even waded to our knees in the sacred waters of the Ganges, at the Moharam pilgrimage; and permitted the frantic Gusseins and fakirs at the Holiza feast to shower over us the red dust of the highway. At the Ganeza festival we distributed with our own hands the "muzzer," and received in return the "khilla"--each word means gifts; the former is bestowed by the sovereigns on their subjects; the latter are given by the subjects to their rulers. Without this exchange of presents, the sovereignty of the rulers would not be recognized by the people. We visited in their turn all the principal towns and cities; the god-burdened temples and pagodas, which are half church, half tomb--the Jaina animal hospital, where the Hindoo takes care of invalid dogs, cats, oxen, as well as crows, ravens, and turkeys. We also honored with our presence the bayadere communities, where only women dwell. These bayaderes are privileged characters, you must know; they are allowed entry to the emperor's presence, to dance and sing before him and his ministers. "Not a bad custom, by jove!" muttered the prince; aloud he asked: "Are the bayaderes pretty?" "Enchantingly beautiful, your highness. Their garments are of silk and cashmere, embroidered with real gold and pearls; their fingers and toes are loaded with rings set with precious gems. Their gowns show a lack of material as do those worn by our women, with this difference: the shoulders and bosoms of our women are left bare; while the bayaderes expose the lower extremities, sometimes even to the--" "Stop! stop!" irritably called the chair. "We don't want a full description of heathen toilets!" We also arranged, for the entertainment of our subjects, a number of gorgeous spectacles, and tournaments, resumed the prisoner, dropping the subject of bayadere fashions. There were combats between elephants, and combats between elephants and men. (The former are called "Mufti;" the latter "Satmari.") There were also combats between lions and boars, and between tapirs. In return for all these festivities, my bride's relatives entertained us with a feast of lanterns; and games of chess, which were played with living chess-men. We also visited the most remote corners of our kingdom, where dwelt the Thugs, a community whose faith permits them to strangle all foreigners; the Bheels, who worship epidemics instead of gods; the colony of the Quadrumans, whose king is called "Dengue," and his subjects "apes." Every day of our journey brought something new and interesting. After our visit to the "City of the Seven Sages" we went to the "City of the King's Tombs," where are four magnificent temples, under each of which rest the remains of a king. There are no other inhabitants in this city. Then followed the pilgrimage to Buddha's tree; for, although we were adherents of the Sivan faith, we were obliged, in order to win the favor of the majority of our subjects, to pay deference to their deity. Then we journeyed to the "Fountain of Wisdom." There the temple is guarded by bayaderes, who are not permitted to dance anywhere else but in the sacred edifice in adoration of the gods. "A respectable temple, I must say!" ironically commented the chair, to which the prince appended his good-humored observation: "Their liturgy can't be very tedious!" During all this time, I saw my bride only when she was seated on a throne, on an elephant, or in a palanquin. The opportunities for an exchange of words were rare. On the one hundred and tenth day we set out on our return home. On the morning of that day, Zeib Alnissa sent me a letter in which she gave me the welcome news that what might be called our "St. Joseph's marriage" would soon come to a conclusion. The carrier dove had returned from Holland with the longed-for consent from my first wife. Before leaving our capital, we had arranged for a fitting reception to greet our return. When our cavalcade should approach the city gates, all the most distinguished residents, the raos, the singhs, the sages, bonzes and holy men were to meet us at the head of a gorgeous pageant and greet me as "Rajah," to which title our tour would have given me the right. Then would follow a splendid feast, that would conclude with the "utterpan" ceremony, in which every guest receives from the rajah's own hands a handkerchief perfumed with rose-water. The rajah receives the utterpan from his wife, of whom he may demand that the rose-water perfuming be performed in the zenana. The zenana is that portion of the palace which only the rajah and his wives may enter. I am ashamed to confess it, honorable gentlemen of the court, but I was so rejoiced, so proud of my success, my extraordinary good fortune filled my soul to such a degree, that I never once thought to offer a prayer to the god Siva, who had bestowed all the good gifts on me, or to Jehovah, who could take them all from me. The fakir, who, in his religious enthusiasm, carries on his head a pot of earth until the orange seed planted in it sprouts, grows to a tree, blooms and bears fruit; who binds himself to a post, that he may sleep standing so as not to lose his balance and drop the pot from his head--that fakir does not suffer half as much as did I those one hundred and ten days and nights, when I was forced to refrain from saying to the most beautiful of women: "O, thou my sweetest one!" But the last day of such restraint and torture was at hand. Before us lay the capital; the gilded roofs of its palaces gleamed through the humid atmosphere. Already I could see rising from the market-place the "baoli," under which the three-legged stone cow waited (as all believers know) for the hour of midnight to hobble to her pasture outside the walls. Already I saw the multitude in gala attire press forth from the elaborately carved gates, on horses, on camels, on foot--a mingling of gold, gems, beauty, flowers, with rags, filth and unsightly scars. Zeib Alnissa, as usual, rode at the head of the cavalcade, and I at the end, separated from her by a cannon shot range. When the multitude from the city met the head of our cavalcade, there ensued a tumult of shouts and cries, but I was too far away to distinguish what was occurring. I could see, though, that Zeib Alnissa had risen to her feet in the sovari, and was gesticulating excitedly. I was deliberating whether I should ride forward or remain where I was, when a fakir forced his way to my side. He was the most hideous specimen of his class I had yet seen; his appearance indicated that he had vowed not to cut his hair nor his finger nails for a decade. "What do you want?" I called down to him. "I want you to let me come up there and sit beside you in the sovari," he made answer. One is obliged to comply with any demand these holy men may see fit to make--especially in face of such a multitude. I leaned over the side of my beast, seized the fakir by the hair, and drew him into the sovari. "Lucky for you that you granted my request," he said, when he was seated by my side. "You have saved your life by so doing. Know that a revolt broke out in the city during your absence. The conspirators declared that the Begum forfeited the throne by marrying you, and have proclaimed the valiant Singh Rais, the son of her first husband, Sumro Shah, rajah of Sardhana. He has taken possession of the city and bribed the army to support him. He has already executed the subjects who remained loyal to you and the Begum, and the same fate awaits you--if he captures you." Though loath to believe the fanatic's ill tidings, I was forced to credit my eyes, which at that moment saw rude hands lay hold of my beloved Zeib Alnissa, tear her from the sovari, bind her hands, and, amid the taunts and sneers of the shameless nautchnees, compel her to walk to the gates, while a man, wearing the pearl-decorated hat of a sovereign, climbed to the vacated seat in the sovari. It was the infamous profligate who, by reason of the honors to which his father had attained, was a prince, but who was, by birth, merely a German nobody, like myself. He had deposed the Begum as he had threatened, had laid chains on her--the heroic deliverer of her people--and this he had been able to accomplish because he had become an adherent of the religion of Buddha, and because the Begum had become a worshipper of Siva-- "The like of that never could have happened in Europe," interpolated the prince. My rage and fury were boundless. In one brief moment to lose my kingdom and my bride; to be robbed of power and love; to be forced to look on helpless while a cowardly knave stole my treasures, chief of which was my beautiful Zeib Alnissa! It was more than Christian patience and Siva humility could endure. I unstrapped the cannon at the back of the sovari. The new rajah was haranguing the crowd gathered about his elephant, and gesticulating rapidly with his hands, as he gave his orders. I took aim at his majesty--Boom! The next instant there was no head on the rajah's shoulders, but his arms continued to move convulsively. Then I turned my elephant's head in the opposite direction, and urged him to the swiftest gait he was able to go. A troop of horsemen followed me, but I dashed into the jungle, and soon distanced my pursuers. My life was saved, but only my miserable life. I had nothing, was nothing-- "Oh, yes," interrupted the chair, "you were a good deal: the husband of two wives, and murderer of one king--" "_Minorem nego, majorem non concedo_," interposed the prince. "As the prisoner's second marriage was--as he aptly described it: a St. Joseph's union--merely one of form, he cannot be said to have committed bigamy. And concerning the killing of the rajah--_qui bene distinguit, bene docet!_--we would understand thereby that a crime had been committed by a subject against a crowned head. But, if one king kills another one, it cannot be called regicide, but ordinary homicide, which, in the prisoner's case, was justifiable manslaughter--" "I knew it!" exclaimed the chair. "I knew the rascal would talk himself out of the three capital crimes: idolatry, bigamy, regicide, and prove himself as innocent as St. Susanna!" But, continued the prisoner, even had I not been robbed of my wealth, of what use would it have been to me? I had come to India to win the rank of captain--not to become a rajah. It is a deal better to be a pensioned captain than a deposed king. The new rajah of Sardhana set a large price on my head; had I fled the accursed country then, I should have spared myself the terrible misfortunes which overtook me later. I joined the Bandasaris, who have no fixed residence, but rove continuously between the Ganges and the Indus. They are a race like our gypsies. I believed I might organize them into an army and win back my kingdom, and liberate my beautiful Zeib Alnissa, but the blessing of God did not rest on my undertaking. When I had got my army ready to march to Sardhana, the chief of the tribe changed his mind about letting me use his people to win back my throne, and, instead, sold me to the English company, which corporation had also offered a price for my head. Thus my unfortunate cranium became the property of the powerful East India Company, and there, if nowhere else, a man learns how to pray. PART IX. ON THE HIGH SEAS. CHAPTER I. THE PIRATES. The English did not think me of sufficient consequence to suspend me in an iron cage over the crocodile pool. This honor was reserved for the native shahs and rajahs. I was transported, with scant ceremony, to Bombay, from which city I was shipped to sea, together with fifty other prisoners, who, like myself, had come to India to seek their fortunes, and whose chief crime was their nationality. They were natives of France, Holland, Germany and Spain, and the East India Company believed it had a right to arrest them and ship them in a body to New Caledonia. Now, honorable gentlemen of the court, I beg you to tell me which was the pirate?--I, in the unseaworthy cutter, bound with chains to a Spaniard, perspiring over my oars, sailing to New Zealand instead of to New Caledonia, where the captain had been ordered to take us; having nothing to eat and drink but dried fish and stale water, the captain having again disobeyed orders, for the East India Company had shipped honest biscuit, smoked meat and brandy for the prisoner's food--which of us, I ask, was the pirate? the captain, who plundered the helpless prisoners in his power and broke the maritime laws--which, I ask, was the pirate; Captain Morder or I? "I say Captain Morder was the pirate--" and the prince emphasized his reply by thumping the floor with his cane. Many thanks, your highness; I wanted the question decided, for, against unauthorized force, self-defence is always justifiable. When we poor exiles became aware that our vessel was going farther and farther south, which we were able to judge from the stars; when, in consequence of the wretched food, the scurvy broke out among us; and when at last we also got a taste of the scourge, if we made any complaint, we conspired together to release ourselves from our chains; and to take possession of the cutter. My hidalgo comrade was an expert in such matters. He showed us how to get rid of our manacles as easily as if they had been gloves or boots. It is a very pretty trick, but I don't think I could show you how it is done unless I received something in return-- "We don't want to learn the trick," interrupted the chair. "We have no use for it." Well, after we had removed our fetters, we bound the sleeping crew, and, without shedding one drop of blood, made ourselves masters of the "Alcyona." Now, honorable gentlemen of the court, I ask you: Can what we did be called mutiny? We were not the slaves of the East India Company; we were not prisoners of war; nor were we criminals. The captain had no right to chain us to the oars; we had done nothing to deserve deportation to a savage country. On Captain Morder, however, rested most of the blame. He treated us free men like negro slaves; he gave us nothing to eat for a whole week but dried fish, though not all of us were papists; and to be more disagreeably contrary, he gave us smoked meat on Fridays because the majority of our crowd were Catholics. "That rascally captain deserved to be hanged to the tallest mast on his ship!" exclaimed the justly indignant prince. Yes, your highness, he did, but we didn't hang him, because we couldn't get hold of him. While we were securing the crew, he fled discreetly to the powder-room, and threatened to blow up the ship when we went to take him. We had to treat with him for terms. We assured him we did not want to injure him; we only wanted to leave his ship. To this he replied that we might go to the devil for all he cared. Then followed a twenty-four hour truce, and our first business was-- "To eat your fill," interposed the chair. Yes, your honor, to eat and drink all we wanted. Then we lowered the large boat, supplied it with mast and sails; loaded it with all the chests of biscuit, and casks of brandy it would hold, also a small cannon. Then we cut into bits the rigging of the cutter; threw overboard all the weapons we could find, in order that the captain could do us no injury in case he took it into his head to pursue us; took possession of his charts, compass, and telescope, and sailed away one beautiful moonlight night without saying goodbye to any one. How did Captain Morder reach home with the "Alcyona?" I really forget whether I ever heard. There were fifty of us in the boat--five different nationalities. As I was the only one who could speak the five different languages, I was elected ship's patron, an office which differs from that of captain in that the latter commands every one on board a vessel, while the former carries out what his companions decide. "I see plainly to what this subtle distinction will lead," dryly observed the chair. "Some one else will have to bear the blame for whatever misdeeds the 'ship's-patron' committed." I am compelled to admire the honorable gentleman's keen perceptions, returned the prisoner in his most deferential manner. In this case, however, they are at fault; neither the ship's company nor its patron did anything which deserved yard-arm punishment. Our intention, when we left the ship was to land in Florida, or the Philippines, and there found a new republic. But more than one unlooked-for hindrance prevented us from carrying out the plan. Hardly had the "Alcyona" disappeared from view, when a dead calm settled down on us; it was so still the sails hung in heavy folds from the yards; we could make progress, and that only very slowly, when we employed the oars. The calm continued for two days, during which not a breath of air wrinkled the surface of the ocean. "Didn't you say you had taken all the provisions on the ship?" inquired the chair. "Yes, your honor, but 'all' was only the one-half of 'many,' and exactly the one-tenth of 'enough.' Even had there been 'many,' we had 'more' hungry mouths, and to take plus from minus is not permissable in Algorithm." "And it can't be done," authoritatively interposed the prince. "You can't take eight from seven unless you borrow. From whom did you borrow, prisoner?" "From a crab-fisher we met, your highness. During a calm, the large sea-crabs are more easily taken than at other times." The honorable gentlemen of the court will have learned from natural history the peculiar characteristics of the sea-crab, which is of all living creatures--the human being not excepted--the most timorous. When a crab hears thunder or cannonading, he immediately flings off one of his huge claws, in order that he may escape more quickly. Crab-fishers know this, and have made a compact with all warships, by which the latter have agreed to refrain from firing off cannon when in sight of a crabbing vessel. This is the reason all such vessels have a large red crab painted on their sails. The compact also obliges the fishers to deliver half of their catch to any warship they may meet on the high seas. Consequently when we came in sight of the crabber we signalled for our share of his catch. We had eaten all our dried fish, and were on half-rations of biscuit. "Oho!" called the fisher when he came near enough to distinguish the character of our craft. "How can you demand crabs of me? You aren't a warship." "But we are hungry, and have a cannon on board. You know the result of a cannon-shot during a calm!" This threat brought the argument to a conclusion; the crabber, according to seaman's custom, shared his catch with us. "If," interposed the prince in a thoughtful manner; "If it was according to seaman's custom it cannot be termed 'piracy.'" "No, certainly not!" ironically appended the chair. "It cannot be termed piracy--only an act of playfulness--a bit of frolic! But, let us hear what other pranks the band of fifty played with their cannon? I will spread the map here on the table, so that I may follow the course of your boat. I fancy I shall be able to tell from that whether you and your fellows comported yourselves as honest seamen or thievish pirates." There was an almost imperceptible twitch of the prisoner's left eyelid when the mayor concluded his remark, and spread the map on the table in front of him. In the neighborhood of the Marquesas Islands, honorable gentlemen, we fell in with a Spanish ship loaded with coffee. The captain, in response to our petition, supplied us with coffee, chocolate, and honey. This enabled us to continue our journey; we sailed toward the Aleutians, and met on our way a Russian merchantman, the owner of which took pity on us, and gave us several barrels of good brandy and salted fish. When we were near the island of Yucatan our provisions again gave out, and we were compelled to borrow from an Italian trader some sago-palm, flour and several boxes of sultanas. "What need had you of sultanas?" inquired the chair. Sultanas are not women, your honor, but dried grapes, which are packed in boxes. When a man is starving he will eat anything! In the neighborhood of Barbados a Turkish vessel very kindly gave us a supply of pickled pork; and the captain of a Chinese junk we fell in with near the Canary Islands, was friendly enough to share his wine with us. When off Madagascar, a Greek captain loaded our boat so generously with _rahut rakum_, it almost foundered under the weight; and when near Terre del Fuego we-- "Hold! stop!" screamed the chair thumping with both fists on the map. "If I wanted to make an accurate diagram of your course, I should have to tie a thread to the leg of a grasshopper and let him loose on a blank sheet of paper! A courier on horseback could not have made such twists and turns!" "We did travel in a sort of zig-zag fashion," admitted the prisoner deprecatingly; "but, you see, none of us understood navigation. Besides, our charts were not accurate, and our compass full of whims." "Must have been a feminine compass!" jocosely remarked his highness. "To tell the truth, honorable gentlemen, I am not quite certain if the names I have given you are the ones properly belonging to the portions of the globe we visited. The excellent custom which obtains in all civilized regions, of posting the names of places at the street-corners, had not yet reached those remote corners. I can assure you, however, that we really met all the ships I have mentioned, as we were forced to beg our way over the limitless ocean." "Beg your way!" sarcastically interrupted the chair. "It seems to me that fifty determined men, with small arms and a cannon, and a boat as swift as yours might have overtaken almost any other craft afloat." "We did overtake a good many, your honor, and all of them very willingly shared their provisions with us when they saw we were in distress." "Do you remember meeting a merchantman from Bremen?" "Don't I? Don't I remember the generous gentleman! We met him near the Cape of Good Hope. That point of land hasn't got its name for nothing! It brought 'good hope' back to us! We were in tatters; the stormy weather; long voyage; and many hardships had reduced our frames to skeletons, our clothing to rags. When the brave man--blessed be his memory!--came up with us, and saw our nakedness, he took off his own coat and gave it to me--may heaven's blessings rest on him wherever he may be!" "He tells quite a different story," responded the chair. "On his return home, he complained to the Hansa League that a boat load of pirates was sailing the high-seas, plundering, and levying contributions, from all vessels it met. He also related how the pirates had taken all his, as well as his crew's clothing. This must be true; for no Bremen trader has ever been known willingly to give coat of his to anyone. Bremen is not far away. We can summon the complainant--whose name, I believe, is Schulze--and let him tell his story here--" "May I beg that your honor"--quickly interposed the prisoner--"will at the same time summon the witnesses who will testify for me? They are, the Spanish merchant Don Rodriguez di Saldayeni, from Badajos; the Russian captain, Bello Bratanow Zwonimir Tschinowink, from Kamtschatka; the Italian, Signor Sparafucile Odoards, from Palermo; the Turk, Ali Baba Ben Didimi Effendi, from Brusa; the Chinese mandarin, Chien-Tsen-Triping-Van, from Shanghai; the Greek, Heros Leonidas Karaiskakis, from Tricala; the--" "Enough! enough!" roared the mayor clapping his hands to his ears. "I don't want to hear another name. Rather will I believe every word you say! You were sea-beggars, impoverished voyagers--anything but pirates! Will your highness permit us to erase also this indictment from the register?" The prince assenting, his honor added: "Now we will hear how the crime of cannibalism will be disposed of." "I will first take the liberty to remind the honorable gentlemen of the court, that anthropophagy is not at all times considered a capital crime. The inhabitants of the Fiji Islands look upon it as the only proper method to dispose of a captured foe. The eating of human flesh is a part of the religious cult of the Mexicans; and during the Tartar invasion of Hungary, the people--as Rogerius proves--who had been robbed of the necessaries of life, were forced to eat each other. To such a condition of starvation we were also reduced, a fearful hurricane having compelled us, while on the Pacific ocean, to throw overboard all our stores in order to prevent the boat from sinking--" "Now you are telling another story," thundered the chair. "You say you were on the Pacific ocean. If it is a _pacific_ ocean how is it possible that such a storm as you describe raged there? You shall be bound to the wheel, if you don't confess at once that hurricanes never rage on the Pacific Ocean." Your honor is right--my memory served me ill--there are no such storms on the Pacific Ocean. But there are sharks. The voracious beasts surrounded our boat in such numbers that, in order to prevent them from eating us, we gave them all our provisions, hoping to fall in with a kind-hearted captain who would replenish our larder. But we didn't meet a single ship. For two whole weeks we managed to keep alive by eating our boots, and not until the last pair had been devoured, did we decide to resort to the "sailor's lunch," and cast lots which of us should be served up as such. My name was drawn, and I made up my mind to die calmly--_pro bono publico_. But, when I began to remove my clothes, the Spaniard to whom I had been chained on the "Alcyona," and for whom I entertained the affection of a brother, stepped forward and said: "You shall not die, brave rajah. You have a wife--nay, two of them, to whom your life is valuable. Here am I--your brother, who will consider it a privilege, an honor--as did the brave Curtius when he galloped into the abyss to save the republic--to fling myself into these hungry throats!" With these words the noble fellow drew his sword, severed his head from his body and laid it before us. "Did you eat any of him?" "I was starving, your honor." "That establishes your crime. The punishment for eating a body endowed with a human soul is death at the stake, you--" "Hold," interposed the prince. "What portion of the Spaniard's body did you consume, prisoner?" "His foot, your highness." "Has the human foot a soul?" "Why, certainly," answered the chair. "How frequently do we hear: 'His sense or his courage are in his knees'--sense and courage cannot exist without a soul. And, don't we say: 'Honest from his crown to his toes'--whereby we establish that even the toes possess a soul.'" "These are merely phrases--maxims," returned the prince. "If the soul extends to the extremities, then the man who has a foot amputated loses a portion of his soul also; and it might happen, that one-quarter of a human soul would go to paradise, and the other three-quarters to hades--which it is absurd to suppose could be the case. To my thinking this is so important a question, that only the faculty of theology is capable of deciding it. Until those learned gentlemen have delivered an opinion on the subject, we cannot go on with this case. Therefore, the prisoner is remanded to his cell until such decision shall arrive." A week was the time required by the learned faculty to discuss the questions: "Does the soul extend to the extremities of the human body?" If not, just where does it terminate? The decision was as follows: "The soul extends to the knees--for this reason man is required to kneel when he prays. Consequently, that portion of the human frame below the knees is a soulless appendage." "Then," decided the prince, when this decision was read to him, "the indictment for cannibalism may also be stricken from the register." PART X. UXORICIDE. CHAPTER I. THE SECUNDOGENITUR. Although my crime has been most generously condoned by your highness, I have not escaped punishment for it. I have suffered severely. After partaking of the unnatural food, all in the boat were seized with frightful convulsions, similar to those exhibited by a dog afflicted with rabies. The smallest particle of the accursed food is sufficient to make a man experience all the tortures of purgatory. I dare say the reason my sufferings were not so severe as those of my comrades, I ate only the foot. They foamed at the lips; their eyeballs burst from the sockets; they bit each other, and rent and tore their own flesh. They bellowed, roared, and whined, as dogs do at the moon. Many of them sprang at once into the water and were devoured by sharks. When my worst torture passed, my limbs became cold and rigid as stone; it was the marasmus. I could see, and hear, but I could neither feel nor move. The fierce sun beating on my face threatened to burn out my eyes, but I could not lift my hands to cover them. To seize the horizon and draw it up to the zenith would have been an easier task than to close my eyelids over the burning eyeballs. Yet, amid all this horrible pain, I had the feeling as if a faint zephyr from fluttering wings were sweeping across my cheek. It was the white dove perched on my shoulder, my beautiful white dove, who was come to me again in my hour of direst need! She tried with her outstretched wings to shield my face from the scorching sun, and the blessed shadow brought such relief that I was at last able to close my eyes in sleep. How long and whither the dismasted and rudderless boat drifted; whether it touched any shore--I cannot remember. I don't know what happened during my madness. My comrades in misfortune were lost; some drowned themselves to end their agony; some died a horrible death in the boat. I alone was saved by a heavenly providence for further trials. The drifting boat was found by an Indian merchantman bound for Antwerp, and the noble Christians aboard of her, believing life not yet extinct in my miserable body, worked over me until they brought back the soul to its earthly tenement. I forgive every enemy I have in the world; but my benefactor on that Indian merchantman, who brought me back to life, I never can forgive. Had he cast me into the waves instead of resuscitating me, I should now be ambergris, for, as the honorable gentlemen know, that valuable substance develops in the stomach of a shark, and I should have been devoured by one of those voracious beasts. Instead of a wretched criminal on trial for his many misdeeds, I should now, had I been allowed to become ambergris, be swinging in a censer perfuming the altar of a church. The care I received on board the Indiaman fully restored my strength, and when we arrived in the harbor in Holland there was no trace about me of the many hardships I had endured. I could hardly wait until I got back to Nimeguen to see my dear wife and child. The child would be running about now--perhaps the mother had taught it to call me by name! How happy I should be to be home again!--no captain, no rajah, but a father. Not the consort of a Begum, but the husband of my wife. I blessed the fate which had delivered me from the land of lions, tigers and serpents. Had not I a tulip garden worth all the wealth of India? I turned night to day in order to reach home as quickly as possible, and sent mounted estafets in advance to announce my coming. My wife, who had increased in weight fully twenty-five pounds, had a splendid repast prepared for me; and flung her arms around my neck when I alighted from the carriage. After our first transports of joy were over, my first words were: "Now, where is my child?" "There they come," replied my wife, pointing, with a beaming countenance, toward two nurse-maids who were descending the staircase. One of the maids led by the hand a little toddling lad; the other carried an infant in long clothes on her arm. "What--what does that mean?" I stammered, pointing toward the smaller child. "That is your second born, you silly fellow!" replied my wife, smiling affectionately. "My second born?" I exclaimed in amazement. "Why, I have been absent for nearly three years." "Have you forgotten Maimuna and Danesh?" she whispered, hiding her blushing face on my breast. "Have you forgotten our meeting in the palace on Ararat?" "Maimuna and Danesh?--_Himmelkreuzelement!_" I exclaimed, unable to suppress the forcible expletive. My wife, however, was roused to anger by it. Did I presume to doubt her fidelity? she demanded in no gentle accents. Had she not in her possession ample proof that she was true to me? Had she not my own letter, in which I related at length the circumstances of our meeting on Ararat, whither we had been taken by the two genii? Was a better proof required than the lingam I had given her at that meeting--also the fragment of stuff with gold dragons woven in it? And, if it was true that I was a king at the time of our meeting on the mountain, then the infant on the maid's arm must be a prince! "Woman," I returned in a severe tone, "this is not a matter for jest. Visions are not real. That I dreamed a delightful dream I admit; but this squalling brat is no dream! On the contrary, he is a very disagreeable reality! I'll go at once to the burgomaster! I'll denounce you to the arch-bishop! I'll summon the consistory! I will not allow myself to be made a fool of!" "Very well," retorted my wife, "go to the burgomaster--go to the arch-bishop--summon the consistory, make a tremendous ado, and you will prove yourself a greater fool than I believed you!" I carried out my threat and rushed to the burgomaster's residence. He was still asleep, but I dragged him out of bed, and told him the French were coming to attack the town. That drove slumber from his eyes; and I proceeded to lay my complaint before him. He kept yawning the while so dreadfully that I feared he might swallow me before I got through with my story. When I concluded, he deliberated several minutes, then said I should come again the next day--he would have to think over the matter. I was forced to go back to my wife. I couldn't help myself, for I hadn't a groschen to my name, and the Nimeguen inns will not receive a guest unless he pays in advance for his entertainment. To my shame therefore I was compelled to go home, and now it was my wife who raged and scolded. She said I might complain as much, and to whomsoever I wanted, it would benefit me nothing. If I did not accept the situation with a good humor, mine would be the loss--and so on. I bore her taunts, and revilings, in silence, for I felt great need of supper and rest; but I said to myself: "There is a tomorrow--I'll have my revenge then!" The next day I went again to the burgomaster; he was able to keep awake this time. He asked me if he should speak to me as to a Nimeguen gunner, or an East Indian sovereign? "As to an Indian rajah," I replied. "Very good!--also: Sublime Maharajah, nabob, or Shah--whichever is the proper title--be seated." My title permitted me to put on my hat, while respect for it obliged the burgomaster to remove his office cap. He continued: "Be kind enough to answer the following questions: How many wives does the law permit an Indian sovereign to marry? How many elephants, camels, rhinoceroses, male and female genii, and other draught cattle, is he allowed to employ in his service?" I saw what would be the result if I answered these questions, so I said instead: "I beg pardon, your honor, but, on second thought, I believe I would rather have you speak to me as to a gunner of Nimeguen--according to European custom." "Very good again--also. You gunner-fellow, take off your hat this instant!" he commanded, at the same time placing the cap on his head. "As it is contrary to our Christian laws to take a second wife while the first is still alive, I shall pronounce you guilty of bigamy, the punishment for which is the pillory first, and the galleys afterward." This did not suit me either, so I interrupted: "May I beg that you will speak to me as to an Indian sovereign?" I put on my hat, but the burgomaster did not again remove his cap. He said: "You had command of a province, and a pair of flying genii; therefore, it is quite within the bounds of possibility that you and your first wife were borne through the air to the meeting-place on the mountain you mention. That being settled, what else do you complain of? Have you lost anything?" "No, your honor, quite the contrary; I have found something; a son I did not expect." "Is the child living?" "He is." "Well--if he is living he is alive. That which is, cannot be denied--it is a fact, and that which is a fact cannot be termed fiction--" This ridiculous un-reasoning angered me, and I interrupted him, whereupon there ensued a war of words that raged furiously until it culminated in an exchange of blows. The case was not one for a mere burgomaster to decide; I would submit it to the consistory. I did not know then what I had undertaken! All Nimeguen is related; its citizens are cousins or brothers-in-law, and withal exceedingly moral. If it so happens that any one of them commits an indiscretion, all the rest take great pains to conceal the misdeed. I don't mean that it is never mentioned in private; but there is not a court of law in the land that could summon a witness who would admit that he, or she, knew anything about the matter. In my case, servants, neighbors, citizens, all averred that my wife was the pattern of fidelity; that she had not been known to leave her house, only when she went to confession and to church; that she had not even bought a new cap during my entire absence. Consequently, my accusations were ridiculous, and wholly without foundation. Her defense had a powerful base to rest on. There was the letter written by my own hand on Chinese palm-paper, describing our meeting in the palace on Mount Ararat, and attested by the bonzes, who, as everybody knows, are learned men, and as worthy of trust as any member of our chapter-house. Consequently, there must be such fairies as Maimuna and Danesh, else the bonzes would not have testified to their existence. If there were no such creatures in Europe, it was because the climate was too severe. There are no elephants in Holland, yet no one would deny their existence elsewhere--not even the man who had never seen one, would deny that they roamed the jungles of India! Moreover, is there not mention made in the Holy Scriptures of a chariot of fire journeying with a passenger through the air? And did not Jonah make a voyage on the ocean, in the stomach of a whale? If holy men could make such journeys, why should anyone deny that the genii Maimuna and Danesh had carried a man and his wife to the palace on Mount Ararat?--especially as both man and wife had desired the meeting, whereas Jonah had never expressed the least desire to enter the whale's belly. Added to this evidence, my wife possessed in the lingam absolute proof of my having been with her on Ararat--also the fragment of dragon-cloth, the like of which was not to be found in all Europe--all irrefragable proofs! You may guess that the consistory did not hesitate long to deliver an opinion. Although it was almost impossible to believe that so remarkable a journey could have been accomplished a respectable and pious lady had really travelled from Nimeguen on the wings of an East Indian Jinnee, at night, to Mount Ararat, and back in the morning. Also: It was not at all likely that the said respectable and pious lady, the former widow of a captain, wife of a gunner, and consort of an Indian rajah, would demean her respectable station, and inflict a stain on her wedded fidelity. Therefore, the woman accused of adultery was guiltless; and the father of the _surculi masculi_ found at home by the returned gunner, was no other than he, the _nuptiæ demonstrant_. And with this decision I was forced to be satisfied, also with my wife and the infant. Here, the prince laughed so heartily that he burst a button from his collar. "An amusing story, by my word!" he exclaimed. "I would not have missed it for a riding-horse! Ha, ha--to decide that a vision really happened because the dreamer wrote an account of it--ha, ha, ha!" "And did everything really happen as you related it?" inquired the chair. Everything--I give my word of honor--what am I saying? Not by my honor, but by the rope around my neck, I swear that everything happened just as I told you. You may apply to the authorities of Nimeguen, who will substantiate my account. Because of its remarkable character, the case is recorded in the chronicles of the city. This will explain the deed I was forced to commit afterward. "We will hear you confess it tomorrow," said the prince. CHAPTER II. THE QUICKSANDS. My case had been decided by the consistory. I was not the first man who had had such an experience; and I was philosophical enough to conclude that if other men had survived their disgrace, I might also. So, I made up my mind to forgive my wife, and live amicably with her. I acted as if nothing had happened to mar the relations between us, and all would have been well, had not my neighbors tormented me beyond endurance. I became furious every time I went into the street. Everybody saluted me as "your majesty." They would inquire how I was getting on with my crowns--as if I had a dozen! One man would ask me if I had seen a Maimuna lately; another would tell me he had seen a stork with a baby in its bill fly through the air. I received scurrilous letters through the post, and bands of singers would stop under my window and chant my shameful history from beginning to end. In short, everything those Nimeguen citizens could invent to annoy me was done. I boiled with rage, for I was unable to defend myself. In any other community I could have defended myself from such persecution. I should have challenged the first one who insulted me, and run him through with my sword. That is an effective way to silence scurrilous tongues. In Nimeguen, however, it would have been impossible to find a second to deliver a challenge; and if I had sent it by a messenger the challenged person would have hastened at once to the burgomaster to complain that I had threatened to murder him. If I had tweaked the nose of a fellow for refusing to give me satisfaction, he would have sued me; and I would have been sentenced to pay three marks for a nose-tweak, and six for a slap on the mouth. This would have resulted in my spending nearly all my time in the burgomaster's office, because of the numerous summons to answer the charge of assault and battery, and my wife would have been kept busy paying the fines. At last, I could endure it no longer. I told my wife I should have to go away, and she decided that we would go together to Vliessingen, where she would drink the medicinal waters. I was glad enough to accompany her. I would have gone anywhere to be rid of my tormenters. But I was mistaken in believing I should be rid of them at Vliessingen. I received anonymous letters by every post; but I paid no heed to them until one day I received the following: "What a stupid fellow you are! Your wife does not need a jinnee to carry her where she wants to go. You are her Maimuna; and Vliessingen is the Ararat whither Danesh has transported her lover. He has sent her a red velvet cap trimmed with gold braid and white lace, and every time she wears it, she signals to him that you will be away from home that day. Oh, stupid dolt that you are!" This was more than enough. My wife had received just such a cap as was described in the letter; and when she put it on, it always seemed to me that she looked happier. I began to find fault with the cap. I begged her not to wear it, or at least not to go out doors when she had it on. But she persisted in wearing it, and ridiculed my anger, until I got to hate the sight of the red cap. One day I was obliged to go to Antwerp on business. My wife insisted on accompanying me part of the way, as I should have to walk a considerable distance from the baths to take a conveyance. Something--my white dove mayhap--whispered in my ear not to let her go with me; that it would be better for both of us if she remained at home. But she had set her head on going, and nothing could prevent it. And she put on the red cap! I remonstrated with her about wearing it, but she laughed at me and said: "You silly fellow! Of whom are you jealous, here in this sandy desert? Of the gulls, perhaps?--or the moles?" Are the honorable gentlemen of the court familiar with that region? No? Then it will be necessary to describe it, in order that what I relate may appear clear to you. The entire country thereabout is an arid waste, a seemingly illimitable stretch of sand dunes, and brackish pools, partly grown with brown reeds, broom and heath, but so stunted that the horns of the cattle grazing there are plainly seen. The herders are obliged to wear long stilts. This uninhabited territory is separated by a dike several feet in height from the downs, which is a fearful region. There, earth and water are combined against man and beast; the two life-dispensing elements have become agents of death. The sand blown from the shore of the sea settles on the deep pools and dries. No plants grow there, and woe to the man or beast that strays on to the downs from the dike, or the heath beyond. The sand will sink beneath the feet of the incautious wanderer; if he draws up one foot, the other will sink yet deeper. At first, the instability of the earth amuses him; he fancies that, when he shall tire of the amusement, it will be easy enough to leave the place. But the sand into which he is slowly but surely sinking is bottomless. Inch by inch the unfortunate victim is swallowed--as is the dove in the jaws of the serpent. Not until he has sunk to his waist, does despair seize him, and he realizes that escape is impossible. Every effort to extricate himself is futile--he only sinks the deeper into the treacherous sand. In vain he shouts for help. No help will come to him, for, he that hears despairing cries from the downs, will flee in the opposite direction to get beyond reach of the sound, knowing well that were he to attempt to rescue the sinking wretch he too would be engulfed in the quicksand. When the victim's head has vanished beneath the surface, only a funnel-shaped depression marks the spot where a living creature has met death, and this sign will be obliterated by the first wind that blows across the sands. As I have mentioned before, a dike, with a road along its summit, divides the treacherous quicksands and the grazing cattle. It was along this dike-road that my wife and I walked arm in arm the morning I started for Antwerp. "You see, my love," I said to her, "how happy we are together when there is no one to disturb us. I should want for nothing else on earth if you would but promise not to wear that red cap again." "And I," she returned, "need only to wear this red cap in order to make me perfectly contented and happy." "Very well, then wear it--wear three red caps, one over the other, only don't wear this one while I am away from you." "Well--I won't wear it while you are away." "Swear that you won't?" "No, I will not swear not to wear it, for if I should forget my oath, and put the cap on, then I should perjure myself--and no cap is worth that!" "Then the cap is dearer to you than I am?" I asked. "Do you hate the cap so much that you hate me because I wear it?" she inquired in turn. "I have just cause to hate this cap, and I don't want to hate you for the same reason. Promise not to wear it while I am away." "No, I will not promise--you must not be so quarrelsome." "I will show you why you ought not wear it. Here, read this letter I received from Nimeguen." I took the letter from my pocket, and gave it to her. Her face took on the hue of her cap as she read, and when she had finished, she stamped her foot, tore the letter into bits and flung them over the downs, exclaiming: "Now, I shall wear the cap for spite." "No, you shall not wear it," I cried, beside myself with rage. I tore the cap from her head and flung it after the letter. What followed, the honorable gentlemen of the court will be able to conjecture after I have described my wife's figure and disposition. In Holland, as well as in some other portions of the globe, married people occasionally disagree; but I believe that only in Holland is it the husband who goes to a justice of the peace with a blackened eye to substantiate a complaint against his wife. My spouse was no exception to her fellow-countrywomen. Taller by half a head than I, broad-shouldered and with a powerful chest, she could hold at arm's length a small child seated on her hand--and it was a hand, too, that would render superfluous a _visam repertum_, if it came in contact with a human face! And from this amazon I had dared to snatch a favorite cap, and toss it on the quicksands. As I flung the cap away, the woman threw herself against me like an enraged elephant, and sent me staggering backward to the edge of the embankment, where I turned a somersault down into one of the bitter, natron-impregnated pools on the heath, in which not even a leech can exist. I had fallen with my head in the water; it sank to the chin in the slimy mud at the bottom, and had it not been for my presence of mind, I should have drowned; for the most expert swimmer will forget his skill if he finds his eyes, nose, mouth and ears filled with mire--and mire, too, that burns and stings like nettles. I managed with great difficulty to wriggle out of the pool, but I could see neither sky nor earth for several minutes. It took considerable time to cleanse the mire from my mouth, nose, eyes and ears; and it was hours before I could hear again. I felt like one resuscitated from drowning; my entire body burned as if I were covered from crown to sole with a vesicatory. Then I began to think of what might have happened while I was sitting on the heath ridding myself of the mire. I could not see my wife anywhere on the embankment. What had become of her? I was compelled to wade through the pools a considerable distance, in order to get back to the dike-road, for the embankment where I had fallen over was too steep to be climbed. Therefore, a half hour or more passed before I stood again on the dike-road looking about for my wife. She was nowhere in sight on the road. Then I turned toward the sands, and what I saw there caused the blood to curdle in my veins--the foolish woman had gone after her cap! She had it on her head, which, with her two arms, was all that was visible of her body above the sands. It was a horrible sight. Her staring eyes were fixed on me in accusation, her hands battled vainly with the empty air, her lips were open, but no sound issued forth. She was still alive, but entombed. I thought of nothing but saving her. I sprang down the embankment, but when the sinking woman saw me coming toward her, she began to beat the sand furiously with her hands, as if she were trying to prevent my approach. I could not have saved her. I had made but fifty steps toward her when I too began to sink. Recognizing the futility of further effort on my part, I flung myself face down on the sand, that my entire weight might not rest on my feet, and thus I managed to propel my body slowly, painfully, toward the stable earth. [Illustration: "Thus I managed to propel my body slowly, painfully toward the stable earth"] A seemingly endless time elapsed before I reached the foot of the embankment, and all the while there was a sound in my ears as of waves dashing against rocks, each wave crying hoarsely: "Curse you!" "Curse you!" When at last, dripping with ice-cold perspiration and quivering with horror, I reached the top of the dike, I could see only the red velvet cap on the sands; and as I looked, a sudden gust of wind sweeping up from the sea, seized it and bore it toward me. Overcome by terror I turned and fled like a madman down the road. All day long I continued my flight over pathless wastes; through withered copses, which had been destroyed by frequent inundations; across marshes filled with croaking frogs, and nesting storm-petrels; the lurking place of weasels and others, and from every corner I heard voices calling after me: "Murder!" "Murder!" The frogs croaked it from the water, the birds piped it from the air. The withered trees moaned it, and stretched their branches threateningly toward me; and the briars trailing along the ground caught at my feet and cried: "Stop, stop! let me bind you, murderer!" All things animate and inanimate joined in accusing me; and at last a wall rose before me to hinder further flight. It was only a broken dike; but to me it seemed a prison. Foot-sore and weary, I lay down amid the stones fallen from the wall. They were covered with thick moss, and it was a relief to stretch my tired limbs among them. I began to collect my scattered senses, to think calmly over what had happened, and after awhile I began to excuse myself to the frogs and the petrels, the moles and the sparse-branched withered trees that stood around me staring at me as if they would say: "Come, murderer, decide which of us will best suit you." I defended myself: "I am not a murderer; I am not going to hang myself. I did not lay a finger on the woman--it was she who thrust me over the dike into a pool where I nearly drowned. She was foolish enough to go where certain death awaited her--she alone is to blame!" "But, why did you throw her cap on the sands?" questioned the frogs, the storm-birds, and the moles. "Had not I a right to do it? Hadn't I a right to prevent her from wearing the cap which disgraced her and me? Had not she brought dishonor on me once before? Was I to permit it a second time? By throwing the cap away I was only defending my honor and her virtue. I did not kill her--she alone is to blame for her death!" "Ha, ha, ha!" sneered every animate creature. "Ha, ha, ha!" scoffed the breeze sweeping over the moor. No one--nothing in the wide world took sides with me. The elements were against me; every human being on the globe--large, small, white, black, olive-hued--all were against me. Cities, towns, villages; houses palaces, huts--all were my enemies; I must flee from every human habitation. And yet, I am not guilty. All the world will say that I am. My wife will be missed; she was seen going away in my company; her cap will be found beside the dike. It will be said that I murdered her, and thrust her body into the quicksands. I am not my wife's murderer. Did no one see her thrust me over the dike? Will no one testify for me? A fluttering wing brushed my cheek: "Ah, my white dove! Are you there? You will speak for me. You will tell all the world that I am innocent--that I did not murder my wife?" Filled with hope and joy, I turned my eyes toward my shoulder. The white dove was not perched there, but a coal black raven, and he croaked: "Thou didst it!" "At last," exclaimed the mayor as he shook the ink from the pen with which he had authenticated the protocol. "At last we have a confession that cannot be rendered invalid by a pharasaical _referrata mentalis_! At last the executioner will get something to do! _Uxoricidium aequale_: quartering, _praecedente_: the right hand to be severed from the wrist." "I don't agree with your honor," interposed the prince. "There is a law that was promulgated by _Sanctus Ladislaus rex_--he was a Hungarian king, to be sure, but he is a saint for all that; and because he was canonized his law is held sacred by all christendom; it reads something like this: 'If a man finds his wife guilty of infidelity, and takes her life, he is answerable to God alone for the deed--'" "Of course!" angrily exclaimed the chair, "I'll warrant the knave never dreamed that _Sanctus Ladislaus rex_ would drag him by the hair of his head out of limbo!--Let it be added to the rest of the miracles performed by Saint Ladislas!" PART XI. IN SATAN'S REALM. CHAPTER I. THE SATYRS. Not until the shadows of night had settled around me did I learn into what an accursed region I had strayed. It was the notorious "_kempenei_"--the rendezvous of witches and all evil spirits. When it became quite dark, the jack-o'-lanterns began to flit over the moor--as if the witches were dancing a minuet; and suddenly I heard a tumult of shrieks and yells, and looking upward I beheld the most repulsive lot of females it has ever been the lot of man to see. They had hairy chins; and huge warts on their noses. They came rushing through the air, seated on the shoulders of pallid-faced male forms. Each hag hung her mount by the bridle around his neck to a limb of one of the dead trees, and clapped her heels three times together before she descended to the ground. Then the witches held a council, and each one detailed the evil she had perpetrated the past twenty-four hours. I heard one say boastfully: "I sent an angry woman running after her cap, which her husband had thrown on the quicksands, and I let her sink to her death. The man escaped--" Here her sister-witches fell on her and beat her with switches, because she had allowed a man to escape from her. "Let me alone! Let me alone!" she shrieked. "I'll find him yet--he won't get away from me a second time!" Terror seized me anew. I shuddered, and pressed as closely as possible into my mossy bed. Then the hags began to arrange their plans for the next day. They would send the "Bocksritter" to attack a caravan that was coming to Antwerp. I had heard a good deal about the Bocksritter, a mounted band of ferocious robbers, who looked like satyrs, and were in league with Satan. They were even more to be dreaded than the Haidemaken. When the satyrs committed an extensive robbery, they took good care not to let a single one of their victims escape alive--not even the infant in its cradle. They left no one to witness against them; and, as they fled at once to another country, it was impossible to learn anything about them. Where they committed their depredations and the officers of the law failed to find trace of them, it was concluded, and naturally, that the Bocksritter were a myth, and the story of their depredations an idle fable. When the witches had decided their plans for the next day, the most hideous of the hideous crew began to peer about her, and sniff the air. "I smell something!" she exclaimed; "something that doesn't belong here." "It smells like a human being," said a second, also sniffing around her. "Ha, if only it were the fellow who escaped me this morning!" with a snort exclaimed a third. "It wouldn't take me long to prepare him for a bridle"--she glanced as she concluded toward the pallid creatures hanging on the trees. I pressed still further into the moss and ferns; but the raven on my shoulder began to flutter his wings, as if to attract the witches' attention. "Some one is hiding over yonder!" they cried as with one voice. "Come on, sisters, let's tickle him!" I heard them approach my hiding place, and in my despair I cried out: "If God be with me, who can be against me!" Hardly had the words left my lips when I received a blow on the ear from the raven's wing that made it tingle, but the witches had scattered in all directions, uttering frightful yells. When I lifted my head to look after them, the wind sweeping over the moor was driving before it the glimmering jack-o'-lanterns, which looked like a fleeing troop of torch-bearing soldiers. Just then the moon rose above the horizon. It was in the last quarter, by which I knew it must be an hour after midnight. I rose quickly, and prepared to set about performing the good deed I had determined on; I would hasten to meet the caravan travelling to Antwerp, and tell the leaders of the danger which threatened them from the Bocksritter. I cast from me every fear that prompted me to avoid my fellow-creatures, and rejoiced that it was in my power to serve them a good turn. Only after I had proceeded a considerable distance on my errand of mercy did it occur to me that I was unarmed, that I had nothing to defend myself from the wolves which infest that region, but a knife which I carried in a sheath at my side. On my way, I came upon a slender yew tree--a straight beautiful stem, and hard as iron. I cut it down with my knife, and soon had a cudgel that would serve me well in an emergency. I could brain any wolf that might take a fancy to satisfy his appetite with my carcass. I found my own hunger growing wolfish toward dawn, and when I came to the highway I looked about for an inn. I saw smoke rising from a chimney not far distant, and made my way toward the house, which proved to be one of entertainment for man and beast. The inn-keeper, from whom I ordered some bread and cheese, was busy preparing in a large kettle a savory stew of meat and cabbage. I asked him to give me a dish of it, but he said he could not let me have any, as it was for a crowd of people who were coming with a large caravan that morning. It was true then! I had really seen and heard the witches on the moor. It was not a dream. I had not long to wait. A tinkling of bells announced the approach of the caravan while I was eating my breakfast. There were vans and vehicles of all sorts, and all manner of traders; lace merchants, carpet dealers, weavers, goldsmiths, on their way to the fair at Antwerp. They had an escort of soldiers, with red and yellow jackets, and armed with muskets and halberds; also several dragoons with buff waistcoats. Even the traders were armed with pistols and carbines. All were in high good humor when they entered the inn. The leader of the caravan, a pot-bellied thread dealer, ordered everything that was to be had from kitchen and cellar, and produced from his knapsack a large ham which he shared with some of his companions. Toward the close of the meal, he noticed me, and kindly offered me the gnawed ham-bone. "Thank you," said I. "In return for this bare bone I will do you a kindness: Take my advice, and don't go any further today; or, if you cannot delay until tomorrow, send a strongly armed troop in advance of your caravan, and let one guard it in the rear, for you are in danger of an attack from the Bocksritter, who will leave your bones as bare as you have left this one you offer me!" Then I repeated to the entire company what I had heard the witches say. But, a curse rested on me! No one believed me; they laughed at me, ridiculed my "witch-story," said I had dreamed it; and the inn-keeper threatened to cast me out of his house for trying to bring disrepute on it. He averred that robbers were unknown in that neighborhood--there were no such disreputable characters anywhere but in Brabant and Spain, where they lurked in subterranean caverns like the marmots. Moreover, who was afraid of robbers? Not he! The caravan's valiant escort were delighted with the prospect of a skirmish with the notorious Bocksritter--let them begin their attack! Everyone of the rascals would soon find himself spitted on an honest bayonet! There was so much boasting about the escort's prowess that at last I concluded the safest way for me to get to Antwerp would be to join the caravan; which I did. All went well with us until late in the afternoon, when, as we were passing through a pine forest, the robbers suddenly fell upon us. They appeared so suddenly that one might almost believe they sprang from the earth. They were masked; their clothing was of black buffalo skin, laced with crimson cord. A black cock's feather adorned every hat. The first salvo from their muskets laid low at least half of our company; then the villains fell on us with their swords and began a frightful butchery. The leader of the caravan tumbled from his steed before he received an injury, and had I not been in such haste to save my skin, I should have stopped to say to him: "Why don't you laugh at me now, Mynheer Potbelly?" But it was no time for jesting. I ran swiftly toward the road, on the further side of which was a dense growth of young firs, and beyond them a stretch of undulating moorland, where, I imagined, I might effect my escape. The long yew staff I carried served me well; by its aid I could jump from hillock to hillock, and thus make swifter progress than had I been on horseback. "Let him run!" cried the robber captain, who was distinguished from the rest by the crimson ostrich plume on his hat. "Let him go; we will after him when we have finished here. He won't go very far." I soon found he was right. I had not gone more than a hundred paces, when I came to a mound from which there was neither retreat, nor advance. It was made up of pebbles, sand and the gravelly soil of the highway, from which a narrow path led to the mound. On all sides were deep ditches filled with stagnant water, rank vines and noxious weeds; so that no one could cross them without risk to life or limb. I was caught! Out on the highway, my companions of the caravan were being exterminated to a man. None were allowed to escape. When the work of carnage was completed there, the butchers turned their attention to me. I was alone, and defenseless on my islet. The demons came toward me, laughing brutally, and in my despair I laughed too. I said to myself: "I too will have some fun before I die!" I loosed the leather belt from my waist, and made a sling of it. Pebbles lay at my feet in plenty for my David's battle with Goliath. The robbers soon found they had to do with a skilled bombardier; my shots struck them and their horses with a force and regularity that began to tell on their ranks. Many were thrown from their saddles with skulls and ribs crushed. The fun was not all on their side. Finding at last that I was not to be taken alive, they concluded to use me as a target for their muskets. One of them dismounted, lifted the musket from his shoulder, thrust the bayonet into the ground, and rested the gun on it. After he had arranged the priming in the pan, he called to me: "Surrender, fellow, or I'll shoot you!" "Try it," I called back, whirling the sling around my head. "Afterward I'll have a shot at you." "Do you throw first," he called again. "No, thank you--you are the challenger; do you shoot first." He fired, and missed me. Then I hurled my stone; it struck him on the jaw, and broke off his teeth. Then a second, and a third, had a try at me without effect, but everyone of my shots inflicted serious injury. I was not an expert gunner for nothing; I knew that when one is the target for a gunshot, one has but to watch closely when the match is applied to the priming; if two flashes are seen, then the aim will be faulty, the ball will fly wide of the mark, and it will not be necessary to dodge. If but one flash is seen, then it will be well to step to one side. I had the advantage of the robbers; for, while they were preparing their muskets to fire, I could hurl five or six stones, and not one of them missed its mark. I hoped that one of the bullets whistling past my ears might hit the raven on my shoulders; but he was too shrewd a bird; he rose in the air, and I could hear the fluttering of his wings above my head. At last the robbers were obliged to acknowledge that I had the better of them. Only one of them at a time could approach my islet over the narrow path; or wade up to his horse's neck through the weed-entangled morass, and that one would fall an easy prey to my sling. "Stop!" now cried the wearer of the crimson plume. "This valiant fellow's life must be spared. He will be a valuable addition to our band. Let no one molest him--I will talk with him myself," saying which, he got off his horse, and came toward me unarmed. "Have no fear," he called to me. "You are a brave lad, and just the sort we need. We kill only cowards. If you will join us you shall not rue it." What could I do? I was a fugitive, excluded from all honest and respectable society. I knew not where to turn. If I refused to join the robbers, I should have to flee from country to country; I might as well fly in company with others. The desire for revenge also prompted me to accept the leader's offer. I would punish the people who had ridiculed me, and condemned me because of a dream. "Who are you?" I asked. "Are you Satan? I will not enter into a league with him." "No, I am not Satan; I am the leader of the Bocksritter. If you will join us, you shall be corporal, and in time you may become the leader." "Thank you," said I, "but I think I should prefer to remain simply a private. I have heard that the man who leagues himself with the 'satyrs,' binds his body to pain and death; and that he who becomes their leader must bond his soul to the devil--and that I will never do." "Very well," he growled in response; "I regret to hear so brave a lad decide thus. Then bind yourself only to pain and death." Our compact was sealed, and I was given the horse and outfit of one of the robbers I had killed in defending myself, and when the black mask had been adjusted over my face, I felt that I had ceased to belong to this world. I had no name--was nobody. I was a satyr, a foe to society. Whatever I might do thenceforth, whatever crime I might commit, no one would hear of it. The mask did not speak! The Bocksritter committed their horrible deeds of pillage and murder in the Netherlands; in Wurtemberg; along the Rhine; in Alsace and Lorraine. In which of them, or in how many, I took part--who can say? The mask does not speak! Where we roved, what we did, who can say? Not I. Whether the satyrs robbed churches, whether they destroyed caravans, burned cities, desecrated convents and routed their inmates, plundered mines, devastated estates--who can say? Whether I assisted at all the crimes they committed, or at only one--or whether I took part in none--who can say? Was I the satyr that flung back into his burning house the usurious Jew who had escaped from it? or was I the one that rescued a babe from the flames and bore it on his saddle to the mother's arms? Was I the satyr who placed the mine under the convent and exploded it? or was I the one who warned the nuns in time for them to escape--who can say? The mask does not speak. "Well," observed the prince, "if you don't know; and the mask won't tell, then this entire chapter of your confession must be eliminated from the index." Then he added further, in order to propitiate the chair: "Why, don't you see, that the prisoner did not become a satyr of his own free will? That he was forced to join the band under pain of death? If, while he was with the robbers, he committed good deeds, or evil, who--as he says himself--can say?" "Aye, who indeed?" satirically responded the chair. "The mystery of the whole affair is so clear that no one will be able to say whether this valiant and pious Christian ought to be hanged, or this conscienceless reprobate ought to be canonized!" CHAPTER II. WITCH-SABBATH. The satyrs did not ask my name when I joined their band; but bestowed one on me with the mask. They did not select their names from the calendar, but chose the appellations of distinguished satanic personages--as, for instance, there was a Belial; a Semiazaz; a Lucifer; Mephistopholes; Belzebub; Azazel; Samiel; Dromo; Asmodens, Dopziher, Flibbertigibbet, and so on. The leader was Astaroth; me they called Belphegor, and my "blood-comrade" Behoric. The way a blood-comradeship was formed was this: The two men slashed their right arms, and each drank of the blood gushing from the arm of the other. This was an alliance of the first degree. A second comradeship was formed by two men pricking their names into each other's arms. Both ceremonies were performed only on witch-sabbath. Great privileges were associated with blood-comradeship. The comrades shared everything; they belonged to each other. Mine is thine, and thine mine. If one of them said: I want this, or that; the other had to give it to him. Whatever one commanded the other had to obey; and if one comrade wanted to exchange bodies with the other, the latter was obliged to consent and-- "But that is impossible," here interrupted the prince. "No it isn't," spoke up the chair with like decision, "Johann Magus proves conclusively that such exchanges have been known to take place." "Well, if it is possible," returned his highness, "I should like, if your honor and I were 'blood-comrades,' to see how we would manage such an exchange! There's room enough in my hide for three like you; but how I could get into yours puzzles me!" The prisoner proceeded to explain how it might be accomplished: The entire body undergoes a change; the larger becomes smaller, and _vice versa_; so that an exchange is easily effected. It needs only the consent of both parties. All sorts of complications may arise from such an exchange, though. Suppose I were a bridegroom, and my blood-comrade should suggest an exchange of bodies; or, if I were on my way to the gallows, and I should ask to exchange? One day the leader of the band said to me: "Belphegor, you must marry. You will not be a genuine satyr until you are mated with a female member of our band." "But where are the ladies? I have not yet seen any of them," I asked. "I have a bride ready for you, my youngest sister Lilith. You shall see her very soon." I knew that a Lilith had tempted Father Adam to be untrue to Mother Eve; if she and the captain's sister were one and the same, then she must be considerably older than I. So I said: "Does she wear a mask?" "Certainly." "Then I'll marry her!" And so it was settled that I should become the leader's brother-in-law. In a subterranean cavern in the Black Forest our wedding was celebrated. The entire company of satyrs were assembled to witness the ceremony, and when the numerous torches were lighted, the cavern looked like an immensely large church with this difference: everything was inverted. The images of the saints stood on their heads; even the crucifix in the chancel was upside down. The organ's base was against the ceiling; the winged cherubs hovered overhead feet upward; the bells swung with the clappers standing upright, and the choir chanted the psalm backward. The priest who performed the ceremony had the most peculiar legs; one was at least a foot shorter than the other; and when an acolyte removed the mitre, the father's head came off with it. Asafoetida instead of incense was burned in the censer. My bride, whom I saw now for the first time, was robed in garments far more costly and magnificent than any I had ever seen on my regal wife, Sumro Begum. The fine clothes and gew-gaws concealed the contours of her form, and a heavy gold-embroidered veil completely hid her face. The priest made us repeat the marriage service backward; and when he bade us inscribe our names in the register I took good care to look closely at my wife's hands. They were encased in gloves, but I could see that the finger nails were long and sharp--which did not augur favorably for me should there arise any domestic differences between us. Her voice was youthful enough; she did not pronounce P like M, from which I concluded that she still had teeth. We left the church to the music of the organ. I led my bride on my arm to the wagon waiting for us at the entrance to the cavern. It was a large, heavy vehicle, roomy enough for a dozen persons, and harnessed to it were six stag-beetles. "How in the devil's name are these beetles going to drag such a heavy vehicle?" I cried angrily. "Six horses couldn't move it." "No, of course they couldn't!" assented my wife. "The axles need greasing. Here, rub some of this ointment on them." I obeyed, and greased the axles with the contents of an agate box Lilith held in her hand. The entire wedding company now sprang on the wagon, leaving only the driver's seat for me and my bride. Lilith took the reins; the six beetles spread their wings, and off we went--the heavy wagon with its heavier load flying as swiftly and lightly through the air as thistle-down before a gale. I thought it an excellent chance to get a sight of my bride's face while both her hands were occupied with the reins, and quickly flung back her veil. Horror! the blood froze in my veins. They were the repulsive features of the witch I had heard boast on the _kempenei_, that she would catch me yet, and prepare me for the bridle. Beyond a doubt she was Father Adam's temptress, for there were wrinkles enough on her hideous face to represent the many centuries which had passed since her little affair with the first man; while, for the development of such a moustache from the delicate peach-down, which makes a woman's lips so kissable, would require many a cycle of time! "I will jump from the wagon!" I cried in terror. "Better put your arms around me to keep from falling out!" laughed my terrible bride, and then I noticed for the first time that we were at least five hundred feet above the earth. To force me to adopt her suggestion, Lilith guided the beetles toward the spire of the Cologne Cathedral, against which we struck with such violence that to save myself from tumbling from my seat I had to fling my arm around Lilith's waist, at which the entire company laughed uproariously. At last, to my great relief, we descended to the earth, and alighted in a lonely forest, at another of the witches' meeting places, where we were greeted by a weird company that assembled from all quarters of the globe. They came through the air, riding on brooms, on chairs, on benches-- "I don't believe a single word of the ridiculous story!" here emphatically exclaimed the prince. "I do," with equal emphasis affirmed the chair. "Johannes de Kembach has described witches' journeys in almost the same language; and the learned Majolus testifies to the flying wagon, which a servant in mistake greased with witch ointment instead of axle grease. Moreover, a similar tale is related by Torquemada, in his Hexameron--a recognized authority on such matters." The prisoner continued his confession: The witches, as I said, came through the air accompanied by their gallants; the demons rose, with their attendants, from the ground. Among the latter were several of the celebrities from whom the satyrs had borrowed the name they bore. Semiazaz is the jester of the demon-crew, also the musician; and when he plays, all the rest have to dance. His nose is a clarionet; he plays it with his ears instead of his fingers with which he thrums on the skeleton ribs of a cow, as on a harp; and he beats the drum with his tail. Behoric, my blood-comrade's god-father, is a huge fellow with an elephant's trunk, with which he signs his name. That is why N. P. (_nasu propria_) instead of M. P. (_manu propria_) is always appended to this demon's signature. Behoric is also an elegant cavalier. He wears his tail jauntily over one shoulder, and fans himself, when he gets too warm, with the brush at the tip. All of the demons, with a single exception, had wings like a bat. My namesake alone differed in this respect from his fellows. His wings were formed from the quills which have been used on earth to sign and write documents worthy of the infernal regions. There was the quill used by Pilate to sign the accusation against Jesus Christ, and the release of Barabbas; the quill with which Aretino indited his sonnets; the quill used by Queen Elizabeth to sign Mary Stuart's death sentence; the quill with which Catharine de Medici ordered the horrors of St. Bartholomew's night; the quill with which Pope Leo X. wrote indulgences for money; the quill with which Pope Innocent wrote the words: "_Sint ut sunt aut non sint_;" the quill with which a distinguished Archbishop wrote his ambiguous answer: "_Reginam occidere nolite timere bonum est_;" the quill that wrote at Shylock's order the contract for a pound of human flesh; the quill used by the mortal foe of the Foscari to write in his book "_La Pagata_;" the quill with which King Philip signed the death warrant of his son; the quill with which Tetzel scrawled his pamphlet attacking Luther--and all the rest of the quills which have been used for such like infamous deeds, were to be found in Belphegor's wings. They were gigantic wings, too, much longer than those of roc; and whenever Behoric needed a pen he would pluck from them the quill which best suited the document he wanted to sign. After all the demons and witches were assembled they began to plan evil deeds; and my bride being the heroine of the hour, she had the right to offer the first suggestion: "There is an inn near the '_kempenei_,'" she began, "whose owner is in league with the commandant of Bilsen to counterfeit money, and waylay travellers. The counterfeit money is started into circulation by the inn-keeper, who gives it to the caravans which stop at his house for refreshment, in exchange for the genuine money they leave with him. This publican has become repentant, and wants to atone for his misdeeds. He confessed his criminal practices in a letter to the governor, and told where the commandant fabricated the false coin. This letter I managed to have conveyed to the commandant instead of to the governor, and tonight, the former with his troops is going to pay a visit to the inn. What say you, friends: how many souls shall we send to hell?" "All of them! All of them!" yelled the witches. "We will have some fun this night! Ho, Lucifer! We await you!" A terrific noise and rumbling was heard, and the ground opened, as when an earthquake cleaves the crust of the globe. From the abyss rose his infernal majesty, the king of evil, before whom the entire company knelt--or rather squatted on their heels-- "What was he like?" queried the prince. I cannot answer that question, your highness--and for a very good reason, as will be learned further on. When Lucifer appeared all the witches disrobed-- "Not to the buff?" again interrupted the prince. Yes, your highness, and further. They took off their skins, too; and when their hideous, wrinkled, warty hides were stripped off, they were the most beautiful and fascinating fairies. My Lilith was more transcendently lovely than any image of a goddess I ever saw--she was perfect beauty idealized! Your highness will understand now why I had no eyes for the prince of darkness. I had lost command of my head--for one kiss from Lilith's ravishing lips I would have bonded my soul to the devil. Behoric, the real demon, for whom my blood-comrade was called, now took a black book from his knapsack, and bade his namesake step forward to be stigmatized. This was accomplished as follows: Behoric plucked a quill from Belphegor's wings, and with the nib made tiny punctures in my comrade's arm, thus forming letters. After making a puncture in the flesh he would make a dot with the bloody quill-point on a page in the black book. When his task was finished, the name "Behoric" gleamed in red letters on my comrade's arm; and in letters of flame on the page in the black book. The demon then presented to his namesake a thaler, as christening gift; after which, he turned to me, and said I should also receive a thaler if I would allow him to register my name among those of the chosen ones of hell. Not for a dozen thalers would I have consented; but, for one kiss from my fascinating Lilith, I would have done anything asked of me. I extended my arm for the stigma; but my blood-comrade stepped up to me and said: "Comrade, do you see this thaler which I got in exchange for my soul? I want you to give me your bride for it." As I have told you, a blood-comrade dare not refuse the request made by his fellow. I pocketed the thaler, placed Lilith's beautiful hand in Behoric's palm, and saw them move away to join the dancers. Behoric and Belphegor now seized my collar, and importuned me to have my name recorded in the black book; but, with the loss of my bride, all desire to join the demon ranks vanished. In vain I made all sorts of excuses; they would not release me. At last, I cried with simulated anger: "To the devil with you! Not a single member of my family ever was known to sign a contract when sober! I will eat and drink, then I'll talk business with you!" Hardly had the last word crossed my lips, when before me stood a table loaded with delicious viands, and rare wines. The wedding guests seated themselves around the table, and proceeded to enjoy the repast, but to my extreme disappointment both wines and food were without taste. There was no substance to the former, no savor to the latter. I began to quarrel with the demons: "I can't eat this food," I exclaimed irritably. "I can't eat meat without salt." "Salt?" repeated one of them. "Where should we get salt? There is no ocean in hell." "But,"--I persisted--"I must have some salt--and if you have to fetch me Lot's wife--" "Don't scold so, little man," jestingly interrupted Lilith, pulling my mustache. "Here--taste what is on my lips." "I don't want honey--I want salt," I yelled, pushing her away. "_Donner und Blitz!_ Give me salt, or I'll skin Lucifer!" Now, a curse has the same effect on a demon that a prayer has on an angel. The younger devils rushed with all speed possible to Lucifer's palace to fetch the only salt-cellar in the infernal regions; it is for the sole use of the king of evil. This salt-cellar is a large mussel-shell and looks like a christening bowl; it is filled with salt collected from the tears shed by penitent sinners who delayed their repentance until it was too late. Two active little imps dragged the salt-cellar to my side. "Here's salt at last--God be praised!" I exclaimed in a loud voice. The next instant the table with its viands disappeared amid an unearthly din, and rumbling as of thunder. The demons sank cursing into the earth; the witches flew yelling into the air, and I fell backward to the ground unconscious. When I came to my senses, I was lying in a peat bog one hundred and twenty miles from the Black Forest, in which I had celebrated my marriage the night before with the beautiful Lilith. "Either you are a madman, or you dreamed all this nonsense," in a stern tone observed the prince, at the conclusion of Hugo's recital. "I don't believe a single word of it." "Well," commented the chair with less emphasis; "one thing is clear: Among the many lies the rascal has entertained us with for weeks, this last tale is the only one to bear a semblance to the truth. Similar occurrences are related by Majolus, and Ghirlandinus; also by the world-renowned Boccaccio, whose statements no one would think of doubting. I say that, for once, the accused has adhered strictly to the truth." "Very good," decisively responded the prince. "Then, as he did not sign the compact with Satan, he cannot be charged with _pactum diabolicum implicitum_. Consequently, this indictment may also be expunged from the record." PART XII. THE BREAD OF SHAME. CHAPTER I. THE MAGIC THALER. The most convincing proof that everything occurred as I related it, said the prisoner, continuing his confession the next day, was the thaler I found in my pocket, when I came to my senses in the peat bog near the "_kempenei_"--the thaler my blood-comrade gave me in exchange for Lilith. I remembered what I had heard the witches say about the commandant's visit to the inn-keeper and though I had suffered terribly because I had tried once to perform a good deed at his house, I decided to warn him of the danger which threatened him that night. It was very late in the evening when I drew near the inn; but light still gleamed from the windows, and sounds of merriment came from the open door. The inn-keeper, who was celebrating his marriage with his fifth wife, recognized me at once. He was not in the least rejoiced to see me again; quite the contrary: "See!" he called to his friends inside the house, "this is the fellow I told you about--the one who predicted what would happen to the Antwerp caravan. Every word he said came true! He shall not come into my house again. I dare say," he added, speaking to me from the door-way, "I dare say you have another witch-story to tell? Don't you dare to utter one word of your evil prophecies, you bird of evil omen!" The entire company seized cudgels and chairs and threatened to brain me if I opened my lips. "Just keep your temper, good people," I returned coolly, "I don't intend to tell you what would be of great benefit to you--your treatment of me is so unfriendly, I shall not say one word--I want nothing from you but some bread and cheese, and a mug of beer: and a bundle of straw in a corner where I may pass the night." "Have you money to pay for all this?" demanded the inn-keeper. "Certainly I have;" and I handed him my thaler. "Ho-ho, fellow, this is a counterfeit," he sneered, tossing the coin to the ceiling and letting it fall on the stone table. The clear ringing sound was unmistakable--the thaler was genuine. Angered by the insolence of the inn-keeper, I said in a tone, the meaning of which he could not mistake: "Look here, beer-seller; I want you to understand that _I_ am not a circulator of counterfeit money!" "What!" he roared in a fury; "do you dare to insinuate that _I_ circulate counterfeit money? For your impudence I shall keep this thaler, and have it tested in the city tomorrow; and that you may not run away in the meantime, I shall pen you in my hen-coop." The entire company helped him to thrust me into the coop, which was so small I could neither stand upright nor lie down in it. And there I crouched, hungry and thirsty as I had come from the witch-wedding. Suddenly the early morning quiet was broken by a fanfare in front of the inn. I heard horses' hoofs stamping the earth; loud shouts and curses; and the clank of weapons--the commandant of Bilsen had arrived with his troops. In a trice the doors were broken open; the startled wedding guests could neither escape nor defend themselves. The soldiers cut down all that came in their way: men, women, old and young. From my hen-coop I witnessed the slaughter, which I cannot describe, for I grow faint with horror if I but think of it. Not even a dog was left alive about the inn. When the work of butchery was completed one of the soldiers took it into his head to peep into the hen-coop. He saw me, broke the lock with his hatchet, and dragged me out by the hair. "Don't kill me, comrade," I begged, "I am only a poor soldier like yourself. The inn people took all my money, and penned me in the coop--you can see for yourself that I am not one of them, but a foot-sore wanderer." "Did they take all your money?" asked the trooper. "I had only a thaler; the inn-keeper said it was counterfeit, and kept it." "Let's see if you're telling the truth," said the fellow, beginning to search about my clothes. "Ha! What's this?" he exclaimed suddenly, holding up the thaler he had found in one of my pockets. "I thought you were lying, you rascal," he added, giving me a blow with his fist, and thrusting my thaler into his pocket. At that moment another trooper approached, and said something to the first, about not making 'way with me--that the French recruiting officers would give ten thalers for such a sturdy chap. Then he too inquired if I had any money. I swore I had none; but he was as incredulous as his comrade, and also searched my pockets. In one of them he found the thaler which had returned to my possession; and he too gave me a blow for telling him a lie. Then came a third trooper with the same inquiry: "Have you money?" I had not yet got used to having the thaler return to me, so I said: "No, my friend, I haven't another penny"--and he didn't find anything in my pockets; but when, at his command, I drew off my boots, the thaler fell out of one of them. From this trooper also I received a vigorous blow for lying. When the fourth, fifth, and sixth troopers followed with the same demand for money, I replied: "Yes, friend, I think I have a thaler somewhere about my clothes--just search me and maybe you'll find it." And every one of them found the thaler--once it was found tucked under the collar of my coat; another time in the lining; a third time in my neck-ruff. My fun came afterward, when the troopers discovered they were minus the thaler they had taken from me. They accused one another of stealing, which led to a scuffle and blows. I was sold for ten thalers to the Frenchmen, who, when they stripped me to put me into uniform, also searched my clothes. They found nothing; but when they were shearing my hair the thaler suddenly dropped to the floor. The sergeant pounced on it, exclaiming: "A thaler profit, comrades!--we'll have a drink at once!" Beer was ordered from the inn, in which they were quartered; and while they were drinking, the sergeant turned to me and said: "Are you thirsty lad? You are? Very well, then, go into the yard, lift your face to the clouds, and open your mouth wide--it's raining heavily! When you have quenched your thirst from the clouds, stand guard at the gate." I had to obey, and stand guard; but I did not quench my thirst with rain water. After a while I heard loud voices in the bar-room. The inn-keeper's wife was accusing the soldiers of stealing the thaler given to her by the sergeant for the beer. She said it had been taken from the drawer, while she was attending to her work in the kitchen. "Which of you fellows stole the thaler?" angrily demanded the sergeant. No one answered; whereupon the sergeant proceeded to flog the men, one after the other, with a bunch of hazel-switches. But the thaler was not found. Then the five soldiers seized the sergeant, and paid back what he had loaned them; as each had received six blows, the number delivered to him in payment amounted to thirty. "Fine discipline!" I said to myself. "Fine discipline, where the sergeant flogs his men, and the men flog the sergeant in turn! It's a fine service I've got into, I must say." I thrust my hands into the pockets of my wide trunk-hose, and what do you suppose I found in one of them? The dangerous thaler! It had not occurred to the Frenchmen to search me! "I don't see how such a thing could happen," in a puzzled tone, observed the prince. "There is no mystery about it," returned the chair. "The coin was a 'breeding-thaler'--as it is called. A breeding-thaler will return to the pocket of its owner, no matter how often he may spend it. If, however, he bestows it as a gift on any one, it will not return to him; but to the person to whom he has given it." "Ah, had I only known that sooner!" in a tone of deep regret, murmured the delinquent. CHAPTER II. THE HUSBAND OF THE WIFE OF ANOTHER MAN. The breeding-thaler was not of much use to me, for I was in a region where there was nothing I cared to purchase. I was with the French camp in front of the city of Lille, where I had been assigned to the artillery, because I had admitted that I knew something about the management of cannon. It was a miserable existence: crouched day and night in the trenches; or, on the lookout for the grenades, which were hurled into our camp from the city we were besieging. But I could have endured all the hardships if I had had enough to eat. The French general would not allow any vivandières with spiritous liquors to enter the battery; the gunners, he said, must remain sober; and that they might not want to drink, they were given very little to eat, as eating promotes thirst. If I sent a sapper with a jug to the canteen for beer, he would invariably return with the empty jug, and swear he had lost the thaler I had given him on the way--which was true; for, no matter how often I tried it, the coin would be back in my pocket before the messenger had been gone five minutes. The consequence was I was in a continual state of hunger and thirst. The officers, on the contrary, had plenty to eat and drink. They were always feasting and making merry in their tents. My captain had in camp with him a companion of the gentler sex, who was not his wife, nor was she his sister, daughter, or mother--nor yet his grand-mother. This lady would sometimes accompany him on his tours of inspection, riding by his side, in a long silk habit, with a plumed cap on her head. She was a beautiful creature. One day the general, who had got tired seeing so many women about, gave orders that every one not having a legal husband among his troops should leave the camp within twenty-four hours. That day my captain came to me, and after making believe he was come on business about the guns, said: "By the way, gunner, you look to me like a chap who was used to something better than loading cannon and sleeping on the ground--" "And gnawing dry bread," I ventured to append. He laughed, and said again: "I've half a mind to appoint you my adjutant--how would that suit you?" "I shouldn't object." "Will you do me a small favor in return?" "Whatever I can, sir." "I should want you to keep a well-supplied table, and invite me to dine and sup. I, of course, will pay all expenses." "That doesn't sound like a very hard task, sir," I replied. "It isn't--only there's a condition goes with it. In order to entertain properly an officer of my rank, there will have to be a lady to do the honors of the table." "But, where can I get the lady, sir?" "I'll find one for you--the lady you have seen riding with me. She has long possessed my deepest respect." I scratched my head back of the right ear: "If you respect the lady so much, sir, why don't you marry her?" "Stupid fellow!--because I already have a wife." "Look here, sir," I said after a moment's deliberation, "I have eaten all sorts of ammunition bread during my experience as a soldier; I have cheated and stolen; but I have never occupied a position so low as the one you want me to accept." "But, my lad, consider the advantages: Plenty to eat, and drink, and nothing to do--that is one alternative; the other: in the trenches night and day, bread and water! I will give you half an hour to think it over; if you refuse I shall offer the position to some one else--some one who is not so squeamish as you." That was a long half hour! I thought over what I had to lose if I accepted the position: Honor? I had very little left; but, if I had squandered it I had done so with my sword and musket, idled it away in a hundred ways--though never in the despicable manner suggested to me by my captain. But I had been persecuted and cursed for trying to do good--what use to try again? Besides, I hadn't anything to lose: I might as well eat and drink away the little self-respect and honor I still possessed. At the end of the half hour, the captain came for my decision. I said: "I accept your offer, sir--here's my hand on it!" I held out my hand, and so did he; but, before they came together, each of us drew back--each prompted by the same thought: "This fellow's hand is more soiled than mine--I cannot take it!" But, I married the donna that afternoon, bestowing on her one of my numerous names; and after the chaplain of the regiment had performed the ceremony, this thought involuntarily suggested itself to me: "Hugo, my lad, you are not the only one cheated in this business." From that hour it went well with my body--and luckily one's stomach does not possess a conscience! In addition to a well-filled larder and cellar, I had a title--I was called "adjutant." I saw my bride only at table; how frequently the captain visited my quarters I cannot say. When he was obliged to absent himself on duty connected with the campaign, he would always try to surprise her by an unexpected return. One day she was more than surprised when her lover was brought back to camp minus his head; he had had the misfortune to get within range of a cannon shot from the enemy's lines. My situation now became anything but agreeable. I ceased to be an adjutant, but I was still the husband of my wife--a rôle I found it exceedingly difficult to continue. The woman had been accustomed to every luxury; but, as money does not fall from the sky, I found great difficulty in providing her with the bare necessities of life. One after another of the costly ornaments she had received from the captain were disposed of to supply her numerous demands, until all were gone. Then she began to quarrel with me and accused me with trying to starve her. I bethought me of the magic coin I had carried in my pocket all this time, merely as a souvenir of the demon-assembly in the Black Forest. I said to it: "Now, thaler, show what you can do!" and gave it to the woman to buy what was necessary. I did not know then that if a breeding-thaler were given away it would not return; and when I placed it in the woman's hand I believed, of course, I should find it again in a few minutes in my pocket. But I never saw the thaler again! When, at the expiration of several hours, it did not return to me, I consoled myself with thinking it must be in the woman's pocket. But it had not returned to her--she had given it to an ensign who had been an admirer of hers for a long time. So, the magic thaler was gone for good, and I had nothing but the woman I had married to please my captain--and he was dead! What was to be done? Should I run away from my wife, and my flag?--become a two-fold deserter? I pondered over this question for three days; for three long days I endured the taunts of my wife, and the ridicule of my comrades, and on the third I fled-- "I should have run away the first day!" emphatically exclaimed the prince, giving the table a thump with his fist. The mayor's eye twinkled as he added: "Consequently, desertion may also be stricken from the register!" (_Quod dixi dixi._) PART XIII. THE EXCHANGE OF BODIES. CHAPTER I. THE QUACK DOCTOR. "Well, you godless reprobate," began the mayor, addressing the prisoner, when the court was assembled the next day for a further hearing of the remarkable case, "you have come to the last of your crimes; you have illustrated how the seven mortal sins may be trebled, and how the perpetrator may clear himself of the entire twenty-one, if he possesses a fluent tongue. With your entertaining fables you have understood how to extend the time of your trial five months and two weeks, believing, no doubt, that the Frenchmen would in the meantime seize the fortress and save you from the gallows. But that has not come to pass. Only one more indictment remains on your list--Treason. I don't believe you will be able to talk yourself out of that! But we will now hear you make the attempt." The prisoner bowed and summoned to his aid the muse, by whose help he had wrested from death one day after another, to assist him win yet another twenty-four hours in God's beautiful world. As the honorable gentlemen of the court are aware, I entered into service here, after I deserted from the French camp at Lille--and I have tried to do my duty faithfully, as becomes a good soldier-- "I must say"--interrupted the prince with considerable stress--"you were the best gunner in my artillery." After he had thanked his highness for the compliment, the prisoner resumed: One day, while I was deeply absorbed in my technical studies, a quack doctor was brought to my quarters. He had announced that he was my messenger to the camp of the enemy, and that he had returned with some important information for me. He was an imposter; I had not employed any one to perform such errands for me. I ordered the fellow to be brought before me. He was of low, but vigorous stature, with a crafty countenance, and cunning leer. He had with him an entire apothecary's outfit: a chest filled with all sorts of oils, extracts, unguents, and pills. The fellow laughed in my face and said in an impudent tone: "Well, comrade, don't you know me?". "No; I have never before seen your ugly phiz," I replied, a trifle angrily. "Nor have I _seen_ yours; but I know you for all that--Belphegor." I was startled. "You are Behoric?" I exclaimed. I sent the orderly from the room, then asked: "How did you manage to find me? You never saw me without a mask." "I will tell you: I have two magic rings; one I wear on the little finger of my right hand; the other on the little finger of my left hand, both with the setting turned inward. If I say to the rings: 'I want to find my blood-comrade, Belphegor,' one of them turns around on my finger and the setting shows me the way I must go. If I arrive at a point where two roads meet, the other ring shows me which to take. That is how I came here." The explanation did not altogether satisfy me--the fellow's face made me doubt the truth of it; but I could not deny that I was his blood-comrade. Besides, I entertained a sort of affection for him; we had been good comrades, and had not drank each other's blood for nothing. "Well," said I, after deliberating a moment, "what brings you here?--here, where nothing is to be got but fiery bullets." "I came to ask you to exchange bodies." "Why do you wish to exchange?" "The leader has ordered it." "Do you still belong to the satyrs?" "Yes--and so do you. It is not a disease from which one can recover; nor an office one may resign. It is not a garment one may cast aside; nor a wife one may divorce. In a word, once a satyr, always a satyr." "I pledged only my body, not my soul," I interrupted. "And it isn't your soul I want, comrade; only your body. You may carry your soul in my body, and go whithersoever it may please you to wander." "But, what shall I do while in your body?" "You will do what I should do: sell theriac and arsenic; _lapis nephriticus_, _nostra paracelsi_, apoponax, and salamander ointment--for all of which you will receive good, hard coin from the credulous fools who will be your customers. It is the easiest life in the world!" "But I don't know the least thing about your medicaments, and couldn't tell what any of them would heal or cure." "Oh, you need not trouble your head about that! Just take a look into this chest. See--here in the different compartments are arranged various bottles, vials and boxes, with the names of their contents above them. These tiny letters under each one, which cannot be read without the aid of a magnifying glass, are the names of the diseases for which the contents of the bottles, vials, and boxes are infallible remedies. When a patient applies to you, listen what he has to say; then, diagnose the disease, consult your microscopic directions, and dose him according to his ability to pay." "And how long will I have to wear your hideous form and let you occupy my stately proportions?" I asked. "Until we both desire to exchange again. I will give you one of my magic rings and I'll keep the other. If you turn the ring on your finger at the same moment I turn mine, then the exchange will be effected, no matter how far apart our bodies may be. Now, take this ring, and summon your orderly. Bid him escort me to the gate, and give me a glass of brandy before he lets me depart." I obeyed these directions and, after a few minutes, the burning in my throat convinced me that I was in Behoric's squat body; that he occupied my taller shell I found very shortly. Hardly had the exchange taken place, when a bombardier came to announce that the second cannon in the third battery had burst, whereupon Behoric in my body answered: "Boil some glue, and stick the pieces together; then wind some stout twine around the cannon to prevent it from bursting again." At these directions the bombardier and the orderly exchanged glances and snickered. "This won't do at all," I said to myself, so I whispered to my figure: "Behoric, just change back again for a second, will you?" Each turned the ring on his finger, and I was again I. "Take the broken cannon to the arsenal," I said to the grinning bombardier, "and put in its place one of the bronze pieces from chamber number IV. Why do you laugh, idiot?" Then Behoric and I exchanged again, and I found myself trudging in his body down the hill from the fortress, with the medicine chest on my back. I was obliged to pass through the beleaguerer's camp, and, naturally, was commanded to halt. When they spoke to me I could not understand them--I, who am perfectly familiar with French, Latin, English, Polish, Russian, Turkish, Indian, Dutch--I, with Behoric's untutored ears, and with his inability to converse in any language but the German, could not understand a word the Frenchmen said to me. The colonel was obliged to send for an interpreter. "Have you been inside the fortress?" I was asked. "I have." "Did you deliver to the chief gunner what I sent with you?" "I did." "Will he do what I ask?" "He will." Here, to my great surprise--for I had done nothing to earn it--the colonel pressed fifty thalers into my palm, and motioned me to pass on my way. I wandered out into the world, trudged from city to city, selling the contents of my chest, until I came to Madgeburg, where, having accumulated a considerable sum of money, I bought a horse and wagon. I could now travel about with greater convenience and speed than when forced to carry the heavy medicine-chest on my back. I also hired an assistant to blow a trumpet when I wanted to collect a crowd around my wagon. I became so well satisfied with the pleasant life I now led, no thought of changing back to my own body ever occurred to me. My blood-comrade might keep it, and continue to fire cannon from Ehrenbreitstein--I was quite content with my quack-doctoring, and with his anatomy. And a wonderfully shrewd and sensible little anatomy it was! My own did not contain a tenth part the sense that was in his. Therefore, I considered it my duty to bestow the best of care on it. I fattened it with the same attention to details I would have observed had it been my own and I was amply able to supply it with everything that was necessary to increase its bulk. I had all the money I wanted. The regular doctors became impoverished; for, to me alone would the people apply for help--and I must say the remedies I sold accomplished wonders. One day, however, a misfortune occurred to me. I was selling my miracle-cures in the market place in Madgeburg as fast as I and my assistant could hand them out, when some one--a wretch hired by the envious doctors, no doubt--thrust a piece of burning sponge into the ear of my horse. You may guess the result. The horse ran away, the wagon was upset, and my medicaments scattered in all directions. My neck was not broken, but what happened was almost as bad. When I came to replace the medicaments in the chest, I found that I could not remember just where each bottle, vial, and box properly belonged. However, I made a guess of it, and put them back where I thought they ought to be. I made a good many mistakes, though, judging by some of the very peculiar effects the remedies produced after the accident. The syndic, whose right leg was shorter than the left, sent for me to remedy the defect. I was a little fuddled from having emptied a bottle of good French wine just before I quitted my lodgings; and, instead of rubbing the elongating ointment on the shorter limb, I applied it to the longer one; the consequence of which was: the longer leg increased to such a length that the worthy syndic, when he wanted to sit down, had to perch himself on the buffet, and would bump his head against the ceiling every step he took. He threatened to shoot me. A second mischance occurred when I was called to attend the president of the Board of Trade. He had the gout in both feet and could not move without crutches. I had a certain remedy for that fell disease, a remedy so powerful that only a very small portion, about the size of a pea, was required to embrocate an afflicted member. Thinking to hasten the cure, I applied half the contents of a box to each foot, which made the old gentleman so active and nimble, he was forced, for a time, to take the position of runner for the Elector of Brandenburg, because he could not keep his feet still; nor could he sit anywhere but at a loom, where he might stamp his feet continually; and at night, when he wanted to go to sleep he had to be bound to a tread-mill. Two other wonderfully efficacious remedies were: a wash to force a luxuriant crop of curling hair to grow on a bald head; the other, if applied to toothless jaws, would cause new teeth to appear. The result of getting these two remedies misplaced was: the tooth-wash was used on the bald head of a man; and the hair-restorative on the toothless jaws of a woman. Instead of hair, two beautiful horns appeared on the man's head; while the woman grew a mustache that would have roused the envy of a drum-major. But these cases were nothing compared to what happened to the wife of the chief justice. She was afflicted with severe paroxysms of hiccoughing, and I was summoned to relieve her. There was in my chest a remedy for such an attack; but, having been misplaced, I got hold of the wrong box, and administered to the sufferer a dose of pills intended to force obstinate hens to produce eggs. In less than six weeks that unfortunate lady gave birth to seven living children-- "I don't believe it! I don't believe a single word of it!" interrupted the prince, who had almost burst his belt with laughing. "You are asking too much if you expect us to credit such outrageous fables." Here the chair remarked with great seriousness: "Beg pardon, your highness: but there are authentic records of similar cases. In Hungary, the wife of a Count Miczbanus gave birth at one time to seven living sons, all of whom lived to grow up." "She certainly took some of the prisoner's hen pills," laughingly responded his highness. The prisoner continued: Naturally mistakes of this sort roused the animosity of the patients; but, none were so enraged as was the burgomaster. His case, indeed, capped the climax! I had two miraculous cures: one would cause to disappear from the human nose pimples, warts and all other disfiguring excrescences; the other would transform silver into gold. The burgomaster possessed a large silver snuff-box and an exceedingly prominent and highly-colored nose which was covered with unsightly pimples. He sent for me in secret and bade me test the efficacy of the two miracle-cures on his snuff-box and on his nose. Like some of the other remedies, these two had also changed places, in consequence of which, the burgomaster's nose turned to gold, while the snuff-box vanished as if from the face of the earth. This cure so amused the prince he could hardly gasp: "Enough--enough!--no more today! We will hear the rest tomorrow--I am faint with laughing." The court adjourned until the following day, when the prisoner resumed his confession: As might be expected, this last mistake of mine caused a dispute to arise. The burgomaster, however, was not so angry because his nose had changed to gold; but nothing would console him for the loss of his snuff-box. He actually accused me of stealing it! Had the worthy man been versed in the science of chemistry, he would have known that there are substances which absorb, and consume, each other. For instance: _argentum vivum_ will dissipate _aurum_; and _aqua fortis_ will consume silver as will a starving cow barley. This is called _occulta qualitas_. The citizens of Madgeburg, however, are not clever enough to comprehend matters so transcendental in character. I was summoned to appear before the mayor, who, being father-in-law to a doctor, sentenced me, out of spite, to be flogged in public. This did not suit me at all, so I said to myself: "Now, friend Behoric, I have been content to occupy your carcass without murmuring, so long as nothing more was required of me than to stuff it with liver-pasties and oysters; but, when it comes to having the hide tickled with a cat-o'-nine tails, then you had better come back into it!" I was already bound to the pillory and the executioner had bared my back, revealing the marks of former scourging--of which I could remember nothing as they were on Behoric's body. When the executioner saw that the whip would not be new to my blood-comrade's hide, he sent for a heavier scourge, the ends of which terminated with barbed nails. "Now, Behoric," I said, "you must take this flogging yourself." My hands being bound together, I had no difficulty turning the ring on my little finger. I had given it but one turn, when, to my great joy, I found myself in my own body, in my casemate in Ehrenbreitstein fortress; and before me stood his honor, here, with an empty fire-ball in one hand; in the other, what he called the "proofs of my treason." I guessed at once what my blood-comrade had been doing, what crime he had committed while occupying my body. The Frenchmen, who are leagued with the Bocksritter, had sent Behoric to the fortress, to take my place, and inform them what was going on in here. When he found that his crime had been discovered by his honor, the mayor, he said to himself: "It is time for Belphegor to return to his body;" and, as it happened, he turned his ring at the same moment I turned the one on my finger. I can imagine his consternation when he found himself in the pillory in Madgeburg, with his back bared for the scourge; and I have to laugh every time I think of the grimaces he must have made when the barbed nails cut into his scarred hide! This, your highness, and honorable gentlemen of the court, is the strictly veracious history of my last capital crime. PART XIV. THE WHITE DOVE. The decision of the court at the conclusion of the long trial was as follows: "Whereas: After hearing all the evidence, it has been found impossible to establish fully the exact nature of twenty-one of the twenty-two crimes, for which the prisoner has been indicted, the court has decided to pronounce him guilty of only the twenty-second and last on the register--'Treason.' "But, as the prisoner avers that this transgression was committed by his blood-comrade, who occupied his, the prisoner's, body at the time the crime was committed; and that his, the prisoner's, _mind_ was not cognizant of the blood-comrade's intentions when the exchange of bodies was effected, the court has decided to acquit the prisoner's mind and commend it to the mercy of God; and, that it may serve as a lesson to all miscreants who contemplate a similar crime, to sentence the body to death by a merciful shot in the back of the head." The prisoner thanked the court for its clemency and assured the honorable gentlemen that he had no desire to postpone the execution of the just sentence. When he was brought to the place of execution he removed his coat and hat, then requested, as a last favor, that his hands might be left free, and not bound behind his back, as he wished to clasp them on his breast in prayer. The request was granted. He knelt, and in an audible tone repeated the Lord's Prayer. Then he turned toward the musketeers, who were waiting matches in readiness above the priming-pans, and said earnestly: "Comrades, I beg you, when you shoot me, try also to kill the raven which is fluttering on my shoulder"--he glanced furtively toward his shoulder and added joyfully: "No! No! it is not the raven--it is my white dove--my precious white dove! She has come to bear my soul to the land wherein she now dwells! My good angel!--My Madus--my only love!" Twelve musket shots rang out on the silent air, and the white dove soared away with the released soul. FINIS.) Transcriber's Note: The original edition did not contain a table of contents. A table of contents has been created for this electronic edition. The use of quotation marks in the original text was irregular and not always consistent. Some words, especially proper names, were also spelled inconsistently. Except as noted below, spelling and punctuation have been left as they originally appeared. On the title page, "MAURUS JOKÁI" was changed to "MAURUS JÓKAI". In Part I, Chapter I, a single-quote (') was changed to a double-quote (") after "It would make the carrying on a war an easy matter." In Part I, Chapter II, "Prisoners: I was a member of a band of robbers" was changed to "Prisoner: I was a member of a band of robbers", and a missing quotation mark was added after "diabolicum implicitum". In Part II, Chapter I, quotation marks were added after "Kto tam? Stoj!" and "not a man of your word", "you shall have this koltuk-denigenegi" was changed to "you shall have this koltuk-dengenegi", and "Incendarii ambitiosi comburantur" was changed to "Incendiarii ambitiosi comburantur". In Part II, Chapter II, "cities, castles, and monastaries" was changed to "cities, castles, and monasteries", and a quotation mark was added after "not the other one!" In Part III, Chapter I, a quotation mark was added after "what your crutch contains!", "I don't wan't brandy" was changed to "I don't want brandy", and a quotation mark after "the tongue in which demons spake--" was removed. In Part IV, Chapter I, a quotation mark was added before "This wine, Malchus", a quotation mark was added after "homicidium", "Qui bene distinquet" was changed to "Qui bene distinguit", and "deeply incensed by the impiety of the donnenritter" was changed to "deeply incensed by the impiety of the dornenritter". In Part V, Chapter II, "Que bene distinguit" was changed to "Qui bene distinguit", a period and quotation mark were added after "the two-thousand you owe me", quotation marks were removed after "seal the bargain with a kiss" and "bought with the money her son had given her", and "the same geneological tree" was changed to "the same genealogical tree". In Part VI, Chapter I, "worth-nothing, insignificent cipher" was changed to "worth-nothing, insignificant cipher", and a missing period was added after "in every city in the land". In Part VII, Chapter I, a quotation mark was removed after "respectable God-fearing man". In Part VIII, Chapter III, "mantained direct communication" was changed to "maintained direct communication". In Part IX, Chapter I, a quotation mark before "During a calm" was removed, and "how is it posible that such a storm" was changed to "how is it possible that such a storm". In Part X, Chapter II, "all were against, me" was changed to "all were against me". In Part XI, Chapter I, "cast from me every fear" was changed to "I cast from me every fear", and "David's battle with Goliah" was changed to "David's battle with Goliath". In Part XI, Chapter II, "Sint ut sunt aut nou sint" was changed to "Sint ut sunt aut non sint". In Part XIII, Chapter I, a single quote (') was changed to a double quote (") before "Why do you wish to exchange?" and "Do you still belong to the satyrs?", and a quotation mark was added before "The leader has ordered it" and after "such outrageous fables". 
22566	----	[Illustration: DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD] [Illustration: PICKING THE PRINCESS.] DOROTHY AND THE WIZARD IN OZ BY L. FRANK BAUM AUTHOR OF THE WIZARD OF OZ, THE LAND OF OZ, OZMA OF OZ, ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN R. NEILL BOOKS OF WONDER WILLIAM MORROW & CO., INC. NEW YORK [Illustration] COPYRIGHT 1908 BY L. FRANK BAUM ALL RIGHTS RESERVED * * * * * [Illustration] DEDICATED TO HARRIET A. B. NEAL. * * * * * To My Readers It's no use; no use at all. The children won't let me stop telling tales of the Land of Oz. I know lots of other stories, and I hope to tell them, some time or another; but just now my loving tyrants won't allow me. They cry: "Oz--Oz! more about Oz, Mr. Baum!" and what can I do but obey their commands? This is Our Book--mine and the children's. For they have flooded me with thousands of suggestions in regard to it, and I have honestly tried to adopt as many of these suggestions as could be fitted into one story. After the wonderful success of "Ozma of Oz" it is evident that Dorothy has become a firm fixture in these Oz stories. The little ones all love Dorothy, and as one of my small friends aptly states: "It isn't a real Oz story without her." So here she is again, as sweet and gentle and innocent as ever, I hope, and the heroine of another strange adventure. There were many requests from my little correspondents for "more about the Wizard." It seems the jolly old fellow made hosts of friends in the first Oz book, in spite of the fact that he frankly acknowledged himself "a humbug." The children had heard how he mounted into the sky in a balloon and they were all waiting for him to come down again. So what could I do but tell "what happened to the Wizard afterward"? You will find him in these pages, just the same humbug Wizard as before. There was one thing the children demanded which I found it impossible to do in this present book: they bade me introduce Toto, Dorothy's little black dog, who has many friends among my readers. But you will see, when you begin to read the story, that Toto was in Kansas while Dorothy was in California, and so she had to start on her adventure without him. In this book Dorothy had to take her kitten with her instead of her dog; but in the next Oz book, if I am permitted to write one, I intend to tell a good deal about Toto's further history. Princess Ozma, whom I love as much as my readers do, is again introduced in this story, and so are several of our old friends of Oz. You will also become acquainted with Jim the Cab-Horse, the Nine Tiny Piglets, and Eureka, the Kitten. I am sorry the kitten was not as well behaved as she ought to have been; but perhaps she wasn't brought up properly. Dorothy found her, you see, and who her parents were nobody knows. I believe, my dears, that I am the proudest story-teller that ever lived. Many a time tears of pride and joy have stood in my eyes while I read the tender, loving, appealing letters that come to me in almost every mail from my little readers. To have pleased you, to have interested you, to have won your friendship, and perhaps your love, through my stories, is to my mind as great an achievement as to become President of the United States. Indeed, I would much rather be your story-teller, under these conditions, than to be the President. So you have helped me to fulfill my life's ambition, and I am more grateful to you, my dears, than I can express in words. I try to answer every letter of my young correspondents; yet sometimes there are so many letters that a little time must pass before you get your answer. But be patient, friends, for the answer will surely come, and by writing to me you more than repay me for the pleasant task of preparing these books. Besides, I am proud to acknowledge that the books are partly yours, for your suggestions often guide me in telling the stories, and I am sure they would not be half so good without your clever and thoughtful assistance. L. FRANK BAUM CORONADO, 1908. LIST OF CHAPTERS CHAPTER PAGE 1 THE EARTHQUAKE 13 2 THE GLASS CITY 23 3 THE ARRIVAL OF THE WIZARD 41 4 THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM 55 5 DOROTHY PICKS THE PRINCESS 64 6 THE MANGABOOS PROVE DANGEROUS 77 7 INTO THE BLACK PIT AND OUT AGAIN 88 8 THE VALLEY OF VOICES 95 9 THEY FIGHT THE INVISIBLE BEARS 106 10 THE BRAIDED MAN OF PYRAMID MT 120 11 THEY MEET THE WOODEN GARGOYLES 131 12 A WONDERFUL ESCAPE 142 13 THE DEN OF THE DRAGONETTES 160 14 OZMA USES THE MAGIC BELT 172 15 OLD FRIENDS ARE REUNITED 187 16 JIM, THE CAB-HORSE 203 17 THE NINE TINY PIGLETS 217 18 THE TRIAL OF EUREKA, THE KITTEN 231 19 THE WIZARD PERFORMS ANOTHER TRICK 240 20 ZEB RETURNS TO THE RANCH 251 [Illustration] CHAPTER 1. THE EARTHQUAKE The train from 'Frisco was very late. It should have arrived at Hugson's siding at midnight, but it was already five o'clock and the gray dawn was breaking in the east when the little train slowly rumbled up to the open shed that served for the station-house. As it came to a stop the conductor called out in a loud voice: "Hugson's Siding!" At once a little girl rose from her seat and walked to the door of the car, carrying a wicker suit-case in one hand and a round bird-cage covered up with newspapers in the other, while a parasol was tucked under her arm. The conductor helped her off the car and then the engineer started his train again, so that it puffed and groaned and moved slowly away up the track. The reason he was so late was because all through the night there were times when the solid earth shook and trembled under him, and the engineer was afraid that at any moment the rails might spread apart and an accident happen to his passengers. So he moved the cars slowly and with caution. The little girl stood still to watch until the train had disappeared around a curve; then she turned to see where she was. The shed at Hugson's Siding was bare save for an old wooden bench, and did not look very inviting. As she peered through the soft gray light not a house of any sort was visible near the station, nor was any person in sight; but after a while the child discovered a horse and buggy standing near a group of trees a short distance away. She walked toward it and found the horse tied to a tree and standing motionless, with its head hanging down almost to the ground. It was a big horse, tall and bony, with long legs and large knees and feet. She could count his ribs easily where they showed through the skin of his body, and his head was long and seemed altogether too big for him, as if it did not fit. His tail was short and scraggly, and his harness had been broken in many places and fastened together again with cords and bits of wire. The buggy seemed almost new, for it had a shiny top and side curtains. Getting around in front, so that she could look inside, the girl saw a boy curled up on the seat, fast asleep. She set down the bird-cage and poked the boy with her parasol. Presently he woke up, rose to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes briskly. "Hello!" he said, seeing her, "are you Dorothy Gale?" "Yes," she answered, looking gravely at his tousled hair and blinking gray eyes. "Have you come to take me to Hugson's Ranch?" "Of course," he answered. "Train in?" "I couldn't be here if it wasn't," she said. He laughed at that, and his laugh was merry and frank. Jumping out of the buggy he put Dorothy's suit-case under the seat and her bird-cage on the floor in front. "Canary-birds?" he asked. "Oh, no; it's just Eureka, my kitten. I thought that was the best way to carry her." The boy nodded. "Eureka's a funny name for a cat," he remarked. "I named my kitten that because I found it," she explained. "Uncle Henry says 'Eureka' means 'I have found it.'" "All right; hop in." She climbed into the buggy and he followed her. Then the boy picked up the reins, shook them, and said "Gid-dap!" The horse did not stir. Dorothy thought he just wiggled one of his drooping ears, but that was all. "Gid-dap!" called the boy, again. The horse stood still. "Perhaps," said Dorothy, "if you untied him, he would go." The boy laughed cheerfully and jumped out. "Guess I'm half asleep yet," he said, untying the horse. "But Jim knows his business all right--don't you, Jim?" patting the long nose of the animal. Then he got into the buggy again and took the reins, and the horse at once backed away from the tree, turned slowly around, and began to trot down the sandy road which was just visible in the dim light. "Thought that train would never come," observed the boy. "I've waited at that station for five hours." "We had a lot of earthquakes," said Dorothy. "Didn't you feel the ground shake?" "Yes; but we're used to such things in California," he replied. "They don't scare us much." [Illustration: DOROTHY POKED THE BOY WITH HER PARASOL.] "The conductor said it was the worst quake he ever knew." "Did he? Then it must have happened while I was asleep," he said, thoughtfully. "How is Uncle Henry?" she enquired, after a pause during which the horse continued to trot with long, regular strides. "He's pretty well. He and Uncle Hugson have been having a fine visit." "Is Mr. Hugson your uncle?" she asked. "Yes. Uncle Bill Hugson married your Uncle Henry's wife's sister; so we must be second cousins," said the boy, in an amused tone. "I work for Uncle Bill on his ranch, and he pays me six dollars a month and my board." "Isn't that a great deal?" she asked, doubtfully. "Why, it's a great deal for Uncle Hugson, but not for me. I'm a splendid worker. I work as well as I sleep," he added, with a laugh. "What is your name?" asked Dorothy, thinking she liked the boy's manner and the cheery tone of his voice. "Not a very pretty one," he answered, as if a little ashamed. "My whole name is Zebediah; but folks just call me 'Zeb.' You've been to Australia, haven't you?" "Yes; with Uncle Henry," she answered. "We got to San Francisco a week ago, and Uncle Henry went right on to Hugson's Ranch for a visit while I stayed a few days in the city with some friends we had met." "How long will you be with us?" he asked. "Only a day. Tomorrow Uncle Henry and I must start back for Kansas. We've been away for a long time, you know, and so we're anxious to get home again." The boy flicked the big, boney horse with his whip and looked thoughtful. Then he started to say something to his little companion, but before he could speak the buggy began to sway dangerously from side to side and the earth seemed to rise up before them. Next minute there was a roar and a sharp crash, and at her side Dorothy saw the ground open in a wide crack and then come together again. "Goodness!" she cried, grasping the iron rail of the seat. "What was that?" "That was an awful big quake," replied Zeb, with a white face. "It almost got us that time, Dorothy." The horse had stopped short, and stood firm as a rock. Zeb shook the reins and urged him to go, but Jim was stubborn. Then the boy cracked his whip and touched the animal's flanks with it, and after a low moan of protest Jim stepped slowly along the road. Neither the boy nor the girl spoke again for some minutes. There was a breath of danger in the very air, and every few moments the earth would shake violently. Jim's ears were standing erect upon his head and every muscle of his big body was tense as he trotted toward home. He was not going very fast, but on his flanks specks of foam began to appear and at times he would tremble like a leaf. The sky had grown darker again and the wind made queer sobbing sounds as it swept over the valley. Suddenly there was a rending, tearing sound, and the earth split into another great crack just beneath the spot where the horse was standing. With a wild neigh of terror the animal fell bodily into the pit, drawing the buggy and its occupants after him. Dorothy grabbed fast hold of the buggy top and the boy did the same. The sudden rush into space confused them so that they could not think. Blackness engulfed them on every side, and in breathless silence they waited for the fall to end and crush them against jagged rocks or for the earth to close in on them again and bury them forever in its dreadful depths. The horrible sensation of falling, the darkness and the terrifying noises, proved more than Dorothy could endure and for a few moments the little girl lost consciousness. Zeb, being a boy, did not faint, but he was badly frightened, and clung to the buggy seat with a tight grip, expecting every moment would be his last. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER 2. THE GLASS CITY When Dorothy recovered her senses they were still falling, but not so fast. The top of the buggy caught the air like a parachute or an umbrella filled with wind, and held them back so that they floated downward with a gentle motion that was not so very disagreeable to bear. The worst thing was their terror of reaching the bottom of this great crack in the earth, and the natural fear that sudden death was about to overtake them at any moment. Crash after crash echoed far above their heads, as the earth came together where it had split, and stones and chunks of clay rattled around them on every side. These they could not see, but they could feel them pelting the buggy top, and Jim screamed almost like a human being when a stone overtook him and struck his boney body. They did not really hurt the poor horse, because everything was falling together; only the stones and rubbish fell faster than the horse and buggy, which were held back by the pressure of the air, so that the terrified animal was actually more frightened than he was injured. How long this state of things continued Dorothy could not even guess, she was so greatly bewildered. But bye and bye, as she stared ahead into the black chasm with a beating heart, she began to dimly see the form of the horse Jim--his head up in the air, his ears erect and his long legs sprawling in every direction as he tumbled through space. Also, turning her head, she found that she could see the boy beside her, who had until now remained as still and silent as she herself. Dorothy sighed and commenced to breathe easier. She began to realize that death was not in store for her, after all, but that she had merely started upon another adventure, which promised to be just as queer and unusual as were those she had before encountered. With this thought in mind the girl took heart and leaned her head over the side of the buggy to see where the strange light was coming from. Far below her she found six great glowing balls suspended in the air. The central and largest one was white, and reminded her of the sun. Around it were arranged, like the five points of a star, the other five brilliant balls; one being rose colored, one violet, one yellow, one blue and one orange. This splendid group of colored suns sent rays darting in every direction, and as the horse and buggy--with Dorothy and Zeb--sank steadily downward and came nearer to the lights, the rays began to take on all the delicate tintings of a rainbow, growing more and more distinct every moment until all the space was brilliantly illuminated. Dorothy was too dazed to say much, but she watched one of Jim's big ears turn to violet and the other to rose, and wondered that his tail should be yellow and his body striped with blue and orange like the stripes of a zebra. Then she looked at Zeb, whose face was blue and whose hair was pink, and gave a little laugh that sounded a bit nervous. "Isn't it funny?" she said. The boy was startled and his eyes were big. Dorothy had a green streak through the center of her face where the blue and yellow lights came together, and her appearance seemed to add to his fright. "I--I don't s-s-see any-thing funny--'bout it!" he stammered. [Illustration: HORSE, BUGGY AND ALL FELL SLOWLY.] Just then the buggy tipped slowly over upon its side, the body of the horse tipping also. But they continued to fall, all together, and the boy and girl had no difficulty in remaining upon the seat, just as they were before. Then they turned bottom side up, and continued to roll slowly over until they were right side up again. During this time Jim struggled frantically, all his legs kicking the air; but on finding himself in his former position the horse said, in a relieved tone of voice: "Well, that's better!" Dorothy and Zeb looked at one another in wonder. "Can your horse talk?" she asked. "Never knew him to, before," replied the boy. "Those were the first words I ever said," called out the horse, who had overheard them, "and I can't explain why I happened to speak then. This is a nice scrape you've got me into, isn't it?" "As for that, we are in the same scrape ourselves," answered Dorothy, cheerfully. "But never mind; something will happen pretty soon." "Of course," growled the horse; "and then we shall be sorry it happened." Zeb gave a shiver. All this was so terrible and unreal that he could not understand it at all, and so had good reason to be afraid. Swiftly they drew near to the flaming colored suns, and passed close beside them. The light was then so bright that it dazzled their eyes, and they covered their faces with their hands to escape being blinded. There was no heat in the colored suns, however, and after they had passed below them the top of the buggy shut out many of the piercing rays so that the boy and girl could open their eyes again. "We've got to come to the bottom some time," remarked Zeb, with a deep sigh. "We can't keep falling forever, you know." "Of course not," said Dorothy. "We are somewhere in the middle of the earth, and the chances are we'll reach the other side of it before long. But it's a big hollow, isn't it?" "Awful big!" answered the boy. "We're coming to something now," announced the horse. At this they both put their heads over the side of the buggy and looked down. Yes; there was land below them; and not so very far away, either. But they were floating very, very slowly--so slowly that it could no longer be called a fall--and the children had ample time to take heart and look about them. They saw a landscape with mountains and plains, lakes and rivers, very like those upon the earth's surface; but all the scene was splendidly colored by the variegated lights from the six suns. Here and there were groups of houses that seemed made of clear glass, because they sparkled so brightly. "I'm sure we are in no danger," said Dorothy, in a sober voice. "We are falling so slowly that we can't be dashed to pieces when we land, and this country that we are coming to seems quite pretty." "We'll never get home again, though!" declared Zeb, with a groan. "Oh, I'm not so sure of that," replied the girl. "But don't let us worry over such things, Zeb; we can't help ourselves just now, you know, and I've always been told it's foolish to borrow trouble." The boy became silent, having no reply to so sensible a speech, and soon both were fully occupied in staring at the strange scenes spread out below them. They seemed to be falling right into the middle of a big city which had many tall buildings with glass domes and sharp-pointed spires. These spires were like great spear-points, and if they tumbled upon one of them they were likely to suffer serious injury. Jim the horse had seen these spires, also, and his ears stood straight up with fear, while Dorothy and Zeb held their breaths in suspense. But no; they floated gently down upon a broad, flat roof, and came to a stop at last. When Jim felt something firm under his feet the poor beast's legs trembled so much that he could hardly stand; but Zeb at once leaped out of the buggy to the roof, and he was so awkward and hasty that he kicked over Dorothy's birdcage, which rolled out upon the roof so that the bottom came off. At once a pink kitten crept out of the upset cage, sat down upon the glass roof, and yawned and blinked its round eyes. "Oh," said Dorothy. "There's Eureka." "First time I ever saw a pink cat," said Zeb. "Eureka isn't pink; she's white. It's this queer light that gives her that color." "Where's my milk?" asked the kitten, looking up into Dorothy's face. "I'm 'most starved to death." "Oh, Eureka! Can you talk?" "Talk! Am I talking? Good gracious, I believe I am. Isn't it funny?" asked the kitten. "It's all wrong," said Zeb, gravely. "Animals ought not to talk. But even old Jim has been saying things since we had our accident." "I can't see that it's wrong," remarked Jim, in his gruff tones. "At least, it isn't as wrong as some other things. What's going to become of us now?" "I don't know," answered the boy, looking around him curiously. The houses of the city were all made of glass, so clear and transparent that one could look through the walls as easily as though a window. Dorothy saw, underneath the roof on which she stood, several rooms used for rest chambers, and even thought she could make out a number of queer forms huddled into the corners of these rooms. The roof beside them had a great hole smashed through it, and pieces of glass were lying scattered in every direction. A near by steeple had been broken off short and the fragments lay heaped beside it. Other buildings were cracked in places or had corners chipped off from them; but they must have been very beautiful before these accidents had happened to mar their perfection. The rainbow tints from the colored suns fell upon the glass city softly and gave to the buildings many delicate, shifting hues which were very pretty to see. But not a sound had broken the stillness since the strangers had arrived, except that of their own voices. They began to wonder if there were no people to inhabit this magnificent city of the inner world. Suddenly a man appeared through a hole in the roof next to the one they were on and stepped into plain view. He was not a very large man, but was well formed and had a beautiful face--calm and serene as the face of a fine portrait. His clothing fitted his form snugly and was gorgeously colored in brilliant shades of green, which varied as the sunbeams touched them but was not wholly influenced by the solar rays. The man had taken a step or two across the glass roof before he noticed the presence of the strangers; but then he stopped abruptly. There was no expression of either fear or surprise upon his tranquil face, yet he must have been both astonished and afraid; for after his eyes had rested upon the ungainly form of the horse for a moment he walked rapidly to the furthest edge of the roof, his head turned back over his shoulder to gaze at the strange animal. "Look out!" cried Dorothy, who noticed that the beautiful man did not look where he was going; "be careful, or you'll fall off!" But he paid no attention to her warning. He reached the edge of the tall roof, stepped one foot out into the air, and walked into space as calmly as if he were on firm ground. The girl, greatly astonished, ran to lean over the edge of the roof, and saw the man walking rapidly through the air toward the ground. Soon he reached the street and disappeared through a glass doorway into one of the glass buildings. "How strange!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "Yes; but it's lots of fun, if it _is_ strange," remarked the small voice of the kitten, and Dorothy turned to find her pet walking in the air a foot or so away from the edge of the roof. "Come back, Eureka!" she called, in distress, "you'll certainly be killed." "I have nine lives," said the kitten, purring softly as it walked around in a circle and then came back to the roof; "but I can't lose even one of them by falling in this country, because I really couldn't manage to fall if I wanted to." "Does the air bear up your weight?" asked the girl. "Of course; can't you see?" and again the kitten wandered into the air and back to the edge of the roof. "It's wonderful!" said Dorothy. "Suppose we let Eureka go down to the street and get some one to help us," suggested Zeb, who had been even more amazed than Dorothy at these strange happenings. "Perhaps we can walk on the air ourselves," replied the girl. Zeb drew back with a shiver. "I wouldn't dare try," he said. "May be Jim will go," continued Dorothy, looking at the horse. "And may be he won't!" answered Jim. "I've tumbled through the air long enough to make me contented on this roof." "But we didn't tumble to the roof," said the girl; "by the time we reached here we were floating very slowly, and I'm almost sure we could float down to the street without getting hurt. Eureka walks on the air all right." "Eureka weighs only about half a pound," replied the horse, in a scornful tone, "while I weigh about half a ton." "You don't weigh as much as you ought to, Jim," remarked the girl, shaking her head as she looked at the animal. "You're dreadfully skinny." "Oh, well; I'm old," said the horse, hanging his head despondently, "and I've had lots of trouble in my day, little one. For a good many years I drew a public cab in Chicago, and that's enough to make anyone skinny." "He eats enough to get fat, I'm sure," said the boy, gravely. "Do I? Can you remember any breakfast that I've had today?" growled Jim, as if he resented Zeb's speech. "None of us has had breakfast," said the boy; "and in a time of danger like this it's foolish to talk about eating." "Nothing is more dangerous than being without food," declared the horse, with a sniff at the rebuke of his young master; "and just at present no one can tell whether there are any oats in this queer country or not. If there are, they are liable to be glass oats!" [Illustration: "COME ON, JIM! IT'S ALL RIGHT."] "Oh, no!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I can see plenty of nice gardens and fields down below us, at the edge of this city. But I wish we could find a way to get to the ground." "Why don't you walk down?" asked Eureka. "I'm as hungry as the horse is, and I want my milk." "Will you try it, Zeb" asked the girl, turning to her companion. Zeb hesitated. He was still pale and frightened, for this dreadful adventure had upset him and made him nervous and worried. But he did not wish the little girl to think him a coward, so he advanced slowly to the edge of the roof. Dorothy stretched out a hand to him and Zeb put one foot out and let it rest in the air a little over the edge of the roof. It seemed firm enough to walk upon, so he took courage and put out the other foot. Dorothy kept hold of his hand and followed him, and soon they were both walking through the air, with the kitten frisking beside them. "Come on, Jim!" called the boy. "It's all right." Jim had crept to the edge of the roof to look over, and being a sensible horse and quite experienced, he made up his mind that he could go where the others did. So, with a snort and a neigh and a whisk of his short tail he trotted off the roof into the air and at once began floating downward to the street. His great weight made him fall faster than the children walked, and he passed them on the way down; but when he came to the glass pavement he alighted upon it so softly that he was not even jarred. "Well, well!" said Dorothy, drawing a long breath, "What a strange country this is." People began to come out of the glass doors to look at the new arrivals, and pretty soon quite a crowd had assembled. There were men and women, but no children at all, and the folks were all beautifully formed and attractively dressed and had wonderfully handsome faces. There was not an ugly person in all the throng, yet Dorothy was not especially pleased by the appearance of these people because their features had no more expression than the faces of dolls. They did not smile nor did they frown, or show either fear or surprise or curiosity or friendliness. They simply stared at the strangers, paying most attention to Jim and Eureka, for they had never before seen either a horse or a cat and the children bore an outward resemblance to themselves. Pretty soon a man joined the group who wore a glistening star in the dark hair just over his forehead. He seemed to be a person of authority, for the others pressed back to give him room. After turning his composed eyes first upon the animals and then upon the children he said to Zeb, who was a little taller than Dorothy: "Tell me, intruder, was it you who caused the Rain of Stones?" For a moment the boy did not know what he meant by this question. Then, remembering the stones that had fallen with them and passed them long before they had reached this place, he answered: "No, sir; we didn't cause anything. It was the earthquake." The man with the star stood for a time quietly thinking over this speech. Then he asked: "What is an earthquake?" "I don't know," said Zeb, who was still confused. But Dorothy, seeing his perplexity, answered: "It's a shaking of the earth. In this quake a big crack opened and we fell through--horse and buggy, and all--and the stones got loose and came down with us." The man with the star regarded her with his calm, expressionless eyes. "The Rain of Stones has done much damage to our city," he said; "and we shall hold you responsible for it unless you can prove your innocence." "How can we do that?" asked the girl. "That I am not prepared to say. It is your affair, not mine. You must go to the House of the Sorcerer, who will soon discover the truth." "Where is the House of the Sorcerer?" the girl enquired. "I will lead you to it. Come!" He turned and walked down the street, and after a moment's hesitation Dorothy caught Eureka in her arms and climbed into the buggy. The boy took his seat beside her and said: "Gid-dap, Jim." As the horse ambled along, drawing the buggy, the people of the glass city made way for them and formed a procession in their rear. Slowly they moved down one street and up another, turning first this way and then that, until they came to an open square in the center of which was a big glass palace having a central dome and four tall spires on each corner. [Illustration] CHAPTER 3. THE ARRIVAL OF THE WIZARD The doorway of the glass palace was quite big enough for the horse and buggy to enter, so Zeb drove straight through it and the children found themselves in a lofty hall that was very beautiful. The people at once followed and formed a circle around the sides of the spacious room, leaving the horse and buggy and the man with the star to occupy the center of the hall. "Come to us, oh, Gwig!" called the man, in a loud voice. Instantly a cloud of smoke appeared and rolled over the floor; then it slowly spread and ascended into the dome, disclosing a strange personage seated upon a glass throne just before Jim's nose. He was formed just as were the other inhabitants of this land and his clothing only differed from theirs in being bright yellow. But he had no hair at all, and all over his bald head and face and upon the backs of his hands grew sharp thorns like those found on the branches of rose-bushes. There was even a thorn upon the tip of his nose and he looked so funny that Dorothy laughed when she saw him. The Sorcerer, hearing the laugh, looked toward the little girl with cold, cruel eyes, and his glance made her grow sober in an instant. "Why have you dared to intrude your unwelcome persons into the secluded Land of the Mangaboos?" he asked, sternly. "'Cause we couldn't help it," said Dorothy. "Why did you wickedly and viciously send the Rain of Stones to crack and break our houses?" he continued. "We didn't," declared the girl. "Prove it!" cried the Sorcerer. "We don't have to prove it," answered Dorothy, indignantly. "If you had any sense at all you'd known it was the earthquake." "We only know that yesterday came a Rain of Stones upon us, which did much damage and injured some of our people. Today came another Rain of Stones, and soon after it you appeared among us." "By the way," said the man with the star, looking steadily at the Sorcerer, "you told us yesterday that there would not be a second Rain of Stones. Yet one has just occurred that was even worse than the first. What is your sorcery good for if it cannot tell us the truth?" "My sorcery does tell the truth!" declared the thorn-covered man. "I said there would be but one Rain of Stones. This second one was a Rain of People-and-Horse-and-Buggy. And some stones came with them." "Will there be any more Rains?" asked the man with the star. "No, my Prince." "Neither stones nor people?" "No, my Prince." "Are you sure?" "Quite sure, my Prince. My sorcery tells me so." Just then a man came running into the hall and addressed the Prince after making a low bow. "More wonders in the air, my Lord," said he. Immediately the Prince and all of his people flocked out of the hall into the street, that they might see what was about to happen. Dorothy and Zeb jumped out of the buggy and ran after them, but the Sorcerer remained calmly in his throne. Far up in the air was an object that looked like a balloon. It was not so high as the glowing star of the six colored suns, but was descending slowly through the air--so slowly that at first it scarcely seemed to move. The throng stood still and waited. It was all they could do, for to go away and leave that strange sight was impossible; nor could they hurry its fall in any way. The earth children were not noticed, being so near the average size of the Mangaboos, and the horse had remained in the House of the Sorcerer, with Eureka curled up asleep on the seat of the buggy. Gradually the balloon grew bigger, which was proof that it was settling down upon the Land of the Mangaboos. Dorothy was surprised to find how patient the people were, for her own little heart was beating rapidly with excitement. A balloon meant to her some other arrival from the surface of the earth, and she hoped it would be some one able to assist her and Zeb out of their difficulties. In an hour the balloon had come near enough for her to see a basket suspended below it; in two hours she could see a head looking over the side of the basket; in three hours the big balloon settled slowly into the great square in which they stood and came to rest on the glass pavement. Then a little man jumped out of the basket, took off his tall hat, and bowed very gracefully to the crowd of Mangaboos around him. He was quite an old little man, and his head was long and entirely bald. "Why," cried Dorothy, in amazement, "it's Oz!" The little man looked toward her and seemed as much surprised as she was. But he smiled and bowed as he answered: "Yes, my dear; I am Oz, the Great and Terrible. Eh? And you are little Dorothy, from Kansas. I remember you very well." "Who did you say it was?" whispered Zeb to the girl. "It's the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Haven't you heard of him?" Just then the man with the star came and stood before the Wizard. "Sir," said he, "why are you here, in the Land of the Mangaboos?" "Didn't know what land it was, my son," returned the other, with a pleasant smile; "and, to be honest, I didn't mean to visit you when I started out. I live on top of the earth, your honor, which is far better than living inside it; but yesterday I went up in a balloon, and when I came down I fell into a big crack in the earth, caused by an earthquake. I had let so much gas out of my balloon that I could not rise again, and in a few minutes the earth closed over my head. So I continued to descend until I reached this place, and if you will show me a way to get out of it, I'll go with pleasure. Sorry to have troubled you; but it couldn't be helped." The Prince had listened with attention. Said he: "This child, who is from the crust of the earth, like yourself, called you a Wizard. Is not a Wizard something like a Sorcerer?" "It's better," replied Oz, promptly. "One Wizard is worth three Sorcerers." "Ah, you shall prove that," said the Prince. "We Mangaboos have, at the present time, one of the most wonderful Sorcerers that ever was picked from a bush; but he sometimes makes mistakes. Do you ever make mistakes?" "Never!" declared the Wizard, boldly. "Oh, Oz!" said Dorothy; "you made a lot of mistakes when you were in the marvelous Land of Oz." "Nonsense!" said the little man, turning red--although just then a ray of violet sunlight was on his round face. "Come with me," said the Prince to him. "I wish you to meet our Sorcerer." The Wizard did not like this invitation, but he could not refuse to accept it. So he followed the Prince into the great domed hall, and Dorothy and Zeb came after them, while the throng of people trooped in also. There sat the thorny Sorcerer in his chair of state, and when the Wizard saw him he began to laugh, uttering comical little chuckles. "What an absurd creature!" he exclaimed. "He may look absurd," said the Prince, in his quiet voice; "but he is an excellent Sorcerer. The only fault I find with him is that he is so often wrong." "I am never wrong," answered the Sorcerer. "Only a short time ago you told me there would be no more Rain of Stones or of People," said the Prince. "Well, what then?" "Here is another person descended from the air to prove you were wrong." "One person cannot be called 'people,'" said the Sorcerer. "If two should come out of the sky you might with justice say I was wrong; but unless more than this one appears I will hold that I was right." "Very clever," said the Wizard, nodding his head as if pleased. "I am delighted to find humbugs inside the earth, just the same as on top of it. Were you ever with a circus, brother?" "No," said the Sorcerer. "You ought to join one," declared the little man seriously. "I belong to Bailum & Barney's Great Consolidated Shows--three rings in one tent and a menagerie on the side. It's a fine aggregation, I assure you." "What do you do?" asked the Sorcerer. "I go up in a balloon, usually, to draw the crowds to the circus. But I've just had the bad luck to come out of the sky, skip the solid earth, and land lower down than I intended. But never mind. It isn't everybody who gets a chance to see your Land of the Gabazoos." "Mangaboos," said the Sorcerer, correcting him. "If you are a Wizard you ought to be able to call people by their right names." "Oh, I'm a Wizard; you may be sure of that. Just as good a Wizard as you are a Sorcerer." "That remains to be seen," said the other. "If you are able to prove that you are better," said the Prince to the little man, "I will make you the Chief Wizard of this domain. Otherwise--" "What will happen otherwise?" asked the Wizard. "I will stop you from living, and forbid you to be planted," returned the Prince. "That does not sound especially pleasant," said the little man, looking at the one with the star uneasily. "But never mind. I'll beat Old Prickly, all right." "My name is Gwig," said the Sorcerer, turning his heartless, cruel eyes upon his rival. "Let me see you equal the sorcery I am about to perform." He waved a thorny hand and at once the tinkling of bells was heard, playing sweet music. Yet, look where she would, Dorothy could discover no bells at all in the great glass hall. The Mangaboo people listened, but showed no great interest. It was one of the things Gwig usually did to prove he was a sorcerer. Now was the Wizard's turn, so he smiled upon the assemblage and asked: "Will somebody kindly loan me a hat?" No one did, because the Mangaboos did not wear hats, and Zeb had lost his, somehow, in his flight through the air. "Ahem!" said the Wizard, "will somebody please loan me a handkerchief?" But they had no handkerchiefs, either. "Very good," remarked the Wizard. "I'll use my own hat, if you please. Now, good people, observe me carefully. You see, there is nothing up my sleeve and nothing concealed about my person. Also, my hat is quite empty." He took off his hat and held it upside down, shaking it briskly. "Let me see it," said the Sorcerer. He took the hat and examined it carefully, returning it afterward to the Wizard. "Now," said the little man, "I will create something out of nothing." He placed the hat upon the glass floor, made a pass with his hand, and then removed the hat, displaying a little white piglet no bigger than a mouse, which began to run around here and there and to grunt and squeal in a tiny, shrill voice. The people watched it intently, for they had never seen a pig before, big or little. The Wizard reached out, caught the wee creature in his hand, and holding its head between one thumb and finger and its tail between the other thumb and finger he pulled it apart, each of the two parts becoming a whole and separate piglet in an instant. He placed one upon the floor, so that it could run around, and pulled apart the other, making three piglets in all; and then one of these was pulled apart, making four piglets. The Wizard continued this surprising performance until nine tiny piglets were running about at his feet, all squealing and grunting in a very comical way. "Now," said the Wizard of Oz, "having created something from nothing, I will make something nothing again." With this he caught up two of the piglets and pushed them together, so that the two were one. Then he caught up another piglet and pushed it into the first, where it disappeared. And so, one by one, the nine tiny piglets were pushed together until but a single one of the creatures remained. This the Wizard placed underneath his hat and made a mystic sign above it. When he removed his hat the last piglet had disappeared entirely. The little man gave a bow to the silent throng that had watched him, and then the Prince said, in his cold, calm voice: "You are indeed a wonderful Wizard, and your powers are greater than those of my Sorcerer." "He will not be a wonderful Wizard long," remarked Gwig. "Why not?" enquired the Wizard. "Because I am going to stop your breath," was the reply. "I perceive that you are curiously constructed, and that if you cannot breathe you cannot keep alive." The little man looked troubled. "How long will it take you to stop my breath?" he asked. "About five minutes. I'm going to begin now. Watch me carefully." He began making queer signs and passes toward the Wizard; but the little man did not watch him long. Instead, he drew a leathern case from his pocket and took from it several sharp knives, which he joined together, one after another, until they made a long sword. By the time he had attached a handle to this sword he was having much trouble to breathe, as the charm of the Sorcerer was beginning to take effect. So the Wizard lost no more time, but leaping forward he raised the sharp sword, whirled it once or twice around his head, and then gave a mighty stroke that cut the body of the Sorcerer exactly in two. Dorothy screamed and expected to see a terrible sight; but as the two halves of the Sorcerer fell apart on the floor she saw that he had no bones or blood inside of him at all, and that the place where he was cut looked much like a sliced turnip or potato. "Why, he's vegetable!" cried the Wizard, astonished. "Of course," said the Prince. "We are all vegetable, in this country. Are you not vegetable, also?" "No," answered the Wizard. "People on top of the earth are all meat. Will your Sorcerer die?" "Certainly, sir. He is really dead now, and will wither very quickly. So we must plant him at once, that other Sorcerers may grow upon his bush," continued the Prince. "What do you mean by that?" asked the little Wizard, greatly puzzled. "If you will accompany me to our public gardens," replied the Prince, "I will explain to you much better than I can here the mysteries of our Vegetable Kingdom." [Illustration: THE WIZARD CUT THE SORCERER EXACTLY IN TWO.] CHAPTER 4. THE VEGETABLE KINGDOM After the Wizard had wiped the dampness from his sword and taken it apart and put the pieces into their leathern case again, the man with the star ordered some of his people to carry the two halves of the Sorcerer to the public gardens. Jim pricked up his ears when he heard they were going to the gardens, and wanted to join the party, thinking he might find something proper to eat; so Zeb put down the top of the buggy and invited the Wizard to ride with them. The seat was amply wide enough for the little man and the two children, and when Jim started to leave the hall the kitten jumped upon his back and sat there quite contentedly. So the procession moved through the streets, the bearers of the Sorcerer first, the Prince next, then Jim drawing the buggy with the strangers inside of it, and last the crowd of vegetable people who had no hearts and could neither smile nor frown. The glass city had several fine streets, for a good many people lived there; but when the procession had passed through these it came upon a broad plain covered with gardens and watered by many pretty brooks that flowed through it. There were paths through these gardens, and over some of the brooks were ornamental glass bridges. Dorothy and Zeb now got out of the buggy and walked beside the Prince, so that they might see and examine the flowers and plants better. "Who built these lovely bridges?" asked the little girl. "No one built them," answered the man with the star. "They grow." "That's queer," said she. "Did the glass houses in your city grow, too?" "Of course," he replied. "But it took a good many years for them to grow as large and fine as they are now. That is why we are so angry when a Rain of Stones comes to break our towers and crack our roofs." "Can't you mend them?" she enquired. "No; but they will grow together again, in time, and we must wait until they do." They first passed through many beautiful gardens of flowers, which grew nearest the city; but Dorothy could hardly tell what kind of flowers they were, because the colors were constantly changing under the shifting lights of the six suns. A flower would be pink one second, white the next, then blue or yellow; and it was the same way when they came to the plants, which had broad leaves and grew close to the ground. When they passed over a field of grass Jim immediately stretched down his head and began to nibble. "A nice country this is," he grumbled, "where a respectable horse has to eat pink grass!" "It's violet," said the Wizard, who was in the buggy. "Now it's blue," complained the horse. "As a matter of fact, I'm eating rainbow grass." "How does it taste?" asked the Wizard. "Not bad at all," said Jim. "If they give me plenty of it I'll not complain about its color." By this time the party had reached a freshly plowed field, and the Prince said to Dorothy: "This is our planting-ground." Several Mangaboos came forward with glass spades and dug a hole in the ground. Then they put the two halves of the Sorcerer into it and covered him up. After that other people brought water from a brook and sprinkled the earth. "He will sprout very soon," said the Prince, "and grow into a large bush, from which we shall in time be able to pick several very good sorcerers." "Do all your people grow on bushes?" asked the boy. "Certainly," was the reply. "Do not all people grow upon bushes where you came from, on the outside of the earth." "Not that I ever heard of." "How strange! But if you will come with me to one of our folk gardens I will show you the way we grow in the Land of the Mangaboos." It appeared that these odd people, while they were able to walk through the air with ease, usually moved upon the ground in the ordinary way. There were no stairs in their houses, because they did not need them, but on a level surface they generally walked just as we do. The little party of strangers now followed the Prince across a few more of the glass bridges and along several paths until they came to a garden enclosed by a high hedge. Jim had refused to leave the field of grass, where he was engaged in busily eating; so the Wizard got out of the buggy and joined Zeb and Dorothy, and the kitten followed demurely at their heels. Inside the hedge they came upon row after row of large and handsome plants with broad leaves gracefully curving until their points nearly reached the ground. In the center of each plant grew a daintily dressed Mangaboo, for the clothing of all these creatures grew upon them and was attached to their bodies. The growing Mangaboos were of all sizes, from the blossom that had just turned into a wee baby to the full-grown and almost ripe man or woman. On some of the bushes might be seen a bud, a blossom, a baby, a half-grown person and a ripe one; but even those ready to pluck were motionless and silent, as if devoid of life. This sight explained to Dorothy why she had seen no children among the Mangaboos, a thing she had until now been unable to account for. "Our people do not acquire their real life until they leave their bushes," said the Prince. "You will notice they are all attached to the plants by the soles of their feet, and when they are quite ripe they are easily separated from the stems and at once attain the powers of motion and speech. So while they grow they cannot be said to really live, and they must be picked before they can become good citizens." "How long do you live, after you are picked?" asked Dorothy. "That depends upon the care we take of ourselves," he replied. "If we keep cool and moist, and meet with no accidents, we often live for five years. I've been picked over six years, but our family is known to be especially long lived." "Do you eat?" asked the boy. "Eat! No, indeed. We are quite solid inside our bodies, and have no need to eat, any more than does a potato." "But the potatoes sometimes sprout," said Zeb. "And sometimes we do," answered the Prince; "but that is considered a great misfortune, for then we must be planted at once." "Where did you grow?" asked the Wizard. "I will show you," was the reply. "Step this way, please." He led them within another but smaller circle of hedge, where grew one large and beautiful bush. "This," said he, "is the Royal Bush of the Mangaboos. All of our Princes and Rulers have grown upon this one bush from time immemorial." They stood before it in silent admiration. On the central stalk stood poised the figure of a girl so exquisitely formed and colored and so lovely in the expression of her delicate features that Dorothy thought she had never seen so sweet and adorable a creature in all her life. The maiden's gown was soft as satin and fell about her in ample folds, while dainty lace-like traceries trimmed the bodice and sleeves. Her flesh was fine and smooth as polished ivory, and her poise expressed both dignity and grace. "Who is this?" asked the Wizard, curiously. The Prince had been staring hard at the girl on the bush. Now he answered, with a touch of uneasiness in his cold tones: "She is the Ruler destined to be my successor, for she is a Royal Princess. When she becomes fully ripe I must abandon the sovereignty of the Mangaboos to her." "Isn't she ripe now?" asked Dorothy. He hesitated. "Not quite," said he, finally. "It will be several days before she needs to be picked, or at least that is my judgment. I am in no hurry to resign my office and be planted, you may be sure." "Probably not," declared the Wizard, nodding. "This is one of the most unpleasant things about our vegetable lives," continued the Prince, with a sigh, "that while we are in our full prime we must give way to another, and be covered up in the ground to sprout and grow and give birth to other people." "I'm sure the Princess is ready to be picked," asserted Dorothy, gazing hard at the beautiful girl on the bush. "She's as perfect as she can be." "Never mind," answered the Prince, hastily, "she will be all right for a few days longer, and it is best for me to rule until I can dispose of you strangers, who have come to our land uninvited and must be attended to at once." "What are you going to do with us?" asked Zeb. "That is a matter I have not quite decided upon," was the reply. "I think I shall keep this Wizard until a new Sorcerer is ready to pick, for he seems quite skillful and may be of use to us. But the rest of you must be destroyed in some way, and you cannot be planted, because I do not wish horses and cats and meat people growing all over our country." "You needn't worry," said Dorothy. "We wouldn't grow under ground, I'm sure." "But why destroy my friends?" asked the little Wizard. "Why not let them live?" "They do not belong here," returned the Prince. "They have no right to be inside the earth at all." "We didn't ask to come down here; we fell," said Dorothy. "That is no excuse," declared the Prince, coldly. The children looked at each other in perplexity, and the Wizard sighed. Eureka rubbed her paw on her face and said in her soft, purring voice: "He won't need to destroy _me_, for if I don't get something to eat pretty soon I shall starve to death, and so save him the trouble." "If he planted you, he might grow some cat-tails," suggested the Wizard. "Oh, Eureka! perhaps we can find you some milk-weeds to eat," said the boy. "Phoo!" snarled the kitten; "I wouldn't touch the nasty things!" "You don't need milk, Eureka," remarked Dorothy; "you are big enough now to eat any kind of food." "If I can get it," added Eureka. "I'm hungry myself," said Zeb. "But I noticed some strawberries growing in one of the gardens, and some melons in another place. These people don't eat such things, so perhaps on our way back they will let us get them." "Never mind your hunger," interrupted the Prince. "I shall order you destroyed in a few minutes, so you will have no need to ruin our pretty melon vines and berry bushes. Follow me, please, to meet your doom." CHAPTER 5. DOROTHY PICKS THE PRINCESS The words of the cold and moist vegetable Prince were not very comforting, and as he spoke them he turned away and left the enclosure. The children, feeling sad and despondent, were about to follow him when the Wizard touched Dorothy softly on her shoulder. "Wait!" he whispered. "What for?" asked the girl. "Suppose we pick the Royal Princess," said the Wizard. "I'm quite sure she's ripe, and as soon as she comes to life she will be the Ruler, and may treat us better than that heartless Prince intends to." "All right!" exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly. "Let's pick her while we have the chance, before the man with the star comes back." So together they leaned over the great bush and each of them seized one hand of the lovely Princess. "Pull!" cried Dorothy, and as they did so the royal lady leaned toward them and the stems snapped and separated from her feet. She was not at all heavy, so the Wizard and Dorothy managed to lift her gently to the ground. The beautiful creature passed her hands over her eyes an instant, tucked in a stray lock of hair that had become disarranged, and after a look around the garden made those present a gracious bow and said, in a sweet but even toned voice: "I thank you very much." "We salute your Royal Highness!" cried the Wizard, kneeling and kissing her hand. Just then the voice of the Prince was heard calling upon them to hasten, and a moment later he returned to the enclosure, followed by a number of his people. Instantly the Princess turned and faced him, and when he saw that she was picked the Prince stood still and began to tremble. "Sir," said the Royal Lady, with much dignity, "you have wronged me greatly, and would have wronged me still more had not these strangers come to my rescue. I have been ready for picking all the past week, but because you were selfish and desired to continue your unlawful rule, you left me to stand silent upon my bush." "I did not know that you were ripe," answered the Prince, in a low voice. "Give me the Star of Royalty!" she commanded. Slowly he took the shining star from his own brow and placed it upon that of the Princess. Then all the people bowed low to her, and the Prince turned and walked away alone. What became of him afterward our friends never knew. The people of Mangaboo now formed themselves into a procession and marched toward the glass city to escort their new ruler to her palace and to perform those ceremonies proper to the occasion. But while the people in the procession walked upon the ground the Princess walked in the air just above their heads, to show that she was a superior being and more exalted than her subjects. No one now seemed to pay any attention to the strangers, so Dorothy and Zeb and the Wizard let the train pass on and then wandered by themselves into the vegetable gardens. They did not bother to cross the bridges over the brooks, but when they came to a stream they stepped high and walked in the air to the other side. This was a very interesting experience to them, and Dorothy said: "I wonder why it is that we can walk so easily in the air." "Perhaps," answered the Wizard, "it is because we are close to the center of the earth, where the attraction of gravitation is very slight. But I've noticed that many queer things happen in fairy countries." "Is this a fairy country?" asked the boy. "Of course it is," returned Dorothy, promptly. "Only a fairy country could have veg'table people; and only in a fairy country could Eureka and Jim talk as we do." "That's true," said Zeb, thoughtfully. In the vegetable gardens they found the strawberries and melons, and several other unknown but delicious fruits, of which they ate heartily. But the kitten bothered them constantly by demanding milk or meat, and called the Wizard names because he could not bring her a dish of milk by means of his magical arts. As they sat upon the grass watching Jim, who was still busily eating, Eureka said: "I don't believe you are a Wizard at all!" "No," answered the little man, "you are quite right. In the strict sense of the word I am not a Wizard, but only a humbug." "The Wizard of Oz has always been a humbug," agreed Dorothy. "I've known him for a long time." "If that is so," said the boy, "how could he do that wonderful trick with the nine tiny piglets?" "Don't know," said Dorothy, "but it must have been humbug." "Very true," declared the Wizard, nodding at her. "It was necessary to deceive that ugly Sorcerer and the Prince, as well as their stupid people; but I don't mind telling you, who are my friends, that the thing was only a trick." "But I saw the little pigs with my own eyes!" exclaimed Zeb. "So did I," purred the kitten. "To be sure," answered the Wizard. "You saw them because they were there. They are in my inside pocket now. But the pulling of them apart and pushing them together again was only a sleight-of-hand trick." "Let's see the pigs," said Eureka, eagerly. The little man felt carefully in his pocket and pulled out the tiny piglets, setting them upon the grass one by one, where they ran around and nibbled the tender blades. "They're hungry, too," he said. "Oh, what cunning things!" cried Dorothy, catching up one and petting it. "Be careful!" said the piglet, with a squeal, "you're squeezing me!" "Dear me!" murmured the Wizard, looking at his pets in astonishment. "They can actually talk!" "May I eat one of them?" asked the kitten, in a pleading voice. "I'm awfully hungry." "Why, Eureka," said Dorothy, reproachfully, "what a cruel question! It would be dreadful to eat these dear little things." "I should say so!" grunted another of the piglets, looking uneasily at the kitten; "cats are cruel things." "I'm not cruel," replied the kitten, yawning. "I'm just hungry." "You cannot eat my piglets, even if you are starving," declared the little man, in a stern voice. "They are the only things I have to prove I'm a wizard." "How did they happen to be so little?" asked Dorothy. "I never saw such small pigs before." "They are from the Island of Teenty-Weent," said the Wizard, "where everything is small because it's a small island. A sailor brought them to Los Angeles and I gave him nine tickets to the circus for them." "But what am I going to eat?" wailed the kitten, sitting in front of Dorothy and looking pleadingly into her face. "There are no cows here to give milk; or any mice, or even grasshoppers. And if I can't eat the piglets you may as well plant me at once and raise catsup." "I have an idea," said the Wizard, "that there are fishes in these brooks. Do you like fish?" "Fish!" cried the kitten. "Do I like fish? Why, they're better than piglets--or even milk!" "Then I'll try to catch you some," said he. "But won't they be veg'table, like everything else here?" asked the kitten. "I think not. Fishes are not animals, and they are as cold and moist as the vegetables themselves. There is no reason, that I can see, why they may not exist in the waters of this strange country." Then the Wizard bent a pin for a hook and took a long piece of string from his pocket for a fish-line. The only bait he could find was a bright red blossom from a flower; but he knew fishes are easy to fool if anything bright attracts their attention, so he decided to try the blossom. Having thrown the end of his line in the water of a nearby brook he soon felt a sharp tug that told him a fish had bitten and was caught on the bent pin; so the little man drew in the string and, sure enough, the fish came with it and was landed safely on the shore, where it began to flop around in great excitement. [Illustration: IN THE GARDEN OF THE MANGABOOS.] The fish was fat and round, and its scales glistened like beautifully cut jewels set close together; but there was no time to examine it closely, for Eureka made a jump and caught it between her claws, and in a few moments it had entirely disappeared. "Oh, Eureka!" cried Dorothy, "did you eat the bones?" "If it had any bones, I ate them," replied the kitten, composedly, as it washed its face after the meal. "But I don't think that fish had any bones, because I didn't feel them scratch my throat." "You were very greedy," said the girl. "I was very hungry," replied the kitten. The little pigs had stood huddled in a group, watching this scene with frightened eyes. "Cats are dreadful creatures!" said one of them. "I'm glad we are not fishes!" said another. "Don't worry," Dorothy murmured, soothingly, "I'll not let the kitten hurt you." Then she happened to remember that in a corner of her suit-case were one or two crackers that were left over from her luncheon on the train, and she went to the buggy and brought them. Eureka stuck up her nose at such food, but the tiny piglets squealed delightedly at the sight of the crackers and ate them up in a jiffy. "Now let us go back to the city," suggested the Wizard. "That is, if Jim has had enough of the pink grass." The cab-horse, who was browsing near, lifted his head with a sigh. "I've tried to eat a lot while I had the chance," said he, "for it's likely to be a long while between meals in this strange country. But I'm ready to go, now, at any time you wish." So, after the Wizard had put the piglets back into his inside pocket, where they cuddled up and went to sleep, the three climbed into the buggy and Jim started back to the town. "Where shall we stay?" asked the girl. "I think I shall take possession of the House of the Sorcerer," replied the Wizard; "for the Prince said in the presence of his people that he would keep me until they picked another Sorcerer, and the new Princess won't know but that we belong there." They agreed to this plan, and when they reached the great square Jim drew the buggy into the big door of the domed hall. "It doesn't look very homelike," said Dorothy, gazing around at the bare room. "But it's a place to stay, anyhow." "What are those holes up there?" enquired the boy, pointing to some openings that appeared near the top of the dome. "They look like doorways," said Dorothy; "only there are no stairs to get to them." "You forget that stairs are unnecessary," observed the Wizard. "Let us walk up, and see where the doors lead to." With this he began walking in the air toward the high openings, and Dorothy and Zeb followed him. It was the same sort of climb one experiences when walking up a hill, and they were nearly out of breath when they came to the row of openings, which they perceived to be doorways leading into halls in the upper part of the house. Following these halls they discovered many small rooms opening from them, and some were furnished with glass benches, tables and chairs. But there were no beds at all. "I wonder if these people never sleep," said the girl. "Why, there seems to be no night at all in this country," Zeb replied. "Those colored suns are exactly in the same place they were when we came, and if there is no sunset there can be no night." "Very true," agreed the Wizard. "But it is a long time since I have had any sleep, and I'm tired. So I think I shall lie down upon one of these hard glass benches and take a nap." "I will, too," said Dorothy, and chose a little room at the end of the hall. Zeb walked down again to unharness Jim, who, when he found himself free, rolled over a few times and then settled down to sleep, with Eureka nestling comfortably beside his big, boney body. Then the boy returned to one of the upper rooms, and in spite of the hardness of the glass bench was soon deep in slumberland. [Illustration] CHAPTER 6. THE MANGABOOS PROVE DANGEROUS When the Wizard awoke the six colored suns were shining down upon the Land of the Mangaboos just as they had done ever since his arrival. The little man, having had a good sleep, felt rested and refreshed, and looking through the glass partition of the room he saw Zeb sitting up on his bench and yawning. So the Wizard went in to him. "Zeb," said he, "my balloon is of no further use in this strange country, so I may as well leave it on the square where it fell. But in the basket-car are some things I would like to keep with me. I wish you would go and fetch my satchel, two lanterns, and a can of kerosene oil that is under the seat. There is nothing else that I care about." So the boy went willingly upon the errand, and by the time he had returned Dorothy was awake. Then the three held a counsel to decide what they should do next, but could think of no way to better their condition. "I don't like these veg'table people," said the little girl. "They're cold and flabby, like cabbages, in spite of their prettiness." "I agree with you. It is because there is no warm blood in them," remarked the Wizard. "And they have no hearts; so they can't love anyone--not even themselves," declared the boy. "The Princess is lovely to look at," continued Dorothy, thoughtfully; "but I don't care much for her, after all. If there was any other place to go, I'd like to go there." "But _is_ there any other place?" asked the Wizard. "I don't know," she answered. Just then they heard the big voice of Jim the cab-horse calling to them, and going to the doorway leading to the dome they found the Princess and a throng of her people had entered the House of the Sorcerer. So they went down to greet the beautiful vegetable lady, who said to them: "I have been talking with my advisors about you meat people, and we have decided that you do not belong in the Land of the Mangaboos and must not remain here." "How can we go away?" asked Dorothy. "Oh, you cannot go away, of course; so you must be destroyed," was the answer. "In what way?" enquired the Wizard. "We shall throw you three people into the Garden of the Twining Vines," said the Princess, "and they will soon crush you and devour your bodies to make themselves grow bigger. The animals you have with you we will drive to the mountains and put into the Black Pit. Then our country will be rid of all its unwelcome visitors." "But you are in need of a Sorcerer," said the Wizard, "and not one of those growing is yet ripe enough to pick. I am greater than any thorn-covered sorcerer that ever grew in your garden. Why destroy me?" "It is true we need a Sorcerer," acknowledged the Princess, "but I am informed that one of our own will be ready to pick in a few days, to take the place of Gwig, whom you cut in two before it was time for him to be planted. Let us see your arts, and the sorceries you are able to perform. Then I will decide whether to destroy you with the others or not." At this the Wizard made a bow to the people and repeated his trick of producing the nine tiny piglets and making them disappear again. He did it very cleverly, indeed, and the Princess looked at the strange piglets as if she were as truly astonished as any vegetable person could be. But afterward she said: "I have heard of this wonderful magic. But it accomplishes nothing of value. What else can you do?" The Wizard tried to think. Then he jointed together the blades of his sword and balanced it very skillfully upon the end of his nose. But even that did not satisfy the Princess. Just then his eye fell upon the lanterns and the can of kerosene oil which Zeb had brought from the car of his balloon, and he got a clever idea from those commonplace things. "Your Highness," said he, "I will now proceed to prove my magic by creating two suns that you have never seen before; also I will exhibit a Destroyer much more dreadful than your Clinging Vines." So he placed Dorothy upon one side of him and the boy upon the other and set a lantern upon each of their heads. "Don't laugh," he whispered to them, "or you will spoil the effect of my magic." [Illustration: "NOW, PRINCESS," EXCLAIMED THE WIZARD.] Then, with much dignity and a look of vast importance upon his wrinkled face, the Wizard got out his match-box and lighted the two lanterns. The glare they made was very small when compared with the radiance of the six great colored suns; but still they gleamed steadily and clearly. The Mangaboos were much impressed because they had never before seen any light that did not come directly from their suns. Next the Wizard poured a pool of oil from the can upon the glass floor, where it covered quite a broad surface. When he lighted the oil a hundred tongues of flame shot up, and the effect was really imposing. "Now, Princess," exclaimed the Wizard, "those of your advisors who wished to throw us into the Garden of Clinging Vines must step within this circle of light. If they advised you well, and were in the right, they will not be injured in any way. But if any advised you wrongly, the light will wither him." The advisors of the Princess did not like this test; but she commanded them to step into the flame and one by one they did so, and were scorched so badly that the air was soon filled with an odor like that of baked potatoes. Some of the Mangaboos fell down and had to be dragged from the fire, and all were so withered that it would be necessary to plant them at once. "Sir," said the Princess to the Wizard, "you are greater than any Sorcerer we have ever known. As it is evident that my people have advised me wrongly, I will not cast you three people into the dreadful Garden of the Clinging Vines; but your animals must be driven into the Black Pit in the mountain, for my subjects cannot bear to have them around." The Wizard was so pleased to have saved the two children and himself that he said nothing against this decree; but when the Princess had gone both Jim and Eureka protested they did not want to go to the Black Pit, and Dorothy promised she would do all that she could to save them from such a fate. For two or three days after this--if we call days the periods between sleep, there being no night to divide the hours into days--our friends were not disturbed in any way. They were even permitted to occupy the House of the Sorcerer in peace, as if it had been their own, and to wander in the gardens in search of food. Once they came near to the enclosed Garden of the Clinging Vines, and walking high into the air looked down upon it with much interest. They saw a mass of tough green vines all matted together and writhing and twisting around like a nest of great snakes. Everything the vines touched they crushed, and our adventurers were indeed thankful to have escaped being cast among them. Whenever the Wizard went to sleep he would take the nine tiny piglets from his pocket and let them run around on the floor of his room to amuse themselves and get some exercise; and one time they found his glass door ajar and wandered into the hall and then into the bottom part of the great dome, walking through the air as easily as Eureka could. They knew the kitten, by this time, so they scampered over to where she lay beside Jim and commenced to frisk and play with her. The cab-horse, who never slept long at a time, sat upon his haunches and watched the tiny piglets and the kitten with much approval. "Don't be rough!" he would call out, if Eureka knocked over one of the round, fat piglets with her paw; but the pigs never minded, and enjoyed the sport very greatly. Suddenly they looked up to find the room filled with the silent, solemn-eyed Mangaboos. Each of the vegetable folks bore a branch covered with sharp thorns, which was thrust defiantly toward the horse, the kitten and the piglets. "Here--stop this foolishness!" Jim roared, angrily; but after being pricked once or twice he got upon his four legs and kept out of the way of the thorns. The Mangaboos surrounded them in solid ranks, but left an opening to the doorway of the hall; so the animals slowly retreated until they were driven from the room and out upon the street. Here were more of the vegetable people with thorns, and silently they urged the now frightened creatures down the street. Jim had to be careful not to step upon the tiny piglets, who scampered under his feet grunting and squealing, while Eureka, snarling and biting at the thorns pushed toward her, also tried to protect the pretty little things from injury. Slowly but steadily the heartless Mangaboos drove them on, until they had passed through the city and the gardens and come to the broad plains leading to the mountain. "What does all this mean, anyhow?" asked the horse, jumping to escape a thorn. "Why, they are driving us toward the Black Pit, into which they threatened to cast us," replied the kitten. "If I were as big as you are, Jim, I'd fight these miserable turnip-roots!" "What would you do?" enquired Jim. "I'd kick out with those long legs and iron-shod hoofs." "All right," said the horse; "I'll do it." An instant later he suddenly backed toward the crowd of Mangaboos and kicked out his hind legs as hard as he could. A dozen of them smashed together and tumbled to the ground, and seeing his success Jim kicked again and again, charging into the vegetable crowd, knocking them in all directions and sending the others scattering to escape his iron heels. Eureka helped him by flying into the faces of the enemy and scratching and biting furiously, and the kitten ruined so many vegetable complexions that the Mangaboos feared her as much as they did the horse. But the foes were too many to be repulsed for long. They tired Jim and Eureka out, and although the field of battle was thickly covered with mashed and disabled Mangaboos, our animal friends had to give up at last and allow themselves to be driven to the mountain. [Illustration] CHAPTER 7. INTO THE BLACK PIT AND OUT AGAIN When they came to the mountain it proved to be a rugged, towering chunk of deep green glass, and looked dismal and forbidding in the extreme. Half way up the steep was a yawning cave, black as night beyond the point where the rainbow rays of the colored suns reached into it. The Mangaboos drove the horse and the kitten and the piglets into this dark hole and then, having pushed the buggy in after them--for it seemed some of them had dragged it all the way from the domed hall--they began to pile big glass rocks within the entrance, so that the prisoners could not get out again. "This is dreadful!" groaned Jim. "It will be about the end of our adventures, I guess." "If the Wizard was here," said one of the piglets, sobbing bitterly, "he would not see us suffer so." "We ought to have called him and Dorothy when we were first attacked," added Eureka. "But never mind; be brave, my friends, and I will go and tell our masters where you are, and get them to come to your rescue." The mouth of the hole was nearly filled up now, but the kitten gave a leap through the remaining opening and at once scampered up into the air. The Mangaboos saw her escape, and several of them caught up their thorns and gave chase, mounting through the air after her. Eureka, however, was lighter than the Mangaboos, and while they could mount only about a hundred feet above the earth the kitten found she could go nearly two hundred feet. So she ran along over their heads until she had left them far behind and below and had come to the city and the House of the Sorcerer. There she entered in at Dorothy's window in the dome and aroused her from her sleep. As soon as the little girl knew what had happened she awakened the Wizard and Zeb, and at once preparations were made to go to the rescue of Jim and the piglets. The Wizard carried his satchel, which was quite heavy, and Zeb carried the two lanterns and the oil can. Dorothy's wicker suit-case was still under the seat of the buggy, and by good fortune the boy had also placed the harness in the buggy when he had taken it off from Jim to let the horse lie down and rest. So there was nothing for the girl to carry but the kitten, which she held close to her bosom and tried to comfort, for its little heart was still beating rapidly. Some of the Mangaboos discovered them as soon as they left the House of the Sorcerer; but when they started toward the mountain the vegetable people allowed them to proceed without interference, yet followed in a crowd behind them so that they could not go back again. Before long they neared the Black Pit, where a busy swarm of Mangaboos, headed by their Princess, was engaged in piling up glass rocks before the entrance. "Stop, I command you!" cried the Wizard, in an angry tone, and at once began pulling down the rocks to liberate Jim and the piglets. Instead of opposing him in this they stood back in silence until he had made a good-sized hole in the barrier, when by order of the Princess they all sprang forward and thrust out their sharp thorns. [Illustration: THROUGH THE BLACK PIT.] Dorothy hopped inside the opening to escape being pricked, and Zeb and the Wizard, after enduring a few stabs from the thorns, were glad to follow her. At once the Mangaboos began piling up the rocks of glass again, and as the little man realized that they were all about to be entombed in the mountain he said to the children: "My dears, what shall we do? Jump out and fight?" "What's the use?" replied Dorothy. "I'd as soon die here as live much longer among those cruel and heartless people." "That's the way I feel about it," remarked Zeb, rubbing his wounds. "I've had enough of the Mangaboos." "All right," said the Wizard; "I'm with you, whatever you decide. But we can't live long in this cavern, that's certain." Noticing that the light was growing dim he picked up his nine piglets, patted each one lovingly on its fat little head, and placed them carefully in his inside pocket. Zeb struck a match and lighted one of the lanterns. The rays of the colored suns were now shut out from them forever, for the last chinks had been filled up in the wall that separated their prison from the Land of the Mangaboos. "How big is this hole?" asked Dorothy. "I'll explore it and see," replied the boy. So he carried the lantern back for quite a distance, while Dorothy and the Wizard followed at his side. The cavern did not come to an end, as they had expected it would, but slanted upward through the great glass mountain, running in a direction that promised to lead them to the side opposite the Mangaboo country. "It isn't a bad road," observed the Wizard, "and if we followed it it might lead us to some place that is more comfortable than this black pocket we are now in. I suppose the vegetable folk were always afraid to enter this cavern because it is dark; but we have our lanterns to light the way, so I propose that we start out and discover where this tunnel in the mountain leads to." The others agreed readily to this sensible suggestion, and at once the boy began to harness Jim to the buggy. When all was in readiness the three took their seats in the buggy and Jim started cautiously along the way, Zeb driving while the Wizard and Dorothy each held a lighted lantern so the horse could see where to go. Sometimes the tunnel was so narrow that the wheels of the buggy grazed the sides; then it would broaden out as wide as a street; but the floor was usually smooth, and for a long time they travelled on without any accident. Jim stopped sometimes to rest, for the climb was rather steep and tiresome. "We must be nearly as high as the six colored suns, by this time," said Dorothy. "I didn't know this mountain was so tall." "We are certainly a good distance away from the Land of the Mangaboos," added Zeb; "for we have slanted away from it ever since we started." But they kept steadily moving, and just as Jim was about tired out with his long journey the way suddenly grew lighter, and Zeb put out the lanterns to save the oil. To their joy they found it was a white light that now greeted them, for all were weary of the colored rainbow lights which, after a time, had made their eyes ache with their constantly shifting rays. The sides of the tunnel showed before them like the inside of a long spy-glass, and the floor became more level. Jim hastened his lagging steps at this assurance of a quick relief from the dark passage, and in a few moments more they had emerged from the mountain and found themselves face to face with a new and charming country. [Illustration] CHAPTER 8. THE VALLEY OF VOICES By journeying through the glass mountain they had reached a delightful valley that was shaped like the hollow of a great cup, with another rugged mountain showing on the other side of it, and soft and pretty green hills at the ends. It was all laid out into lovely lawns and gardens, with pebble paths leading through them and groves of beautiful and stately trees dotting the landscape here and there. There were orchards, too, bearing luscious fruits that are all unknown in our world. Alluring brooks of crystal water flowed sparkling between their flower-strewn banks, while scattered over the valley were dozens of the quaintest and most picturesque cottages our travelers had ever beheld. None of them were in clusters, such as villages or towns, but each had ample grounds of its own, with orchards and gardens surrounding it. As the new arrivals gazed upon this exquisite scene they were enraptured by its beauties and the fragrance that permeated the soft air, which they breathed so gratefully after the confined atmosphere of the tunnel. Several minutes were consumed in silent admiration before they noticed two very singular and unusual facts about this valley. One was that it was lighted from some unseen source; for no sun or moon was in the arched blue sky, although every object was flooded with a clear and perfect light. The second and even more singular fact was the absence of any inhabitant of this splendid place. From their elevated position they could overlook the entire valley, but not a single moving object could they see. All appeared mysteriously deserted. The mountain on this side was not glass, but made of a stone similar to granite. With some difficulty and danger Jim drew the buggy over the loose rocks until he reached the green lawns below, where the paths and orchards and gardens began. The nearest cottage was still some distance away. "Isn't it fine?" cried Dorothy, in a joyous voice, as she sprang out of the buggy and let Eureka run frolicking over the velvety grass. "Yes, indeed!" answered Zeb. "We were lucky to get away from those dreadful vegetable people." "It wouldn't be so bad," remarked the Wizard, gazing around him, "if we were obliged to live here always. We couldn't find a prettier place, I'm sure." He took the piglets from his pocket and let them run on the grass, and Jim tasted a mouthful of the green blades and declared he was very contented in his new surroundings. "We can't walk in the air here, though," called Eureka, who had tried it and failed; but the others were satisfied to walk on the ground, and the Wizard said they must be nearer the surface of the earth than they had been in the Mangaboo country, for everything was more homelike and natural. "But where are the people?" asked Dorothy. The little man shook his bald head. "Can't imagine, my dear," he replied. They heard the sudden twittering of a bird, but could not find the creature anywhere. Slowly they walked along the path toward the nearest cottage, the piglets racing and gambolling beside them and Jim pausing at every step for another mouthful of grass. Presently they came to a low plant which had broad, spreading leaves, in the center of which grew a single fruit about as large as a peach. The fruit was so daintily colored and so fragrant, and looked so appetizing and delicious that Dorothy stopped and exclaimed: "What is it, do you s'pose?" The piglets had smelled the fruit quickly, and before the girl could reach out her hand to pluck it every one of the nine tiny ones had rushed in and commenced to devour it with great eagerness. "It's good, anyway," said Zeb, "or those little rascals wouldn't have gobbled it up so greedily." "Where are they?" asked Dorothy, in astonishment. They all looked around, but the piglets had disappeared. "Dear me!" cried the Wizard; "they must have run away. But I didn't see them go; did you?" "No!" replied the boy and the girl, together. "Here,--piggy, piggy, piggy!" called their master, anxiously. Several squeals and grunts were instantly heard at his feet, but the Wizard could not discover a single piglet. "Where are you?" he asked. "Why, right beside you," spoke a tiny voice. "Can't you see us?" [Illustration: "ARE THERE REALLY PEOPLE IN THIS ROOM?"] "No," answered the little man, in a puzzled tone. "We can see you," said another of the piglets. The Wizard stooped down and put out his hand, and at once felt the small fat body of one of his pets. He picked it up, but could not see what he held. "It is very strange," said he, soberly. "The piglets have become invisible, in some curious way." "I'll bet it's because they ate that peach!" cried the kitten. "It wasn't a peach, Eureka," said Dorothy. "I only hope it wasn't poison." "It was fine, Dorothy," called one of the piglets. "We'll eat all we can find of them," said another. "But _we_ mus'n't eat them," the Wizard warned the children, "or we too may become invisible, and lose each other. If we come across another of the strange fruit we must avoid it." Calling the piglets to him he picked them all up, one by one, and put them away in his pocket; for although he could not see them he could feel them, and when he had buttoned his coat he knew they were safe for the present. The travellers now resumed their walk toward the cottage, which they presently reached. It was a pretty place, with vines growing thickly over the broad front porch. The door stood open and a table was set in the front room, with four chairs drawn up to it. On the table were plates, knives and forks, and dishes of bread, meat and fruits. The meat was smoking hot and the knives and forks were performing strange antics and jumping here and there in quite a puzzling way. But not a single person appeared to be in the room. "How funny!" exclaimed Dorothy, who with Zeb and the Wizard now stood in the doorway. A peal of merry laughter answered her, and the knives and forks fell to the plates with a clatter. One of the chairs pushed back from the table, and this was so astonishing and mysterious that Dorothy was almost tempted to run away in fright. "Here are strangers, mama!" cried the shrill and childish voice of some unseen person. "So I see, my dear," answered another voice, soft and womanly. "What do you want?" demanded a third voice, in a stern, gruff accent. "Well, well!" said the Wizard; "are there really people in this room?" "Of course," replied the man's voice. "And--pardon me for the foolish question--but, are you all invisible?" "Surely," the woman answered, repeating her low, rippling laughter. "Are you surprised that you are unable to see the people of Voe?" "Why, yes," stammered the Wizard. "All the people I have ever met before were very plain to see." "Where do you come from, then?" asked the woman, in a curious tone. "We belong upon the face of the earth," explained the Wizard, "but recently, during an earthquake, we fell down a crack and landed in the Country of the Mangaboos." "Dreadful creatures!" exclaimed the woman's voice. "I've heard of them." "They walled us up in a mountain," continued the Wizard; "but we found there was a tunnel through to this side, so we came here. It is a beautiful place. What do you call it?" "It is the Valley of Voe." "Thank you. We have seen no people since we arrived, so we came to this house to enquire our way." "Are you hungry?" asked the woman's voice. "I could eat something," said Dorothy. "So could I," added Zeb. "But we do not wish to intrude, I assure you," the Wizard hastened to say. "That's all right," returned the man's voice, more pleasantly than before. "You are welcome to what we have." As he spoke the voice came so near to Zeb that he jumped back in alarm. Two childish voices laughed merrily at this action, and Dorothy was sure they were in no danger among such light-hearted folks, even if those folks couldn't be seen. "What curious animal is that which is eating the grass on my lawn?" enquired the man's voice. "That's Jim," said the girl. "He's a horse." "What is he good for?" was the next question. "He draws the buggy you see fastened to him, and we ride in the buggy instead of walking," she explained. "Can he fight?" asked the man's voice. "No! he can kick pretty hard with his heels, and bite a little; but Jim can't 'zactly fight," she replied. "Then the bears will get him," said one of the children's voices. "Bears!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Are these bears here?" "That is the one evil of our country," answered the invisible man. "Many large and fierce bears roam in the Valley of Voe, and when they can catch any of us they eat us up; but as they cannot see us, we seldom get caught." "Are the bears invis'ble, too?" asked the girl. "Yes; for they eat of the dama-fruit, as we all do, and that keeps them from being seen by any eye, whether human or animal." "Does the dama-fruit grow on a low bush, and look something like a peach?" asked the Wizard. "Yes," was the reply. "If it makes you invis'ble, why do you eat it?" Dorothy enquired. "For two reasons, my dear," the woman's voice answered. "The dama-fruit is the most delicious thing that grows, and when it makes us invisible the bears cannot find us to eat us up. But now, good wanderers, your luncheon is on the table, so please sit down and eat as much as you like." [Illustration] CHAPTER 9. THEY FIGHT THE INVISIBLE BEARS The strangers took their seats at the table willingly enough, for they were all hungry and the platters were now heaped with good things to eat. In front of each place was a plate bearing one of the delicious dama-fruit, and the perfume that rose from these was so enticing and sweet that they were sorely tempted to eat of them and become invisible. But Dorothy satisfied her hunger with other things, and her companions did likewise, resisting the temptation. "Why do you not eat the damas?" asked the woman's voice. "We don't want to get invis'ble," answered the girl. "But if you remain visible the bears will see you and devour you," said a girlish young voice, that belonged to one of the children. "We who live here much prefer to be invisible; for we can still hug and kiss one another, and are quite safe from the bears." "And we do not have to be so particular about our dress," remarked the man. "And mama can't tell whether my face is dirty or not!" added the other childish voice, gleefully. "But I make you wash it, every time I think of it," said the mother; "for it stands to reason your face is dirty, Ianu, whether I can see it or not." Dorothy laughed and stretched out her hands. "Come here, please--Ianu and your sister--and let me feel of you," she requested. They came to her willingly, and Dorothy passed her hands over their faces and forms and decided one was a girl of about her own age and the other a boy somewhat smaller. The girl's hair was soft and fluffy and her skin as smooth as satin. When Dorothy gently touched her nose and ears and lips they seemed to be well and delicately formed. "If I could see you I am sure you would be beautiful," she declared. The girl laughed, and her mother said: "We are not vain in the Valley of Voe, because we can not display our beauty, and good actions and pleasant ways are what make us lovely to our companions. Yet we can see and appreciate the beauties of nature, the dainty flowers and trees, the green fields and the clear blue of the sky." "How about the birds and beasts and fishes?" asked Zeb. "The birds we cannot see, because they love to eat of the damas as much as we do; yet we hear their sweet songs and enjoy them. Neither can we see the cruel bears, for they also eat the fruit. But the fishes that swim in our brooks we can see, and often we catch them to eat." "It occurs to me you have a great deal to make you happy, even while invisible," remarked the Wizard. "Nevertheless, we prefer to remain visible while we are in your valley." Just then Eureka came in, for she had been until now wandering outside with Jim; and when the kitten saw the table set with food she cried out: "Now you must feed me, Dorothy, for I'm half starved." The children were inclined to be frightened by the sight of the small animal, which reminded them of the bears; but Dorothy reassured them by explaining that Eureka was a pet and could do no harm even if she wished to. Then, as the others had by this time moved away from the table, the kitten sprang upon the chair and put her paws upon the cloth to see what there was to eat. To her surprise an unseen hand clutched her and held her suspended in the air. Eureka was frantic with terror, and tried to scratch and bite, so the next moment she was dropped to the floor. "Did you see that, Dorothy?" she gasped. "Yes, dear," her mistress replied; "there are people living in this house, although we cannot see them. And you must have better manners, Eureka, or something worse will happen to you." She placed a plate of food upon the floor and the kitten ate greedily. "Give me that nice-smelling fruit I saw on the table," she begged, when she had cleaned the plate. "Those are damas," said Dorothy, "and you must never even taste them, Eureka, or you'll get invis'ble, and then we can't see you at all." The kitten gazed wistfully at the forbidden fruit. "Does it hurt to be invis'ble?" she asked. "I don't know," Dorothy answered; "but it would hurt me dre'fully to lose you." "Very well, I won't touch it," decided the kitten; "but you must keep it away from me, for the smell is very tempting." "Can you tell us, sir or ma'am," said the Wizard, addressing the air because he did not quite know where the unseen people stood, "if there is any way we can get out of your beautiful Valley, and on top of the Earth again." "Oh, one can leave the Valley easily enough," answered the man's voice; "but to do so you must enter a far less pleasant country. As for reaching the top of the earth, I have never heard that it is possible to do that, and if you succeeded in getting there you would probably fall off." "Oh, no," said Dorothy, "we've been there, and we know." "The Valley of Voe is certainly a charming place," resumed the Wizard; "but we cannot be contented in any other land than our own, for long. Even if we should come to unpleasant places on our way it is necessary, in order to reach the earth's surface, to keep moving on toward it." "In that case," said the man, "it will be best for you to cross our Valley and mount the spiral staircase inside the Pyramid Mountain. The top of that mountain is lost in the clouds, and when you reach it you will be in the awful Land of Naught, where the Gargoyles live." "What are Gargoyles?" asked Zeb. "I do not know, young sir. Our greatest Champion, Overman-Anu, once climbed the spiral stairway and fought nine days with the Gargoyles before he could escape them and come back; but he could never be induced to describe the dreadful creatures, and soon afterward a bear caught him and ate him up." The wanderers were rather discouraged by this gloomy report, but Dorothy said with a sigh: "If the only way to get home is to meet the Gurgles, then we've got to meet 'em. They can't be worse than the Wicked Witch or the Nome King." "But you must remember you had the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman to help you conquer those enemies," suggested the Wizard. "Just now, my dear, there is not a single warrior in your company." "Oh, I guess Zeb could fight if he had to. Couldn't you, Zeb?" asked the little girl. "Perhaps; if I had to," answered Zeb, doubtfully. "And you have the jointed sword that you chopped the veg'table Sorcerer in two with," the girl said to the little man. "True," he replied; "and in my satchel are other useful things to fight with." "What the Gargoyles most dread is a noise," said the man's voice. "Our Champion told me that when he shouted his battle-cry the creatures shuddered and drew back, hesitating to continue the combat. But they were in great numbers, and the Champion could not shout much because he had to save his breath for fighting." "Very good," said the Wizard; "we can all yell better than we can fight, so we ought to defeat the Gargoyles." "But tell me," said Dorothy, "how did such a brave Champion happen to let the bears eat him? And if he was invis'ble, and the bears invis'ble, who knows that they really ate him up?" "The Champion had killed eleven bears in his time," returned the unseen man; "and we know this is true because when any creature is dead the invisible charm of the dama-fruit ceases to be active, and the slain one can be plainly seen by all eyes. When the Champion killed a bear everyone could see it; and when the bears killed the Champion we all saw several pieces of him scattered about, which of course disappeared again when the bears devoured them." They now bade farewell to the kind but unseen people of the cottage, and after the man had called their attention to a high, pyramid-shaped mountain on the opposite side of the Valley, and told them how to travel in order to reach it, they again started upon their journey. They followed the course of a broad stream and passed several more pretty cottages; but of course they saw no one, nor did any one speak to them. Fruits and flowers grew plentifully all about, and there were many of the delicious damas that the people of Voe were so fond of. About noon they stopped to allow Jim to rest in the shade of a pretty orchard, and while they plucked and ate some of the cherries and plums that grew there a soft voice suddenly said to them: "There are bears near by. Be careful." The Wizard got out his sword at once, and Zeb grabbed the horse-whip. Dorothy climbed into the buggy, although Jim had been unharnessed from it and was grazing some distance away. The owner of the unseen voice laughed lightly and said: "You cannot escape the bears that way." "How _can_ we 'scape?" asked Dorothy, nervously, for an unseen danger is always the hardest to face. "You must take to the river," was the reply. "The bears will not venture upon the water." "But we would be drowned!" exclaimed the girl. "Oh, there is no need of that," said the voice, which from its gentle tones seemed to belong to a young girl. "You are strangers in the Valley of Voe, and do not seem to know our ways; so I will try to save you." The next moment a broad-leaved plant was jerked from the ground where it grew and held suspended in the air before the Wizard. [Illustration: ESCAPING THE INVISIBLE BEARS.] "Sir," said the voice, "you must rub these leaves upon the soles of all your feet, and then you will be able to walk upon the water without sinking below the surface. It is a secret the bears do not know, and we people of Voe usually walk upon the water when we travel, and so escape our enemies." "Thank you!" cried the Wizard, joyfully, and at once rubbed a leaf upon the soles of Dorothy's shoes and then upon his own. The girl took a leaf and rubbed it upon the kitten's paws, and the rest of the plant was handed to Zeb, who, after applying it to his own feet, carefully rubbed it upon all four of Jim's hoofs and then upon the tires of the buggy-wheels. He had nearly finished this last task when a low growling was suddenly heard and the horse began to jump around and kick viciously with his heels. "Quick! To the water, or you are lost!" cried their unseen friend, and without hesitation the Wizard drew the buggy down the bank and out upon the broad river, for Dorothy was still seated in it with Eureka in her arms. They did not sink at all, owing to the virtues of the strange plant they had used, and when the buggy was in the middle of the stream the Wizard returned to the bank to assist Zeb and Jim. The horse was plunging madly about, and two or three deep gashes appeared upon its flanks, from which the blood flowed freely. "Run for the river!" shouted the Wizard, and Jim quickly freed himself from his unseen tormenters by a few vicious kicks and then obeyed. As soon as he trotted out upon the surface of the river he found himself safe from pursuit, and Zeb was already running across the water toward Dorothy. As the little Wizard turned to follow them he felt a hot breath against his cheek and heard a low, fierce growl. At once he began stabbing at the air with his sword, and he knew that he had struck some substance because when he drew back the blade it was dripping with blood. The third time that he thrust out the weapon there was a loud roar and a fall, and suddenly at his feet appeared the form of a great red bear, which was nearly as big as the horse and much stronger and fiercer. The beast was quite dead from the sword thrusts, and after a glance at its terrible claws and sharp teeth the little man turned in a panic and rushed out upon the water, for other menacing growls told him more bears were near. On the river, however, the adventurers seemed to be perfectly safe. Dorothy and the buggy had floated slowly down stream with the current of the water, and the others made haste to join her. The Wizard opened his satchel and got out some sticking-plaster with which he mended the cuts Jim had received from the claws of the bears. "I think we'd better stick to the river, after this," said Dorothy. "If our unknown friend hadn't warned us, and told us what to do, we would all be dead by this time." "That is true," agreed the Wizard, "and as the river seems to be flowing in the direction of the Pyramid Mountain it will be the easiest way for us to travel." Zeb hitched Jim to the buggy again, and the horse trotted along and drew them rapidly over the smooth water. The kitten was at first dreadfully afraid of getting wet, but Dorothy let her down and soon Eureka was frisking along beside the buggy without being scared a bit. Once a little fish swam too near the surface, and the kitten grabbed it in her mouth and ate it up as quick as a wink; but Dorothy cautioned her to be careful what she ate in this valley of enchantments, and no more fishes were careless enough to swim within reach. After a journey of several hours they came to a point where the river curved, and they found they must cross a mile or so of the Valley before they came to the Pyramid Mountain. There were few houses in this part, and few orchards or flowers; so our friends feared they might encounter more of the savage bears, which they had learned to dread with all their hearts. "You'll have to make a dash, Jim," said the Wizard, "and run as fast as you can go." "All right," answered the horse; "I'll do my best. But you must remember I'm old, and my dashing days are past and gone." All three got into the buggy and Zeb picked up the reins, though Jim needed no guidance of any sort. The horse was still smarting from the sharp claws of the invisible bears, and as soon as he was on land and headed toward the mountain the thought that more of those fearsome creatures might be near acted as a spur and sent him galloping along in a way that made Dorothy catch her breath. Then Zeb, in a spirit of mischief, uttered a growl like that of the bears, and Jim pricked up his ears and fairly flew. His boney legs moved so fast they could scarcely be seen, and the Wizard clung fast to the seat and yelled "Whoa!" at the top of his voice. "I--I'm 'fraid he's--he's running away!" gasped Dorothy. "I _know_ he is," said Zeb; "but no bear can catch him if he keeps up that gait--and the harness or the buggy don't break." Jim did not make a mile a minute; but almost before they were aware of it he drew up at the foot of the mountain, so suddenly that the Wizard and Zeb both sailed over the dashboard and landed in the soft grass--where they rolled over several times before they stopped. Dorothy nearly went with them, but she was holding fast to the iron rail of the seat, and that saved her. She squeezed the kitten, though, until it screeched; and then the old cab-horse made several curious sounds that led the little girl to suspect he was laughing at them all. [Illustration] CHAPTER 10. THE BRAIDED MAN OF PYRAMID MOUNTAIN The mountain before them was shaped like a cone and was so tall that its point was lost in the clouds. Directly facing the place where Jim had stopped was an arched opening leading to a broad stairway. The stairs were cut in the rock inside the mountain, and they were broad and not very steep, because they circled around like a cork-screw, and at the arched opening where the flight began the circle was quite big. At the foot of the stairs was a sign reading: WARNING. These steps lead to the Land of the Gargoyles. DANGER! KEEP OUT. "I wonder how Jim is ever going to draw the buggy up so many stairs," said Dorothy, gravely. "No trouble at all," declared the horse, with a contemptuous neigh. "Still, I don't care to drag any passengers. You'll all have to walk." "Suppose the stairs get steeper?" suggested Zeb, doubtfully. "Then you'll have to boost the buggy-wheels, that's all," answered Jim. "We'll try it, anyway," said the Wizard. "It's the only way to get out of the Valley of Voe." So they began to ascend the stairs, Dorothy and the Wizard first, Jim next, drawing the buggy, and then Zeb to watch that nothing happened to the harness. The light was dim, and soon they mounted into total darkness, so that the Wizard was obliged to get out his lanterns to light the way. But this enabled them to proceed steadily until they came to a landing where there was a rift in the side of the mountain that let in both light and air. Looking through this opening they could see the Valley of Voe lying far below them, the cottages seeming like toy houses from that distance. After resting a few moments they resumed their climb, and still the stairs were broad and low enough for Jim to draw the buggy easily after him. The old horse panted a little, and had to stop often to get his breath. At such times they were all glad to wait for him, for continually climbing up stairs is sure to make one's legs ache. They wound about, always going upward, for some time. The lights from the lanterns dimly showed the way, but it was a gloomy journey, and they were pleased when a broad streak of light ahead assured them they were coming to a second landing. Here one side of the mountain had a great hole in it, like the mouth of a cavern, and the stairs stopped at the near edge of the floor and commenced ascending again at the opposite edge. The opening in the mountain was on the side opposite to the Valley of Voe, and our travellers looked out upon a strange scene. Below them was a vast space, at the bottom of which was a black sea with rolling billows, through which little tongues of flame constantly shot up. Just above them, and almost on a level with their platform, were banks of rolling clouds which constantly shifted position and changed color. The blues and greys were very beautiful, and Dorothy noticed that on the cloud banks sat or reclined fleecy, shadowy forms of beautiful beings who must have been the Cloud Fairies. Mortals who stand upon the earth and look up at the sky cannot often distinguish these forms, but our friends were now so near to the clouds that they observed the dainty fairies very clearly. "Are they real?" asked Zeb, in an awed voice. "Of course," replied Dorothy, softly. "They are the Cloud Fairies." "They seem like open-work," remarked the boy, gazing intently. "If I should squeeze one, there wouldn't be anything left of it." In the open space between the clouds and the black, bubbling sea far beneath, could be seen an occasional strange bird winging its way swiftly through the air. These birds were of enormous size, and reminded Zeb of the rocs he had read about in the Arabian Nights. They had fierce eyes and sharp talons and beaks, and the children hoped none of them would venture into the cavern. "Well, I declare!" suddenly exclaimed the little Wizard. "What in the world is this?" They turned around and found a man standing on the floor in the center of the cave, who bowed very politely when he saw he had attracted their attention. He was a very old man, bent nearly double; but the queerest thing about him was his white hair and beard. These were so long that they reached to his feet, and both the hair and the beard were carefully plaited into many braids, and the end of each braid fastened with a bow of colored ribbon. "Where did you come from?" asked Dorothy, wonderingly. "No place at all," answered the man with the braids; "that is, not recently. Once I lived on top the earth, but for many years I have had my factory in this spot--half way up Pyramid Mountain." "Are we only half way up?" enquired the boy, in a discouraged tone. "I believe so, my lad," replied the braided man. "But as I have never been in either direction, down or up, since I arrived, I cannot be positive whether it is exactly half way or not." "Have you a factory in this place?" asked the Wizard, who had been examining the strange personage carefully. "To be sure," said the other. "I am a great inventor, you must know, and I manufacture my products in this lonely spot." "What are your products?" enquired the Wizard. "Well, I make Assorted Flutters for flags and bunting, and a superior grade of Rustles for ladies' silk gowns." "I thought so," said the Wizard, with a sigh. "May we examine some of these articles?" [Illustration: THE CLOUD FAIRIES.] [Illustration: THE BRAIDED MAN.] "Yes, indeed; come into my shop, please," and the braided man turned and led the way into a smaller cave, where he evidently lived. Here, on a broad shelf, were several card-board boxes of various sizes, each tied with cotton cord. "This," said the man, taking up a box and handling it gently, "contains twelve dozen rustles--enough to last any lady a year. Will you buy it, my dear?" he asked, addressing Dorothy. "My gown isn't silk," she said, smiling. "Never mind. When you open the box the rustles will escape, whether you are wearing a silk dress or not," said the man, seriously. Then he picked up another box. "In this," he continued, "are many assorted flutters. They are invaluable to make flags flutter on a still day, when there is no wind. You, sir," turning to the Wizard, "ought to have this assortment. Once you have tried my goods I am sure you will never be without them." "I have no money with me," said the Wizard, evasively. "I do not want money," returned the braided man, "for I could not spend it in this deserted place if I had it. But I would like very much a blue hair-ribbon. You will notice my braids are tied with yellow, pink, brown, red, green, white and black; but I have no blue ribbons." "I'll get you one!" cried Dorothy, who was sorry for the poor man; so she ran back to the buggy and took from her suit-case a pretty blue ribbon. It did her good to see how the braided man's eyes sparkled when he received this treasure. "You have made me very, very happy, my dear!" he exclaimed; and then he insisted on the Wizard taking the box of flutters and the little girl accepting the box of rustles. "You may need them, some time," he said, "and there is really no use in my manufacturing these things unless somebody uses them." "Why did you leave the surface of the earth?" enquired the Wizard. "I could not help it. It is a sad story, but if you will try to restrain your tears I will tell you about it. On earth I was a manufacturer of Imported Holes for American Swiss Cheese, and I will acknowledge that I supplied a superior article, which was in great demand. Also I made pores for porous plasters and high-grade holes for doughnuts and buttons. Finally I invented a new Adjustable Post-hole, which I thought would make my fortune. I manufactured a large quantity of these post-holes, and having no room in which to store them I set them all end to end and put the top one in the ground. That made an extraordinary long hole, as you may imagine, and reached far down into the earth; and, as I leaned over it to try to see to the bottom, I lost my balance and tumbled in. Unfortunately, the hole led directly into the vast space you see outside this mountain; but I managed to catch a point of rock that projected from this cavern, and so saved myself from tumbling headlong into the black waves beneath, where the tongues of flame that dart out would certainly have consumed me. Here, then, I made my home; and although it is a lonely place I amuse myself making rustles and flutters, and so get along very nicely." When the braided man had completed this strange tale Dorothy nearly laughed, because it was all so absurd; but the Wizard tapped his forehead significantly, to indicate that he thought the poor man was crazy. So they politely bade him good day, and went back to the outer cavern to resume their journey. [Illustration] CHAPTER 11. THEY MEET THE WOODEN GARGOYLES Another breathless climb brought our adventurers to a third landing where there was a rift in the mountain. On peering out all they could see was rolling banks of clouds, so thick that they obscured all else. But the travellers were obliged to rest, and while they were sitting on the rocky floor the Wizard felt in his pocket and brought out the nine tiny piglets. To his delight they were now plainly visible, which proved that they had passed beyond the influence of the magical Valley of Voe. "Why, we can see each other again!" cried one, joyfully. "Yes," sighed Eureka; "and I also can see you again, and the sight makes me dreadfully hungry. Please, Mr. Wizard, may I eat just one of the fat little piglets? You'd never miss _one_ of them, I'm sure!" "What a horrid, savage beast!" exclaimed a piglet; "and after we've been such good friends, too, and played with one another!" "When I'm not hungry, I love to play with you all," said the kitten, demurely; "but when my stomach is empty it seems that nothing would fill it so nicely as a fat piglet." "And we trusted you so!" said another of the nine, reproachfully. "And thought you were respectable!" said another. "It seems we were mistaken," declared a third, looking at the kitten timorously, "no one with such murderous desires should belong to our party, I'm sure." "You see, Eureka," remarked Dorothy, reprovingly, "you are making yourself disliked. There are certain things proper for a kitten to eat; but I never heard of a kitten eating a pig, under _any_ cir'stances." "Did you ever see such little pigs before?" asked the kitten. "They are no bigger than mice, and I'm sure mice are proper for me to eat." "It isn't the bigness, dear; its the variety," replied the girl. "These are Mr. Wizard's pets, just as you are my pet, and it wouldn't be any more proper for you to eat them than it would be for Jim to eat you." "And that's just what I shall do if you don't let those little balls of pork alone," said Jim, glaring at the kitten with his round, big eyes. "If you injure any one of them I'll chew you up instantly." The kitten looked at the horse thoughtfully, as if trying to decide whether he meant it or not. "In that case," she said, "I'll leave them alone. You haven't many teeth left, Jim, but the few you have are sharp enough to make me shudder. So the piglets will be perfectly safe, hereafter, as far as I am concerned." "That is right, Eureka," remarked the Wizard, earnestly. "Let us all be a happy family and love one another." Eureka yawned and stretched herself. "I've always loved the piglets," she said; "but they don't love me." "No one can love a person he's afraid of," asserted Dorothy. "If you behave, and don't scare the little pigs, I'm sure they'll grow very fond of you." The Wizard now put the nine tiny ones back into his pocket and the journey was resumed. "We must be pretty near the top, now," said the boy, as they climbed wearily up the dark, winding stairway. "The Country of the Gurgles can't be far from the top of the earth," remarked Dorothy. "It isn't very nice down here. I'd like to get home again, I'm sure." No one replied to this, because they found they needed all their breath for the climb. The stairs had become narrower and Zeb and the Wizard often had to help Jim pull the buggy from one step to another, or keep it from jamming against the rocky walls. At last, however, a dim light appeared ahead of them, which grew clearer and stronger as they advanced. "Thank goodness we're nearly there!" panted the little Wizard. Jim, who was in advance, saw the last stair before him and stuck his head above the rocky sides of the stairway. Then he halted, ducked down and began to back up, so that he nearly fell with the buggy onto the others. "Let's go down again!" he said, in his hoarse voice. "Nonsense!" snapped the tired Wizard. "What's the matter with you, old man?" "Everything," grumbled the horse. "I've taken a look at this place, and it's no fit country for real creatures to go to. Everything's dead, up there--no flesh or blood or growing thing anywhere." "Never mind; we can't turn back," said Dorothy; "and we don't intend to stay there, anyhow." "It's dangerous," growled Jim, in a stubborn tone. "See here, my good steed," broke in the Wizard, "little Dorothy and I have been in many queer countries in our travels, and always escaped without harm. We've even been to the marvelous Land of Oz--haven't we, Dorothy?--so we don't much care what the Country of the Gargoyles is like. Go ahead, Jim, and whatever happens we'll make the best of it." "All right," answered the horse; "this is your excursion, and not mine; so if you get into trouble don't blame me." With this speech he bent forward and dragged the buggy up the remaining steps. The others followed and soon they were all standing upon a broad platform and gazing at the most curious and startling sight their eyes had ever beheld. "The Country of the Gargoyles is all wooden!" exclaimed Zeb; and so it was. The ground was sawdust and the pebbles scattered around were hard knots from trees, worn smooth in course of time. There were odd wooden houses, with carved wooden flowers in the front yards. The tree-trunks were of coarse wood, but the leaves of the trees were shavings. The patches of grass were splinters of wood, and where neither grass nor sawdust showed was a solid wooden flooring. Wooden birds fluttered among the trees and wooden cows were browsing upon the wooden grass; but the most amazing things of all were the wooden people--the creatures known as Gargoyles. These were very numerous, for the palace was thickly inhabited, and a large group of the queer people clustered near, gazing sharply upon the strangers who had emerged from the long spiral stairway. The Gargoyles were very small of stature, being less than three feet in height. Their bodies were round, their legs short and thick and their arms extraordinarily long and stout. Their heads were too big for their bodies and their faces were decidedly ugly to look upon. Some had long, curved noses and chins, small eyes and wide, grinning mouths. Others had flat noses, protruding eyes, and ears that were shaped like those of an elephant. There were many types, indeed, scarcely two being alike; but all were equally disagreeable in appearance. The tops of their heads had no hair, but were carved into a variety of fantastic shapes, some having a row of points or balls around the top, other designs resembling flowers or vegetables, and still others having squares that looked like waffles cut criss-cross on their heads. They all wore short wooden wings which were fastened to their wooden bodies by means of wooden hinges with wooden screws, and with these wings they flew swiftly and noiselessly here and there, their legs being of little use to them. This noiseless motion was one of the most peculiar things about the Gargoyles. They made no sounds at all, either in flying or trying to speak, and they conversed mainly by means of quick signals made with their wooden fingers or lips. Neither was there any sound to be heard anywhere throughout the wooden country. The birds did not sing, nor did the cows moo; yet there was more than ordinary activity everywhere. The group of these queer creatures which was discovered clustered near the stairs at first remained staring and motionless, glaring with evil eyes at the intruders who had so suddenly appeared in their land. In turn the Wizard and the children, the horse and the kitten, examined the Gargoyles with the same silent attention. "There's going to be trouble, I'm sure," remarked the horse. "Unhitch those tugs, Zeb, and set me free from the buggy, so I can fight comfortably." "Jim's right," sighed the Wizard. "There's going to be trouble, and my sword isn't stout enough to cut up those wooden bodies--so I shall have to get out my revolvers." He got his satchel from the buggy and, opening it, took out two deadly looking revolvers that made the children shrink back in alarm just to look at. "What harm can the Gurgles do?" asked Dorothy. "They have no weapons to hurt us with." "Each of their arms is a wooden club," answered the little man, "and I'm sure the creatures mean mischief, by the looks of their eyes. Even these revolvers can merely succeed in damaging a few of their wooden bodies, and after that we will be at their mercy." "But why fight at all, in that case?" asked the girl. "So I may die with a clear conscience," returned the Wizard, gravely. "It's every man's duty to do the best he knows how; and I'm going to do it." "Wish I had an axe," said Zeb, who by now had unhitched the horse. "If we had known we were coming we might have brought along several other useful things," responded the Wizard. "But we dropped into this adventure rather unexpectedly." The Gargoyles had backed away a distance when they heard the sound of talking, for although our friends had spoken in low tones their words seemed loud in the silence surrounding them. But as soon as the conversation ceased the grinning, ugly creatures arose in a flock and flew swiftly toward the strangers, their long arms stretched out before them like the bowsprits of a fleet of sail-boats. The horse had especially attracted their notice, because it was the biggest and strangest creature they had ever seen; so it became the center of their first attack. But Jim was ready for them, and when he saw them coming he turned his heels toward them and began kicking out as hard as he could. Crack! crash! bang! went his iron-shod hoofs against the wooden bodies of the Gargoyles, and they were battered right and left with such force that they scattered like straws in the wind. But the noise and clatter seemed as dreadful to them as Jim's heels, for all who were able swiftly turned and flew away to a great distance. The others picked themselves up from the ground one by one and quickly rejoined their fellows, so for a moment the horse thought he had won the fight with ease. But the Wizard was not so confident. "Those wooden things are impossible to hurt," he said, "and all the damage Jim has done to them is to knock a few splinters from their noses and ears. That cannot make them look any uglier, I'm sure, and it is my opinion they will soon renew the attack." "What made them fly away?" asked Dorothy. "The noise, of course. Don't you remember how the Champion escaped them by shouting his battle-cry?" "Suppose we escape down the stairs, too," suggested the boy. "We have time, just now, and I'd rather face the invis'ble bears than those wooden imps." "No," returned Dorothy, stoutly, "it won't do to go back, for then we would never get home. Let's fight it out." "That is what I advise," said the Wizard. "They haven't defeated us yet, and Jim is worth a whole army." But the Gargoyles were clever enough not to attack the horse the next time. They advanced in a great swarm, having been joined by many more of their kind, and they flew straight over Jim's head to where the others were standing. The Wizard raised one of his revolvers and fired into the throng of his enemies, and the shot resounded like a clap of thunder in that silent place. Some of the wooden beings fell flat upon the ground, where they quivered and trembled in every limb; but most of them managed to wheel and escape again to a distance. Zeb ran and picked up one of the Gargoyles that lay nearest to him. The top of its head was carved into a crown and the Wizard's bullet had struck it exactly in the left eye, which was a hard wooden knot. Half of the bullet stuck in the wood and half stuck out, so it had been the jar and the sudden noise that had knocked the creature down, more than the fact that it was really hurt. Before this crowned Gargoyle had recovered himself Zeb had wound a strap several times around its body, confining its wings and arms so that it could not move. Then, having tied the wooden creature securely, the boy buckled the strap and tossed his prisoner into the buggy. By that time the others had all retired. [Illustration] CHAPTER 12. A WONDERFUL ESCAPE For a while the enemy hesitated to renew the attack. Then a few of them advanced until another shot from the Wizard's revolver made them retreat. "That's fine," said Zeb. "We've got 'em on the run now, sure enough." "But only for a time," replied the Wizard, shaking his head gloomily. "These revolvers are good for six shots each, but when those are gone we shall be helpless." The Gargoyles seemed to realize this, for they sent a few of their band time after time to attack the strangers and draw the fire from the little man's revolvers. In this way none of them was shocked by the dreadful report more than once, for the main band kept far away and each time a new company was sent into the battle. When the Wizard had fired all of his twelve bullets he had caused no damage to the enemy except to stun a few by the noise, and so he was no nearer to victory than in the beginning of the fray. [Illustration: THE WIZARD FIRED INTO THE THRONG.] "What shall we do now?" asked Dorothy, anxiously. "Let's yell--all together," said Zeb. "And fight at the same time," added the Wizard. "We will get near Jim, so that he can help us, and each one must take some weapon and do the best he can. I'll use my sword, although it isn't much account in this affair. Dorothy must take her parasol and open it suddenly when the wooden folks attack her. I haven't anything for you, Zeb." "I'll use the king," said the boy, and pulled his prisoner out of the buggy. The bound Gargoyle's arms extended far out beyond its head, so by grasping its wrists Zeb found the king made a very good club. The boy was strong for one of his years, having always worked upon a farm; so he was likely to prove more dangerous to the enemy than the Wizard. When the next company of Gargoyles advanced, our adventurers began yelling as if they had gone mad. Even the kitten gave a dreadfully shrill scream and at the same time Jim the cab-horse neighed loudly. This daunted the enemy for a time, but the defenders were soon out of breath. Perceiving this, as well as the fact that there were no more of the awful "bangs" to come from the revolvers, the Gargoyles advanced in a swarm as thick as bees, so that the air was filled with them. Dorothy squatted upon the ground and put up her parasol, which nearly covered her and proved a great protection. The Wizard's sword-blade snapped into a dozen pieces at the first blow he struck against the wooden people. Zeb pounded away with the Gargoyle he was using as a club until he had knocked down dozens of foes; but at the last they clustered so thickly about him that he no longer had room in which to swing his arms. The horse performed some wonderful kicking and even Eureka assisted when she leaped bodily upon the Gargoyles and scratched and bit at them like a wild-cat. But all this bravery amounted to nothing at all. The wooden things wound their long arms around Zeb and the Wizard and held them fast. Dorothy was captured in the same way, and numbers of the Gargoyles clung to Jim's legs, so weighting him down that the poor beast was helpless. Eureka made a desperate dash to escape and scampered along the ground like a streak; but a grinning Gargoyle flew after her and grabbed her before she had gone very far. All of them expected nothing less than instant death; but to their surprise the wooden creatures flew into the air with them and bore them far away, over miles and miles of wooden country, until they came to a wooden city. The houses of this city had many corners, being square and six-sided and eight-sided. They were tower-like in shape and the best of them seemed old and weather-worn; yet all were strong and substantial. To one of these houses which had neither doors nor windows, but only one broad opening far up underneath the roof, the prisoners were brought by their captors. The Gargoyles roughly pushed them into the opening, where there was a platform, and then flew away and left them. As they had no wings the strangers could not fly away, and if they jumped down from such a height they would surely be killed. The creatures had sense enough to reason that way, and the only mistake they made was in supposing the earth people were unable to overcome such ordinary difficulties. Jim was brought with the others, although it took a good many Gargoyles to carry the big beast through the air and land him on the high platform, and the buggy was thrust in after him because it belonged to the party and the wooden folks had no idea what it was used for or whether it was alive or not. When Eureka's captor had thrown the kitten after the others the last Gargoyle silently disappeared, leaving our friends to breathe freely once more. "What an awful fight!" said Dorothy, catching her breath in little gasps. "Oh, I don't know," purred Eureka, smoothing her ruffled fur with her paw; "we didn't manage to hurt anybody, and nobody managed to hurt us." "Thank goodness we are together again, even if we are prisoners," sighed the little girl. "I wonder why they didn't kill us on the spot," remarked Zeb, who had lost his king in the struggle. "They are probably keeping us for some ceremony," the Wizard answered, reflectively; "but there is no doubt they intend to kill us as dead as possible in a short time." "As dead as poss'ble would be pretty dead, wouldn't it?" asked Dorothy. "Yes, my dear. But we have no need to worry about that just now. Let us examine our prison and see what it is like." The space underneath the roof, where they stood, permitted them to see on all sides of the tall building, and they looked with much curiosity at the city spread out beneath them. Everything visible was made of wood, and the scene seemed stiff and extremely unnatural. From their platform a stair descended into the house, and the children and the Wizard explored it after lighting a lantern to show them the way. Several stories of empty rooms rewarded their search, but nothing more; so after a time they came back to the platform again. Had there been any doors or windows in the lower rooms, or had not the boards of the house been so thick and stout, escape would have been easy; but to remain down below was like being in a cellar or the hold of a ship, and they did not like the darkness or the damp smell. In this country, as in all others they had visited underneath the earth's surface, there was no night, a constant and strong light coming from some unknown source. Looking out, they could see into some of the houses near them, where there were open windows in abundance, and were able to mark the forms of the wooden Gargoyles moving about in their dwellings. "This seems to be their time of rest," observed the Wizard. "All people need rest, even if they are made of wood, and as there is no night here they select a certain time of the day in which to sleep or doze." "I feel sleepy myself," remarked Zeb, yawning. "Why, where's Eureka?" cried Dorothy, suddenly. They all looked around, but the kitten was no place to be seen. "She's gone out for a walk," said Jim, gruffly. "Where? On the roof?" asked the girl. "No; she just dug her claws into the wood and climbed down the sides of this house to the ground." "She couldn't climb _down_, Jim," said Dorothy. "To climb means to go up." "Who said so?" demanded the horse. "My school-teacher said so; and she knows a lot, Jim." "To 'climb down' is sometimes used as a figure of speech," remarked the Wizard. "Well, this was a figure of a cat," said Jim, "and she _went_ down, anyhow, whether she climbed or crept." "Dear me! how careless Eureka is," exclaimed the girl, much distressed. "The Gurgles will get her, sure!" "Ha, ha!" chuckled the old cab-horse; "they're not 'Gurgles,' little maid; they're Gargoyles." "Never mind; they'll get Eureka, whatever they're called." "No they won't," said the voice of the kitten, and Eureka herself crawled over the edge of the platform and sat down quietly upon the floor. "Wherever have you been, Eureka?" asked Dorothy, sternly. "Watching the wooden folks. They're too funny for anything, Dorothy. Just now they are all going to bed, and--what do you think?--they unhook the hinges of their wings and put them in a corner until they wake up again." "What, the hinges?" "No; the wings." "That," said Zeb, "explains why this house is used by them for a prison. If any of the Gargoyles act badly, and have to be put in jail, they are brought here and their wings unhooked and taken away from them until they promise to be good." The Wizard had listened intently to what Eureka had said. "I wish we had some of those loose wings," he said. "Could we fly with them?" asked Dorothy. "I think so. If the Gargoyles can unhook the wings then the power to fly lies in the wings themselves, and not in the wooden bodies of the people who wear them. So, if we had the wings, we could probably fly as well as they do--at least while we are in their country and under the spell of its magic." "But how would it help us to be able to fly?" questioned the girl. "Come here," said the little man, and took her to one of the corners of the building. "Do you see that big rock standing on the hillside yonder?" he continued, pointing with his finger. "Yes; it's a good way off, but I can see it," she replied. "Well, inside that rock, which reaches up into the clouds, is an archway very much like the one we entered when we climbed the spiral stairway from the Valley of Voe. I'll get my spy-glass, and then you can see it more plainly." He fetched a small but powerful telescope, which had been in his satchel, and by its aid the little girl clearly saw the opening. "Where does it lead to?" she asked. "That I cannot tell," said the Wizard; "but we cannot now be far below the earth's surface, and that entrance may lead to another stairway that will bring us on top of our world again, where we belong. So, if we had the wings, and could escape the Gargoyles, we might fly to that rock and be saved." "I'll get you the wings," said Zeb, who had thoughtfully listened to all this. "That is, if the kitten will show me where they are." "But how can you get down?" enquired the girl, wonderingly. For answer Zeb began to unfasten Jim's harness, strap by strap, and to buckle one piece to another until he had made a long leather strip that would reach to the ground. [Illustration: THE FIGHT WITH THE GARGOYLES.] "I can climb down that, all right," he said. "No you can't," remarked Jim, with a twinkle in his round eyes. "You may _go_ down, but you can only _climb_ up." "Well, I'll climb up when I get back, then," said the boy, with a laugh. "Now, Eureka, you'll have to show me the way to those wings." "You must be very quiet," warned the kitten; "for if you make the least noise the Gargoyles will wake up. They can hear a pin drop." "I'm not going to drop a pin," said Zeb. He had fastened one end of the strap to a wheel of the buggy, and now he let the line dangle over the side of the house. "Be careful," cautioned Dorothy, earnestly. "I will," said the boy, and let himself slide over the edge. The girl and the Wizard leaned over and watched Zeb work his way carefully downward, hand over hand, until he stood upon the ground below. Eureka clung with her claws to the wooden side of the house and let herself down easily. Then together they crept away to enter the low doorway of a neighboring dwelling. The watchers waited in breathless suspense until the boy again appeared, his arms now full of the wooden wings. When he came to where the strap was hanging he tied the wings all in a bunch to the end of the line, and the Wizard drew them up. Then the line was let down again for Zeb to climb up by. Eureka quickly followed him, and soon they were all standing together upon the platform, with eight of the much prized wooden wings beside them. The boy was no longer sleepy, but full of energy and excitement. He put the harness together again and hitched Jim to the buggy. Then, with the Wizard's help, he tried to fasten some of the wings to the old cab-horse. This was no easy task, because half of each one of the hinges of the wings was missing, it being still fastened to the body of the Gargoyle who had used it. However, the Wizard went once more to his satchel--which seemed to contain a surprising variety of odds and ends--and brought out a spool of strong wire, by means of which they managed to fasten four of the wings to Jim's harness, two near his head and two near his tail. They were a bit wiggley, but secure enough if only the harness held together. The other four wings were then fastened to the buggy, two on each side, for the buggy must bear the weight of the children and the Wizard as it flew through the air. [Illustration: JIM FLUTTERED AND FLOUNDERED THROUGH THE AIR.] These preparations had not consumed a great deal of time, but the sleeping Gargoyles were beginning to wake up and move around, and soon some of them would be hunting for their missing wings. So the prisoners resolved to leave their prison at once. They mounted into the buggy, Dorothy holding Eureka safe in her lap. The girl sat in the middle of the seat, with Zeb and the Wizard on each side of her. When all was ready the boy shook the reins and said: "Fly away, Jim!" "Which wings must I flop first?" asked the cab-horse, undecidedly. "Flop them all together," suggested the Wizard. "Some of them are crooked," objected the horse. "Never mind; we will steer with the wings on the buggy," said Zeb. "Just you light out and make for that rock, Jim; and don't waste any time about it, either." So the horse gave a groan, flopped its four wings all together, and flew away from the platform. Dorothy was a little anxious about the success of their trip, for the way Jim arched his long neck and spread out his bony legs as he fluttered and floundered through the air was enough to make anybody nervous. He groaned, too, as if frightened, and the wings creaked dreadfully because the Wizard had forgotten to oil them; but they kept fairly good time with the wings of the buggy, so that they made excellent progress from the start. The only thing that anyone could complain of with justice was the fact that they wobbled first up and then down, as if the road were rocky instead of being as smooth as the air could make it. The main point, however, was that they flew, and flew swiftly, if a bit unevenly, toward the rock for which they had headed. Some of the Gargoyles saw them, presently, and lost no time in collecting a band to pursue the escaping prisoners; so that when Dorothy happened to look back she saw them coming in a great cloud that almost darkened the sky. [Illustration] CHAPTER 13. THE DEN OF THE DRAGONETTES Our friends had a good start and were able to maintain it, for with their eight wings they could go just as fast as could the Gargoyles. All the way to the great rock the wooden people followed them, and when Jim finally alighted at the mouth of the cavern the pursuers were still some distance away. "But, I'm afraid they'll catch us yet," said Dorothy, greatly excited. "No; we must stop them," declared the Wizard. "Quick Zeb, help me pull off these wooden wings!" They tore off the wings, for which they had no further use, and the Wizard piled them in a heap just outside the entrance to the cavern. Then he poured over them all the kerosene oil that was left in his oil-can, and lighting a match set fire to the pile. The flames leaped up at once and the bonfire began to smoke and roar and crackle just as the great army of wooden Gargoyles arrived. The creatures drew back at once, being filled with fear and horror; for such a dreadful thing as a fire they had never before known in all the history of their wooden land. Inside the archway were several doors, leading to different rooms built into the mountain, and Zeb and the Wizard lifted these wooden doors from their hinges and tossed them all on the flames. "That will prove a barrier for some time to come," said the little man, smiling pleasantly all over his wrinkled face at the success of their stratagem. "Perhaps the flames will set fire to all that miserable wooden country, and if it does the loss will be very small and the Gargoyles never will be missed. But come, my children; let us explore the mountain and discover which way we must go in order to escape from this cavern, which is getting to be almost as hot as a bake-oven." To their disappointment there was within this mountain no regular flight of steps by means of which they could mount to the earth's surface. A sort of inclined tunnel led upward for a way, and they found the floor of it both rough and steep. Then a sudden turn brought them to a narrow gallery where the buggy could not pass. This delayed and bothered them for a while, because they did not wish to leave the buggy behind them. It carried their baggage and was useful to ride in wherever there were good roads, and since it had accompanied them so far in their travels they felt it their duty to preserve it. So Zeb and the Wizard set to work and took off the wheels and the top, and then they put the buggy edgewise, so it would take up the smallest space. In this position they managed, with the aid of the patient cab-horse, to drag the vehicle through the narrow part of the passage. It was not a great distance, fortunately, and when the path grew broader they put the buggy together again and proceeded more comfortably. But the road was nothing more than a series of rifts or cracks in the mountain, and it went zig-zag in every direction, slanting first up and then down until they were puzzled as to whether they were any nearer to the top of the earth than when they had started, hours before. "Anyhow," said Dorothy, "we've 'scaped those awful Gurgles, and that's _one_ comfort!" [Illustration: "WHY IT'S A DRAGON!"] "Probably the Gargoyles are still busy trying to put out the fire," returned the Wizard. "But even if they succeeded in doing that it would be very difficult for them to fly amongst these rocks; so I am sure we need fear them no longer." Once in a while they would come to a deep crack in the floor, which made the way quite dangerous; but there was still enough oil in the lanterns to give them light, and the cracks were not so wide but that they were able to jump over them. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of loose rock, where Jim could scarcely drag the buggy. At such times Dorothy, Zeb and the Wizard all pushed behind, and lifted the wheels over the roughest places; so they managed, by dint of hard work, to keep going. But the little party was both weary and discouraged when at last, on turning a sharp corner, the wanderers found themselves in a vast cave arching high over their heads and having a smooth, level floor. The cave was circular in shape, and all around its edge, near to the ground, appeared groups of dull yellow lights, two of them being always side by side. These were motionless at first, but soon began to flicker more brightly and to sway slowly from side to side and then up and down. "What sort of a place is this?" asked the boy, trying to see more clearly through the gloom. "I cannot imagine, I'm sure," answered the Wizard, also peering about. "Woogh!" snarled Eureka, arching her back until her hair stood straight on end; "it's a den of alligators, or crocodiles, or some other dreadful creatures! Don't you see their terrible eyes?" "Eureka sees better in the dark than we can," whispered Dorothy. "Tell us, dear, what do the creatures look like?" she asked, addressing her pet. "I simply can't describe 'em," answered the kitten, shuddering. "Their eyes are like pie-plates and their mouths like coal-scuttles. But their bodies don't seem very big." "Where are they?" enquired the girl. "They are in little pockets all around the edge of this cavern. Oh, Dorothy--you can't imagine what horrid things they are! They're uglier than the Gargoyles." "Tut-tut! be careful how you criticise your neighbors," spoke a rasping voice near by. "As a matter of fact you are rather ugly-looking creatures yourselves, and I'm sure mother has often told us we were the loveliest and prettiest things in all the world." Hearing these words our friends turned in the direction of the sound, and the Wizard held his lanterns so that their light would flood one of the little pockets in the rock. "Why, it's a dragon!" he exclaimed. "No," answered the owner of the big yellow eyes which were blinking at them so steadily; "you are wrong about that. We hope to grow to be dragons some day, but just now we're only dragonettes." "What's that?" asked Dorothy, gazing fearfully at the great scaley head, the yawning mouth and the big eyes. "Young dragons, of course; but we are not allowed to call ourselves real dragons until we get our full growth," was the reply. "The big dragons are very proud, and don't think children amount to much; but mother says that some day we will all be very powerful and important." "Where is your mother?" asked the Wizard, anxiously looking around. "She has gone up to the top of the earth to hunt for our dinner. If she has good luck she will bring us an elephant, or a brace of rhinoceri, or perhaps a few dozen people to stay our hunger." "Oh; are you hungry?" enquired Dorothy, drawing back. "Very," said the dragonette, snapping its jaws. "And--and--do you eat people?" "To be sure, when we can get them. But they've been very scarce for a few years and we usually have to be content with elephants or buffaloes," answered the creature, in a regretful tone. "How old are you?" enquired Zeb, who stared at the yellow eyes as if fascinated. "Quite young, I grieve to say; and all of my brothers and sisters that you see here are practically my own age. If I remember rightly, we were sixty-six years old the day before yesterday." "But that isn't young!" cried Dorothy, in amazement. "No?" drawled the dragonette; "it seems to me very babyish." "How old is your mother?" asked the girl. "Mother's about two thousand years old; but she carelessly lost track of her age a few centuries ago and skipped several hundreds. She's a little fussy, you know, and afraid of growing old, being a widow and still in her prime." "I should think she would be," agreed Dorothy. Then, after a moment's thought, she asked: "Are we friends or enemies? I mean, will you be good to us, or do you intend to eat us?" "As for that, we dragonettes would love to eat you, my child; but unfortunately mother has tied all our tails around the rocks at the back of our individual caves, so that we can not crawl out to get you. If you choose to come nearer we will make a mouthful of you in a wink; but unless you do you will remain quite safe." There was a regretful accent in the creature's voice, and at the words all the other dragonettes sighed dismally. Dorothy felt relieved. Presently she asked: "Why did your mother tie your tails?" "Oh, she is sometimes gone for several weeks on her hunting trips, and if we were not tied we would crawl all over the mountain and fight with each other and get into a lot of mischief. Mother usually knows what she is about, but she made a mistake this time; for you are sure to escape us unless you come too near, and you probably won't do that." "No, indeed!" said the little girl. "We don't wish to be eaten by such awful beasts." "Permit me to say," returned the dragonette, "that you are rather impolite to call us names, knowing that we cannot resent your insults. We consider ourselves very beautiful in appearance, for mother has told us so, and she knows. And we are of an excellent family and have a pedigree that I challenge any humans to equal, as it extends back about twenty thousand years, to the time of the famous Green Dragon of Atlantis, who lived in a time when humans had not yet been created. Can you match that pedigree, little girl?" "Well," said Dorothy, "I was born on a farm in Kansas, and I guess that's being just as 'spectable and haughty as living in a cave with your tail tied to a rock. If it isn't I'll have to stand it, that's all." "Tastes differ," murmured the dragonette, slowly drooping its scaley eyelids over its yellow eyes, until they looked like half-moons. Being reassured by the fact that the creatures could not crawl out of their rock-pockets, the children and the Wizard now took time to examine them more closely. The heads of the dragonettes were as big as barrels and covered with hard, greenish scales that glittered brightly under the light of the lanterns. Their front legs, which grew just back of their heads, were also strong and big; but their bodies were smaller around than their heads, and dwindled away in a long line until their tails were slim as a shoe-string. Dorothy thought, if it had taken them sixty-six years to grow to this size, that it would be fully a hundred years more before they could hope to call themselves dragons, and that seemed like a good while to wait to grow up. "It occurs to me," said the Wizard, "that we ought to get out of this place before the mother dragon comes back." "Don't hurry," called one of the dragonettes; "mother will be glad to meet you, I'm sure." "You may be right," replied the Wizard, "but we're a little particular about associating with strangers. Will you kindly tell us which way your mother went to get on top the earth?" "That is not a fair question to ask us," declared another dragonette. "For, if we told you truly, you might escape us altogether; and if we told you an untruth we would be naughty and deserve to be punished." "Then," decided Dorothy, "we must find our way out the best we can." They circled all around the cavern, keeping a good distance away from the blinking yellow eyes of the dragonettes, and presently discovered that there were two paths leading from the wall opposite to the place where they had entered. They selected one of these at a venture and hurried along it as fast as they could go, for they had no idea when the mother dragon would be back and were very anxious not to make her acquaintance. [Illustration] Chapter 14. OZMA USES THE MAGIC BELT For a considerable distance the way led straight upward in a gentle incline, and the wanderers made such good progress that they grew hopeful and eager, thinking they might see sunshine at any minute. But at length they came unexpectedly upon a huge rock that shut off the passage and blocked them from proceeding a single step farther. This rock was separate from the rest of the mountain and was in motion, turning slowly around and around as if upon a pivot. When first they came to it there was a solid wall before them; but presently it revolved until there was exposed a wide, smooth path across it to the other side. This appeared so unexpectedly that they were unprepared to take advantage of it at first, and allowed the rocky wall to swing around again before they had decided to pass over. But they knew now that there was a means of escape and so waited patiently until the path appeared for the second time. The children and the Wizard rushed across the moving rock and sprang into the passage beyond, landing safely though a little out of breath. Jim the cab-horse came last, and the rocky wall almost caught him; for just as he leaped to the floor of the further passage the wall swung across it and a loose stone that the buggy wheels knocked against fell into the narrow crack where the rock turned, and became wedged there. They heard a crunching, grinding sound, a loud snap, and the turn-table came to a stop with its broadest surface shutting off the path from which they had come. "Never mind," said Zeb, "we don't want to get back, anyhow." "I'm not so sure of that," returned Dorothy. "The mother dragon may come down and catch us here." "It is possible," agreed the Wizard, "if this proves to be the path she usually takes. But I have been examining this tunnel, and I do not see any signs of so large a beast having passed through it." "Then we're all right," said the girl, "for if the dragon went the other way she can't poss'bly get to us now." "Of course not, my dear. But there is another thing to consider. The mother dragon probably knows the road to the earth's surface, and if she went the other way then we have come the wrong way," said the Wizard, thoughtfully. "Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "That would be unlucky, wouldn't it?" "Very. Unless this passage also leads to the top of the earth," said Zeb. "For my part, if we manage to get out of here I'll be glad it isn't the way the dragon goes." "So will I," returned Dorothy. "It's enough to have your pedigree flung in your face by those saucy dragonettes. No one knows what the mother might do." They now moved on again, creeping slowly up another steep incline. The lanterns were beginning to grow dim, and the Wizard poured the remaining oil from one into the other, so that the one light would last longer. But their journey was almost over, for in a short time they reached a small cave from which there was no further outlet. They did not realize their ill fortune at first, for their hearts were gladdened by the sight of a ray of sunshine coming through a small crack in the roof of the cave, far overhead. That meant that their world--the real world--was not very far away, and that the succession of perilous adventures they had encountered had at last brought them near the earth's surface, which meant home to them. But when the adventurers looked more carefully around them they discovered that they were in a strong prison from which there was no hope of escape. "But we're _almost_ on earth again," cried Dorothy, "for there is the sun--the most _beau'ful_ sun that shines!" and she pointed eagerly at the crack in the distant roof. "Almost on earth isn't being there," said the kitten, in a discontented tone. "It wouldn't be possible for even me to get up to that crack--or through it if I got there." "It appears that the path ends here," announced the Wizard, gloomily. "And there is no way to go back," added Zeb, with a low whistle of perplexity. "I was sure it would come to this, in the end," remarked the old cab-horse. "Folks don't fall into the middle of the earth and then get back again to tell of their adventures--not in real life. And the whole thing has been unnatural because that cat and I are both able to talk your language, and to understand the words you say." "And so can the nine tiny piglets," added Eureka. "Don't forget them, for I may have to eat them, after all." "I've heard animals talk before," said Dorothy, "and no harm came of it." "Were you ever before shut up in a cave, far under the earth, with no way of getting out?" enquired the horse, seriously. "No," answered Dorothy. "But don't you lose heart, Jim, for I'm sure this isn't the end of our story, by any means." The reference to the piglets reminded the Wizard that his pets had not enjoyed much exercise lately, and must be tired of their prison in his pocket. So he sat down upon the floor of the cave, brought the piglets out one by one, and allowed them to run around as much as they pleased. "My dears," he said to them, "I'm afraid I've got you into a lot of trouble, and that you will never again be able to leave this gloomy cave." "What's wrong?" asked a piglet. "We've been in the dark quite a while, and you may as well explain what has happened." The Wizard told them of the misfortune that had overtaken the wanderers. "Well," said another piglet, "you are a wizard, are you not?" "I am," replied the little man. "Then you can do a few wizzes and get us out of this hole," declared the tiny one, with much confidence. "I could if I happened to be a real wizard," returned the master sadly. "But I'm not, my piggy-wees; I'm a humbug wizard." "Nonsense!" cried several of the piglets, together. "You can ask Dorothy," said the little man, in an injured tone. "It's true enough," returned the girl, earnestly. "Our friend Oz is merely a humbug wizard, for he once proved it to me. He can do several very wonderful things--if he knows how. But he can't wiz a single thing if he hasn't the tools and machinery to work with." "Thank you, my dear, for doing me justice," responded the Wizard, gratefully. "To be accused of being a real wizard, when I'm not, is a slander I will not tamely submit to. But I am one of the greatest humbug wizards that ever lived, and you will realize this when we have all starved together and our bones are scattered over the floor of this lonely cave." "I don't believe we'll realize anything, when it comes to that," remarked Dorothy, who had been deep in thought. "But I'm not going to scatter my bones just yet, because I need them, and you prob'ly need yours, too." "We are helpless to escape," sighed the Wizard. "_We_ may be helpless," answered Dorothy, smiling at him, "but there are others who can do more than we can. Cheer up, friends. I'm sure Ozma will help us." "Ozma!" exclaimed the Wizard. "Who is Ozma?" "The girl that rules the marvelous Land of Oz," was the reply. "She's a friend of mine, for I met her in the Land of Ev, not long ago, and went to Oz with her." "For the second time?" asked the Wizard, with great interest. "Yes. The first time I went to Oz I found you there, ruling the Emerald City. After you went up in a balloon, and escaped us, I got back to Kansas by means of a pair of magical silver shoes." "I remember those shoes," said the little man, nodding. "They once belonged to the Wicked Witch. Have you them here with you?" "No; I lost them somewhere in the air," explained the child. "But the second time I went to the Land of Oz I owned the Nome King's Magic Belt, which is much more powerful than were the Silver Shoes." "Where is that Magic Belt?" enquired the Wizard, who had listened with great interest. "Ozma has it; for its powers won't work in a common, ordinary country like the United States. Anyone in a fairy country like the Land of Oz can do anything with it; so I left it with my friend the Princess Ozma, who used it to wish me in Australia with Uncle Henry." "And were you?" asked Zeb, astonished at what he heard. "Of course; in just a jiffy. And Ozma has an enchanted picture hanging in her room that shows her the exact scene where any of her friends may be, at any time she chooses. All she has to do is to say: 'I wonder what So-and-so is doing,' and at once the picture shows where her friend is and what the friend is doing. That's _real_ magic, Mr. Wizard; isn't it? Well, every day at four o'clock Ozma has promised to look at me in that picture, and if I am in need of help I am to make her a certain sign and she will put on the Nome King's Magic Belt and wish me to be with her in Oz." "Do you mean that Princess Ozma will see this cave in her enchanted picture, and see all of us here, and what we are doing?" demanded Zeb. "Of course; when it is four o'clock," she replied, with a laugh at his startled expression. "And when you make a sign she will bring you to her in the Land of Oz?" continued the boy. "That's it, exactly; by means of the Magic Belt." "Then," said the Wizard, "you will be saved, little Dorothy; and I am very glad of it. The rest of us will die much more cheerfully when we know you have escaped our sad fate." "_I_ won't die cheerfully!" protested the kitten. "There's nothing cheerful about dying that I could ever see, although they say a cat has nine lives, and so must die nine times." "Have you ever died yet?" enquired the boy. "No, and I'm not anxious to begin," said Eureka. "Don't worry, dear," Dorothy exclaimed, "I'll hold you in my arms, and take you with me." "Take us, too!" cried the nine tiny piglets, all in one breath. "Perhaps I can," answered Dorothy. "I'll try." "Couldn't you manage to hold me in your arms?" asked the cab-horse. Dorothy laughed. "I'll do better than that," she promised, "for I can easily save you all, once I am myself in the Land of Oz." "How?" they asked. "By using the Magic Belt. All I need do is to wish you with me, and there you'll be--safe in the royal palace!" "Good!" cried Zeb. "I built that palace, and the Emerald City, too," remarked the Wizard, in a thoughtful tone, "and I'd like to see them again, for I was very happy among the Munchkins and Winkies and Quadlings and Gillikins." "Who are they?" asked the boy. "The four nations that inhabit the Land of Oz," was the reply. "I wonder if they would treat me nicely if I went there again." "Of course they would!" declared Dorothy. "They are still proud of their former Wizard, and often speak of you kindly." "Do you happen to know whatever became of the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow?" he enquired. "They live in Oz yet," said the girl, "and are very important people." "And the Cowardly Lion?" "Oh, he lives there too, with his friend the Hungry Tiger; and Billina is there, because she liked the place better than Kansas, and wouldn't go with me to Australia." "I'm afraid I don't know the Hungry Tiger and Billina," said the Wizard, shaking his head. "Is Billina a girl?" "No; she's a yellow hen, and a great friend of mine. You're sure to like Billina, when you know her," asserted Dorothy. "Your friends sound like a menagerie," remarked Zeb, uneasily. "Couldn't you wish me in some safer place than Oz." "Don't worry," replied the girl. "You'll just love the folks in Oz, when you get acquainted. What time is it, Mr. Wizard?" The little man looked at his watch--a big silver one that he carried in his vest pocket. "Half-past three," he said. "Then we must wait for half an hour," she continued; "but it won't take long, after that, to carry us all to the Emerald City." They sat silently thinking for a time. Then Jim suddenly asked: "Are there any horses in Oz?" "Only one," replied Dorothy, "and he's a sawhorse." "A what?" "A sawhorse. Princess Ozma once brought him to life with a witch-powder, when she was a boy." "Was Ozma once a boy?" asked Zeb, wonderingly. "Yes; a wicked witch enchanted her, so she could not rule her kingdom. But she's a girl now, and the sweetest, loveliest girl in all the world." "A sawhorse is a thing they saw boards on," remarked Jim, with a sniff. "It is when it's not alive," acknowledged the girl. "But this sawhorse can trot as fast as you can, Jim; and he's very wise, too." "Pah! I'll race the miserable wooden donkey any day in the week!" cried the cab-horse. Dorothy did not reply to that. She felt that Jim would know more about the Saw-Horse later on. The time dragged wearily enough to the eager watchers, but finally the Wizard announced that four o'clock had arrived, and Dorothy caught up the kitten and began to make the signal that had been agreed upon to the far-away, invisible Ozma. "Nothing seems to happen," said Zeb, doubtfully. "Oh, we must give Ozma time to put on the Magic Belt," replied the girl. She had scarcely spoken the words when she suddenly disappeared from the cave, and with her went the kitten. There had been no sound of any kind and no warning. One moment Dorothy sat beside them with the kitten in her lap, and a moment later the horse, the piglets, the Wizard and the boy were all that remained in the underground prison. [Illustration: DOROTHY MADE THE SIGNAL.] "I believe we will soon follow her," announced the Wizard, in a tone of great relief; "for I know something about the magic of the fairyland that is called the Land of Oz. Let us be ready, for we may be sent for any minute." He put the piglets safely away in his pocket again and then he and Zeb got into the buggy and sat expectantly upon the seat. "Will it hurt?" asked the boy, in a voice that trembled a little. "Not at all," replied the Wizard. "It will all happen as quick as a wink." And that was the way it did happen. The cab-horse gave a nervous start and Zeb began to rub his eyes to make sure he was not asleep. For they were in the streets of a beautiful emerald-green city, bathed in a grateful green light that was especially pleasing to their eyes, and surrounded by merry faced people in gorgeous green-and-gold costumes of many extraordinary designs. Before them were the jewel-studded gates of a magnificent palace, and now the gates opened slowly as if inviting them to enter the courtyard, where splendid flowers were blooming and pretty fountains shot their silvery sprays into the air. Zeb shook the reins to rouse the cab-horse from his stupor of amazement, for the people were beginning to gather around and stare at the strangers. "Gid-dap!" cried the boy, and at the word Jim slowly trotted into the courtyard and drew the buggy along the jewelled driveway to the great entrance of the royal palace. [Illustration] CHAPTER 15. OLD FRIENDS ARE REUNITED Many servants dressed in handsome uniforms stood ready to welcome the new arrivals, and when the Wizard got out of the buggy a pretty girl in a green gown cried out in surprise: "Why, it's Oz, the Wonderful Wizard, come back again!" The little man looked at her closely and then took both the maiden's hands in his and shook them cordially. "On my word," he exclaimed, "it's little Jellia Jamb--as pert and pretty as ever!" "Why not, Mr. Wizard?" asked Jellia, bowing low. "But I'm afraid you cannot rule the Emerald City, as you used to, because we now have a beautiful Princess whom everyone loves dearly." "And the people will not willingly part with her," added a tall soldier in a Captain-General's uniform. The Wizard turned to look at him. "Did you not wear green whiskers at one time?" he asked. "Yes," said the soldier; "but I shaved them off long ago, and since then I have risen from a private to be the Chief General of the Royal Armies." "That's nice," said the little man. "But I assure you, my good people, that I do not wish to rule the Emerald City," he added, earnestly. "In that case you are very welcome!" cried all the servants, and it pleased the Wizard to note the respect with which the royal retainers bowed before him. His fame had not been forgotten in the Land of Oz, by any means. "Where is Dorothy?" enquired Zeb, anxiously, as he left the buggy and stood beside his friend the little Wizard. "She is with the Princess Ozma, in the private rooms of the palace," replied Jellia Jamb. "But she has ordered me to make you welcome and to show you to your apartments." The boy looked around him with wondering eyes. Such magnificence and wealth as was displayed in this palace was more than he had ever dreamed of, and he could scarcely believe that all the gorgeous glitter was real and not tinsel. "What's to become of me?" asked the horse, uneasily. He had seen considerable of life in the cities in his younger days, and knew that this regal palace was no place for him. It perplexed even Jellia Jamb, for a time, to know what to do with the animal. The green maiden was much astonished at the sight of so unusual a creature, for horses were unknown in this Land; but those who lived in the Emerald City were apt to be astonished by queer sights, so after inspecting the cab-horse and noting the mild look in his big eyes the girl decided not to be afraid of him. "There are no stables here," said the Wizard, "unless some have been built since I went away." "We have never needed them before," answered Jellia; "for the Sawhorse lives in a room of the palace, being much smaller and more natural in appearance than this great beast you have brought with you." "Do you mean that I'm a freak?" asked Jim, angrily. "Oh, no," she hastened to say, "there may be many more like you in the place you came from, but in Oz any horse but a Sawhorse is unusual." This mollified Jim a little, and after some thought the green maiden decided to give the cab-horse a room in the palace, such a big building having many rooms that were seldom in use. So Zeb unharnessed Jim, and several of the servants then led the horse around to the rear, where they selected a nice large apartment that he could have all to himself. Then Jellia said to the Wizard: "Your own room--which was back of the great Throne Room--has been vacant ever since you left us. Would you like it again?" "Yes, indeed!" returned the little man. "It will seem like being at home again, for I lived in that room for many, many years." He knew the way to it, and a servant followed him, carrying his satchel. Zeb was also escorted to a room--so grand and beautiful that he almost feared to sit in the chairs or lie upon the bed, lest he might dim their splendor. In the closets he discovered many fancy costumes of rich velvets and brocades, and one of the attendants told him to dress himself in any of the clothes that pleased him and to be prepared to dine with the Princess and Dorothy in an hour's time. Opening from the chamber was a fine bath-room having a marble tub with perfumed water; so the boy, still dazed by the novelty of his surroundings, indulged in a good bath and then selected a maroon velvet costume with silver buttons to replace his own soiled and much worn clothing. There were silk stockings and soft leather slippers with diamond buckles to accompany his new costume, and when he was fully dressed Zeb looked much more dignified and imposing than ever before in his life. He was all ready when an attendant came to escort him to the presence of the Princess; he followed bashfully and was ushered into a room more dainty and attractive than it was splendid. Here he found Dorothy seated beside a young girl so marvelously beautiful that the boy stopped suddenly with a gasp of admiration. But Dorothy sprang up and ran to seize her friend's hand, drawing him impulsively toward the lovely Princess, who smiled most graciously upon her guest. Then the Wizard entered, and his presence relieved the boy's embarrassment. The little man was clothed in black velvet, with many sparkling emerald ornaments decorating his breast; but his bald head and wrinkled features made him appear more amusing than impressive. Ozma had been quite curious to meet the famous man who had built the Emerald City and united the Munchkins, Gillikins, Quadlings and Winkies into one people; so when they were all four seated at the dinner table the Princess said: "Please tell me, Mr. Wizard, whether you called yourself Oz after this great country, or whether you believe my country is called Oz after you. It is a matter that I have long wished to enquire about, because you are of a strange race and my own name is Ozma. No one, I am sure, is better able to explain this mystery than you." "That is true," answered the little Wizard; "therefore it will give me pleasure to explain my connection with your country. In the first place, I must tell you that I was born in Omaha, and my father, who was a politician, named me Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs, Diggs being the last name because he could think of no more to go before it. Taken altogether, it was a dreadfully long name to weigh down a poor innocent child, and one of the hardest lessons I ever learned was to remember my own name. When I grew up I just called myself O. Z., because the other initials were P-I-N-H-E-A-D; and that spelled 'pinhead,' which was a reflection on my intelligence." "Surely no one could blame you for cutting your name short," said Ozma, sympathetically. "But didn't you cut it almost too short?" "Perhaps so," replied the Wizard. "When a young man I ran away from home and joined a circus. I used to call myself a Wizard, and do tricks of ventriloquism." "What does that mean?" asked the Princess. "Throwing my voice into any object I pleased, to make it appear that the object was speaking instead of me. Also I began to make balloon ascensions. On my balloon and on all the other articles I used in the circus I painted the two initials: 'O. Z.', to show that those things belonged to me. "One day my balloon ran away with me and brought me across the deserts to this beautiful country. When the people saw me come from the sky they naturally thought me some superior creature, and bowed down before me. I told them I was a Wizard, and showed them some easy tricks that amazed them; and when they saw the initials painted on the balloon they called me Oz." "Now I begin to understand," said the Princess, smiling. "At that time," continued the Wizard, busily eating his soup while talking, "there were four separate countries in this Land, each one of the four being ruled by a Witch. But the people thought my power was greater than that of the Witches; and perhaps the Witches thought so too, for they never dared oppose me. I ordered the Emerald City to be built just where the four countries cornered together, and when it was completed I announced myself the Ruler of the Land of Oz, which included all the four countries of the Munchkins, the Gillikins, the Winkies and the Quadlings. Over this Land I ruled in peace for many years, until I grew old and longed to see my native city once again. So when Dorothy was first blown to this place by a cyclone I arranged to go away with her in a balloon; but the balloon escaped too soon and carried me back alone. After many adventures I reached Omaha, only to find that all my old friends were dead or had moved away. So, having nothing else to do, I joined a circus again, and made my balloon ascensions until the earthquake caught me." "That is quite a history," said Ozma; "but there is a little more history about the Land of Oz that you do not seem to understand--perhaps for the reason that no one ever told it you. Many years before you came here this Land was united under one Ruler, as it is now, and the Ruler's name was always 'Oz', which means in our language 'Great and Good'; or, if the Ruler happened to be a woman, her name was always 'Ozma.' But once upon a time four Witches leagued together to depose the king and rule the four parts of the kingdom themselves; so when the Ruler, my grandfather, was hunting one day, one Wicked Witch named Mombi stole him and carried him away, keeping him a close prisoner. Then the Witches divided up the kingdom, and ruled the four parts of it until you came here. That was why the people were so glad to see you, and why they thought from your initials that you were their rightful ruler." "But, at that time," said the Wizard, thoughtfully, "there were two Good Witches and two Wicked Witches ruling in the land." "Yes," replied Ozma, "because a good Witch had conquered Mombi in the North and Glinda the Good had conquered the evil Witch in the South. But Mombi was still my grandfather's jailor, and afterward my father's jailor. When I was born she transformed me into a boy, hoping that no one would ever recognize me and know that I was the rightful Princess of the Land of Oz. But I escaped from her and am now the Ruler of my people." "I am very glad of that," said the Wizard, "and hope you will consider me one of your most faithful and devoted subjects." "We owe a great deal to the Wonderful Wizard," continued the Princess, "for it was you who built this splendid Emerald City." "Your people built it," he answered. "I only bossed the job, as we say in Omaha." "But you ruled it wisely and well for many years," said she, "and made the people proud of your magical art. So, as you are now too old to wander abroad and work in a circus, I offer you a home here as long as you live. You shall be the Official Wizard of my kingdom, and be treated with every respect and consideration." "I accept your kind offer with gratitude, gracious Princess," the little man said, in a soft voice, and they could all see that tear-drops were standing in his keen old eyes. It meant a good deal to him to secure a home like this. "He's only a humbug Wizard, though," said Dorothy, smiling at him. "And that is the safest kind of a Wizard to have," replied Ozma, promptly. "Oz can do some good tricks, humbug or no humbug," announced Zeb, who was now feeling more at ease. "He shall amuse us with his tricks tomorrow," said the Princess. "I have sent messengers to summon all of Dorothy's old friends to meet her and give her welcome, and they ought to arrive very soon, now." Indeed, the dinner was no sooner finished than in rushed the Scarecrow, to hug Dorothy in his padded arms and tell her how glad he was to see her again. The Wizard was also most heartily welcomed by the straw man, who was an important personage in the Land of Oz. "How are your brains?" enquired the little humbug, as he grasped the soft, stuffed hands of his old friend. "Working finely," answered the Scarecrow. "I'm very certain, Oz, that you gave me the best brains in the world, for I can think with them day and night, when all other brains are fast asleep." [Illustration: DOROTHY AND OZMA.] "How long did you rule the Emerald City, after I left here?" was the next question. "Quite awhile, until I was conquered by a girl named General Jinjur. But Ozma soon conquered her, with the help of Glinda the Good, and after that I went to live with Nick Chopper, the Tin Woodman." Just then a loud cackling was heard outside; and, when a servant threw open the door with a low bow, a yellow hen strutted in. Dorothy sprang forward and caught the fluffy fowl in her arms, uttering at the same time a glad cry. "Oh, Billina!" she said; "how fat and sleek you've grown." "Why shouldn't I?" asked the hen, in a sharp, clear voice. "I live on the fat of the land--don't I, Ozma?" "You have everything you wish for," said the Princess. Around Billina's neck was a string of beautiful pearls, and on her legs were bracelets of emeralds. She nestled herself comfortably in Dorothy's lap until the kitten gave a snarl of jealous anger and leaped up with a sharp claw fiercely bared to strike Billina a blow. But the little girl gave the angry kitten such a severe cuff that it jumped down again without daring to scratch. "How horrid of you, Eureka!" cried Dorothy. "Is that the way to treat my friends?" "You have queer friends, seems to me," replied the kitten, in a surly tone. "Seems to me the same way," said Billina, scornfully, "if that beastly cat is one of them." "Look here!" said Dorothy, sternly. "I won't have any quarrelling in the Land of Oz, I can tell you! Everybody lives in peace here, and loves everybody else; and unless you two, Billina and Eureka, make up and be friends, I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you both home again, _immejitly_. So, there!" They were both much frightened at the threat, and promised meekly to be good. But it was never noticed that they became very warm friends, for all of that. And now the Tin Woodman arrived, his body most beautifully nickle-plated, so that it shone splendidly in the brilliant light of the room. The Tin Woodman loved Dorothy most tenderly, and welcomed with joy the return of the little old Wizard. "Sir," said he to the latter, "I never can thank you enough for the excellent heart you once gave me. It has made me many friends, I assure you, and it beats as kindly and lovingly today as it ever did." "I'm glad to hear that," said the Wizard. "I was afraid it would get moldy in that tin body of yours." "Not at all," returned Nick Chopper. "It keeps finely, being preserved in my air-tight chest." Zeb was a little shy when first introduced to these queer people; but they were so friendly and sincere that he soon grew to admire them very much, even finding some good qualities in the yellow hen. But he became nervous again when the next visitor was announced. "This," said Princess Ozma, "is my friend Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., who assisted me one time when I was in great distress, and is now the Dean of the Royal College of Athletic Science." "Ah," said the Wizard; "I'm pleased to meet so distinguished a personage." "H. M.," said the Woggle-Bug, pompously, "means Highly Magnified; and T. E. means Thoroughly Educated. I am, in reality, a very big bug, and doubtless the most intelligent being in all this broad domain." "How well you disguise it," said the Wizard. "But I don't doubt your word in the least." "Nobody doubts it, sir," replied the Woggle-Bug, and drawing a book from its pocket the strange insect turned its back on the company and sat down in a corner to read. Nobody minded this rudeness, which might have seemed more impolite in one less thoroughly educated; so they straightway forgot him and joined in a merry conversation that kept them well amused until bed-time arrived. [Illustration] CHAPTER 16. JIM, THE CAB-HORSE Jim the Cab-horse found himself in possession of a large room with a green marble floor and carved marble wainscoting, which was so stately in its appearance that it would have awed anyone else. Jim accepted it as a mere detail, and at his command the attendants gave his coat a good rubbing, combed his mane and tail, and washed his hoofs and fetlocks. Then they told him dinner would be served directly and he replied that they could not serve it too quickly to suit his convenience. First they brought him a steaming bowl of soup, which the horse eyed in dismay. "Take that stuff away!" he commanded. "Do you take me for a salamander?" They obeyed at once, and next served a fine large turbot on a silver platter, with drawn gravey poured over it. "Fish!" cried Jim, with a sniff. "Do you take me for a tom-cat? Away with it!" The servants were a little discouraged, but soon they brought in a great tray containing two dozen nicely roasted quail on toast. "Well, well!" said the horse, now thoroughly provoked. "Do you take me for a weasel? How stupid and ignorant you are, in the Land of Oz, and what dreadful things you feed upon! Is there nothing that is decent to eat in this palace?" The trembling servants sent for the Royal Steward, who came in haste and said: "What would your Highness like for dinner?" "Highness!" repeated Jim, who was unused to such titles. "You are at least six feet high, and that is higher than any other animal in this country," said the Steward. "Well, my Highness would like some oats," declared the horse. "Oats? We have no whole oats," the Steward replied, with much defference. "But there is any quantity of oatmeal, which we often cook for breakfast. Oatmeal is a breakfast dish," added the Steward, humbly. "I'll make it a dinner dish," said Jim. "Fetch it on, but don't cook it, as you value your life." You see, the respect shown the worn-out old cab-horse made him a little arrogant, and he forgot he was a guest, never having been treated otherwise than as a servant since the day he was born, until his arrival in the Land of Oz. But the royal attendants did not heed the animal's ill temper. They soon mixed a tub of oatmeal with a little water, and Jim ate it with much relish. Then the servants heaped a lot of rugs upon the floor and the old horse slept on the softest bed he had ever known in his life. In the morning, as soon as it was daylight, he resolved to take a walk and try to find some grass for breakfast; so he ambled calmly through the handsome arch of the doorway, turned the corner of the palace, wherein all seemed asleep, and came face to face with the Sawhorse. Jim stopped abruptly, being startled and amazed. The Sawhorse stopped at the same time and stared at the other with its queer protruding eyes, which were mere knots in the log that formed its body. The legs of the Sawhorse were four sticks driven into holes bored in the log; its tail was a small branch that had been left by accident and its mouth a place chopped in one end of the body which projected a little and served as a head. The ends of the wooden legs were shod with plates of solid gold, and the saddle of the Princess Ozma, which was of red leather set with sparkling diamonds, was strapped to the clumsy body. [Illustration: "FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHAT SORT OF A BEING ARE YOU?"] Jim's eyes stuck out as much as those of the Sawhorse, and he stared at the creature with his ears erect and his long head drawn back until it rested against his arched neck. In this comical position the two horses circled slowly around each other for a while, each being unable to realize what the singular thing might be which it now beheld for the first time. Then Jim exclaimed: "For goodness sake, what sort of a being are you?" "I'm a Sawhorse," replied the other. "Oh; I believe I've heard of you," said the cab-horse; "but you are unlike anything that I expected to see." "I do not doubt it," the Sawhorse observed, with a tone of pride. "I am considered quite unusual." "You are, indeed. But a rickety wooden thing like you has no right to be alive." "I couldn't help it," returned the other, rather crestfallen. "Ozma sprinkled me with a magic powder, and I just had to live. I know I'm not much account; but I'm the only horse in all the Land of Oz, so they treat me with great respect." "You, a horse!" "Oh, not a real one, of course. There are no real horses here at all. But I'm a splendid imitation of one." Jim gave an indignant neigh. "Look at me!" he cried. "Behold a real horse!" The wooden animal gave a start, and then examined the other intently. "Is it possible that you are a Real Horse?" he murmured. "Not only possible, but true," replied Jim, who was gratified by the impression he had created. "It is proved by my fine points. For example, look at the long hairs on my tail, with which I can whisk away the flies." "The flies never trouble me," said the Saw-Horse. "And notice my great strong teeth, with which I nibble the grass." "It is not necessary for me to eat," observed the Saw-horse. "Also examine my broad chest, which enables me to draw deep, full breaths," said Jim, proudly. "I have no need to breathe," returned the other. "No; you miss many pleasures," remarked the cab-horse, pityingly. "You do not know the relief of brushing away a fly that has bitten you, nor the delight of eating delicious food, nor the satisfaction of drawing a long breath of fresh, pure air. You may be an imitation of a horse, but you're a mighty poor one." "Oh, I cannot hope ever to be like you," sighed the Sawhorse. "But I am glad to meet at last a Real Horse. You are certainly the most beautiful creature I ever beheld." This praise won Jim completely. To be called beautiful was a novelty in his experience. Said he: "Your chief fault, my friend, is in being made of wood, and that I suppose you cannot help. Real horses, like myself, are made of flesh and blood and bones." "I can see the bones all right," replied the Sawhorse, "and they are admirable and distinct. Also I can see the flesh. But the blood, I suppose, is tucked away inside." "Exactly," said Jim. "What good is it?" asked the Sawhorse. Jim did not know, but he would not tell the Sawhorse that. "If anything cuts me," he replied, "the blood runs out to show where I am cut. You, poor thing! cannot even bleed when you are hurt." "But I am never hurt," said the Sawhorse. "Once in a while I get broken up some, but I am easily repaired and put in good order again. And I never feel a break or a splinter in the least." Jim was almost tempted to envy the wooden horse for being unable to feel pain; but the creature was so absurdly unnatural that he decided he would not change places with it under any circumstances. "How did you happen to be shod with gold?" he asked. "Princess Ozma did that," was the reply; "and it saves my legs from wearing out. We've had a good many adventures together, Ozma and I, and she likes me." The cab-horse was about to reply when suddenly he gave a start and a neigh of terror and stood trembling like a leaf. For around the corner had come two enormous savage beasts, treading so lightly that they were upon him before he was aware of their presence. Jim was in the act of plunging down the path to escape when the Sawhorse cried out: "Stop, my brother! Stop, Real Horse! These are friends, and will do you no harm." Jim hesitated, eyeing the beasts fearfully. One was an enormous Lion with clear, intelligent eyes, a tawney mane bushy and well kept, and a body like yellow plush. The other was a great Tiger with purple stripes around his lithe body, powerful limbs, and eyes that showed through the half closed lids like coals of fire. The huge forms of these monarchs of the forest and jungle were enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart, and it is no wonder Jim was afraid to face them. But the Sawhorse introduced the stranger in a calm tone, saying, "This, noble Horse, is my friend the Cowardly Lion, who is the valiant King of the Forest, but at the same time a faithful vassal of Princess Ozma. And this is the Hungry Tiger, the terror of the jungle, who longs to devour fat babies but is prevented by his conscience from doing so. These royal beasts are both warm friends of little Dorothy and have come to the Emerald City this morning to welcome her to our fairyland." Hearing these words Jim resolved to conquer his alarm. He bowed his head with as much dignity as he could muster toward the savage looking beasts, who in return nodded in a friendly way. "Is not the Real Horse a beautiful animal?" asked the Sawhorse admiringly. "That is doubtless a matter of taste," returned the Lion. "In the forest he would be thought ungainly, because his face is stretched out and his neck is uselessly long. His joints, I notice, are swollen and overgrown, and he lacks flesh and is old in years." "And dreadfully tough," added the Hungry Tiger, in a sad voice. "My conscience would never permit me to eat so tough a morsel as the Real Horse." "I'm glad of that," said Jim; "for I, also, have a conscience, and it tells me not to crush in your skull with a blow of my powerful hoof." If he thought to frighten the striped beast by such language he was mistaken. The Tiger seemed to smile, and winked one eye slowly. "You have a good conscience, friend Horse," it said, "and if you attend to its teachings it will do much to protect you from harm. Some day I will let you try to crush in my skull, and afterward you will know more about tigers than you do now." "Any friend of Dorothy," remarked the Cowardly Lion, "must be our friend, as well. So let us cease this talk of skull crushing and converse upon more pleasant subjects. Have you breakfasted, Sir Horse?" "Not yet," replied Jim. "But here is plenty of excellent clover, so if you will excuse me I will eat now." "He's a vegetarian," remarked the Tiger, as the horse began to munch the clover. "If I could eat grass I would not need a conscience, for nothing could then tempt me to devour babies and lambs." Just then Dorothy, who had risen early and heard the voices of the animals, ran out to greet her old friends. She hugged both the Lion and the Tiger with eager delight, but seemed to love the King of Beasts a little better than she did his hungry friend, having known him longer. By the time they had indulged in a good talk and Dorothy had told them all about the awful earthquake and her recent adventures, the breakfast bell rang from the palace and the little girl went inside to join her human comrades. As she entered the great hall a voice called out, in a rather harsh tone: "What! are _you_ here again?" "Yes, I am," she answered, looking all around to see where the voice came from. "What brought you back?" was the next question, and Dorothy's eye rested on an antlered head hanging on the wall just over the fireplace, and caught its lips in the act of moving. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "I thought you were stuffed." "So I am," replied the head. "But once on a time I was part of the Gump, which Ozma sprinkled with the Powder of Life. I was then for a time the Head of the finest Flying Machine that was ever known to exist, and we did many wonderful things. Afterward the Gump was taken apart and I was put back on this wall; but I can still talk when I feel in the mood, which is not often." "It's very strange," said the girl. "What were you when you were first alive?" "That I have forgotten," replied the Gump's Head, "and I do not think it is of much importance. But here comes Ozma; so I'd better hush up, for the Princess doesn't like me to chatter since she changed her name from Tip to Ozma." Just then the girlish Ruler of Oz opened the door and greeted Dorothy with a good-morning kiss. The little Princess seemed fresh and rosy and in good spirits. "Breakfast is served, dear," she said, "and I am hungry. So don't let us keep it waiting a single minute." [Illustration] [Illustration: JIM STOOD TREMBLING LIKE A LEAF.] CHAPTER 17. THE NINE TINY PIGLETS After breakfast Ozma announced that she had ordered a holiday to be observed throughout the Emerald City, in honor of her visitors. The people had learned that their old Wizard had returned to them and all were anxious to see him again, for he had always been a rare favorite. So first there was to be a grand procession through the streets, after which the little old man was requested to perform some of his wizardries in the great Throne Room of the palace. In the afternoon there were to be games and races. The procession was very imposing. First came the Imperial Cornet Band of Oz, dressed in emerald velvet uniforms with slashes of pea-green satin and buttons of immense cut emeralds. They played the National air called "The Oz Spangled Banner," and behind them were the standard bearers with the Royal flag. This flag was divided into four quarters, one being colored sky-blue, another pink, a third lavender and a fourth white. In the center was a large emerald-green star, and all over the four quarters were sewn spangles that glittered beautifully in the sunshine. The colors represented the four countries of Oz, and the green star the Emerald City. Just behind the royal standard-bearers came the Princess Ozma in her royal chariot, which was of gold encrusted with emeralds and diamonds set in exquisite designs. The chariot was drawn on this occasion by the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger, who were decorated with immense pink and blue bows. In the chariot rode Ozma and Dorothy, the former in splendid raiment and wearing her royal coronet, while the little Kansas girl wore around her waist the Magic Belt she had once captured from the Nome King. Following the chariot came the Scarecrow mounted on the Sawhorse, and the people cheered him almost as loudly as they did their lovely Ruler. Behind him stalked with regular, jerky steps, the famous machine-man called Tik-tok, who had been wound up by Dorothy for the occasion. Tik-tok moved by clockwork, and was made all of burnished copper. He really belonged to the Kansas girl, who had much respect for his thoughts after they had been properly wound and set going; but as the copper man would be useless in any place but a fairy country Dorothy had left him in charge of Ozma, who saw that he was suitably cared for. There followed another band after this, which was called the Royal Court Band, because the members all lived in the palace. They wore white uniforms with real diamond buttons and played "What is Oz without Ozma" very sweetly. Then came Professor Woggle-Bug, with a group of students from the Royal College of Scientific Athletics. The boys wore long hair and striped sweaters and yelled their college yell every other step they took, to the great satisfaction of the populace, which was glad to have this evidence that their lungs were in good condition. The brilliantly polished Tin Woodman marched next, at the head of the Royal Army of Oz which consisted of twenty-eight officers, from Generals down to Captains. There were no privates in the army because all were so courageous and skillful that they had been promoted one by one until there were no privates left. Jim and the buggy followed, the old cab-horse being driven by Zeb while the Wizard stood up on the seat and bowed his bald head right and left in answer to the cheers of the people, who crowded thick about him. Taken altogether the procession was a grand success, and when it had returned to the palace the citizens crowded into the great Throne Room to see the Wizard perform his tricks. The first thing the little humbug did was to produce a tiny white piglet from underneath his hat and pretend to pull it apart, making two. This act he repeated until all of the nine tiny piglets were visible, and they were so glad to get out of his pocket that they ran around in a very lively manner. The pretty little creatures would have been a novelty anywhere, so the people were as amazed and delighted at their appearance as even the Wizard could have desired. When he had made them all disappear again Ozma declared she was sorry they were gone, for she wanted one of them to pet and play with. So the Wizard pretended to take one of the piglets out of the hair of the Princess (while really he slyly took it from his inside pocket) and Ozma smiled joyously as the creature nestled in her arms, and she promised to have an emerald collar made for its fat neck and to keep the little squealer always at hand to amuse her. Afterward it was noticed that the Wizard always performed his famous trick with eight piglets, but it seemed to please the people just as well as if there had been nine of them. In his little room back of the Throne Room the Wizard had found a lot of things he had left behind him when he went away in the balloon, for no one had occupied the apartment in his absence. There was enough material there to enable him to prepare several new tricks which he had learned from some of the jugglers in the circus, and he had passed part of the night in getting them ready. So he followed the trick of the nine tiny piglets with several other wonderful feats that greatly delighted his audience and the people did not seem to care a bit whether the little man was a humbug Wizard or not, so long as he succeeded in amusing them. They applauded all his tricks and at the end of the performance begged him earnestly not to go away again and leave them. "In that case," said the little man, gravely, "I will cancel all of my engagements before the crowned heads of Europe and America and devote myself to the people of Oz, for I love you all so well that I can deny you nothing." After the people had been dismissed with this promise our friends joined Princess Ozma at an elaborate luncheon in the palace, where even the Tiger and the Lion were sumptuously fed and Jim the Cab-horse ate his oatmeal out of a golden bowl with seven rows of rubies, sapphires and diamonds set around the rim of it. In the afternoon they all went to a great field outside the city gates where the games were to be held. There was a beautiful canopy for Ozma and her guests to sit under and watch the people run races and jump and wrestle. You may be sure the folks of Oz did their best with such a distinguished company watching them, and finally Zeb offered to wrestle with a little Munchkin who seemed to be the champion. In appearance he was twice as old as Zeb, for he had long pointed whiskers and wore a peaked hat with little bells all around the brim of it, which tinkled gaily as he moved. But although the Munchkin was hardly tall enough to come to Zeb's shoulder he was so strong and clever that he laid the boy three times on his back with apparent ease. Zeb was greatly astonished at his defeat, and when the pretty Princess joined her people in laughing at him he proposed a boxing-match with the Munchkin, to which the little Ozite readily agreed. But the first time that Zeb managed to give him a sharp box on the ears the Munchkin sat down upon the ground and cried until the tears ran down his whiskers, because he had been hurt. This made Zeb laugh, in turn, and the boy felt comforted to find that Ozma laughed as merrily at her weeping subject as she had at him. Just then the Scarecrow proposed a race between the Sawhorse and the Cab-horse; and although all the others were delighted at the suggestion the Sawhorse drew back, saying: "Such a race would not be fair." "Of course not," added Jim, with a touch of scorn; "those little wooden legs of yours are not half as long as my own." "It isn't that," said the Sawhorse, modestly; "but I never tire, and you do." "Bah!" cried Jim, looking with great disdain at the other; "do you imagine for an instant that such a shabby imitation of a horse as you are can run as fast as I?" "I don't know, I'm sure," replied the Sawhorse. "That is what we are trying to find out," remarked the Scarecrow. "The object of a race is to see who can win it--or at least that is what my excellent brains think." "Once, when I was young," said Jim, "I was a race horse, and defeated all who dared run against me. I was born in Kentucky, you know, where all the best and most aristocratic horses come from." "But you're old, now, Jim," suggested Zeb. "Old! Why, I feel like a colt today," replied Jim. "I only wish there was a real horse here for me to race with. I'd show the people a fine sight, I can tell you." "Then why not race with the Sawhorse?" enquired the Scarecrow. "He's afraid," said Jim. "Oh, no," answered the Sawhorse. "I merely said it wasn't fair. But if my friend the Real Horse is willing to undertake the race I am quite ready." So they unharnessed Jim and took the saddle off the Sawhorse, and the two queerly matched animals were stood side by side for the start. "When I say 'Go!'" Zeb called to them, "you must dig out and race until you reach those three trees you see over yonder. Then circle 'round them and come back again. The first one that passes the place where the Princess sits shall be named the winner. Are you ready?" "I suppose I ought to give the wooden dummy a good start of me," growled Jim. "Never mind that," said the Sawhorse. "I'll do the best I can." "Go!" cried Zeb; and at the word the two horses leaped forward and the race was begun. [Illustration: THE WIZARD TOOK A PIGLET FROM OZMA'S HAIR.] Jim's big hoofs pounded away at a great rate, and although he did not look very graceful he ran in a way to do credit to his Kentucky breeding. But the Sawhorse was swifter than the wind. Its wooden legs moved so fast that their twinkling could scarcely be seen, and although so much smaller than the cab-horse it covered the ground much faster. Before they had reached the trees the Sawhorse was far ahead, and the wooden animal returned to the starting place and was being lustily cheered by the Ozites before Jim came panting up to the canopy where the Princess and her friends were seated. [Illustration: THE HUNGRY TIGER TEACHES JIM A LESSON.] I am sorry to record the fact that Jim was not only ashamed of his defeat but for a moment lost control of his temper. As he looked at the comical face of the Sawhorse he imagined that the creature was laughing at him; so in a fit of unreasonable anger he turned around and made a vicious kick that sent his rival tumbling head over heels upon the ground, and broke off one of its legs and its left ear. An instant later the Tiger crouched and launched its huge body through the air swift and resistless as a ball from a cannon. The beast struck Jim full on his shoulder and sent the astonished cab-horse rolling over and over, amid shouts of delight from the spectators, who had been horrified by the ungracious act he had been guilty of. When Jim came to himself and sat upon his haunches he found the Cowardly Lion crouched on one side of him and the Hungry Tiger on the other, and their eyes were glowing like balls of fire. "I beg your pardon, I'm sure," said Jim, meekly. "I was wrong to kick the Sawhorse, and I am sorry I became angry at him. He has won the race, and won it fairly; but what can a horse of flesh do against a tireless beast of wood?" Hearing this apology the Tiger and the Lion stopped lashing their tails and retreated with dignified steps to the side of the Princess. "No one must injure one of our friends in our presence," growled the Lion; and Zeb ran to Jim and whispered that unless he controlled his temper in the future he would probably be torn to pieces. Then the Tin Woodman cut a straight and strong limb from a tree with his gleaming axe and made a new leg and a new ear for the Sawhorse; and when they had been securely fastened in place Princess Ozma took the coronet from her own head and placed it upon that of the winner of the race. Said she: "My friend, I reward you for your swiftness by proclaiming you Prince of Horses, whether of wood or of flesh; and hereafter all other horses--in the Land of Oz, at least--must be considered imitations, and you the real Champion of your race." There was more applause at this, and then Ozma had the jewelled saddle replaced upon the Sawhorse and herself rode the victor back to the city at the head of the grand procession. "I ought to be a fairy," grumbled Jim, as he slowly drew the buggy home; "for to be just an ordinary horse in a fairy country is to be of no account whatever. It's no place for us, Zeb." "It's lucky we got here, though," said the boy; and Jim thought of the dark cave, and agreed with him. [Illustration] CHAPTER 18. THE TRIAL OF EUREKA THE KITTEN Several days of festivity and merry-making followed, for such old friends did not often meet and there was much to be told and talked over between them, and many amusements to be enjoyed in this delightful country. Ozma was happy to have Dorothy beside her, for girls of her own age with whom it was proper for the Princess to associate were very few, and often the youthful Ruler of Oz was lonely for lack of companionship. It was the third morning after Dorothy's arrival, and she was sitting with Ozma and their friends in a reception room, talking over old times, when the Princess said to her maid: "Please go to my boudoir, Jellia, and get the white piglet I left on the dressing-table. I want to play with it." Jellia at once departed on the errand, and she was gone so long that they had almost forgotten her mission when the green robed maiden returned with a troubled face. "The piglet is not there, your Highness," said she. "Not there!" exclaimed Ozma. "Are you sure?" "I have hunted in every part of the room," the maid replied. "Was not the door closed?" asked the Princess. "Yes, your Highness; I am sure it was; for when I opened it Dorothy's white kitten crept out and ran up the stairs." Hearing this, Dorothy and the Wizard exchanged startled glances, for they remembered how often Eureka had longed to eat a piglet. The little girl jumped up at once. "Come, Ozma," she said, anxiously; "let us go ourselves to search for the piglet." So the two went to the dressing-room of the Princess and searched carefully in every corner and among the vases and baskets and ornaments that stood about the pretty boudoir. But not a trace could they find of the tiny creature they sought. Dorothy was nearly weeping, by this time, while Ozma was angry and indignant. When they returned to the others the Princess said: "There is little doubt that my pretty piglet has been eaten by that horrid kitten, and if that is true the offender must be punished." "I don't b'lieve Eureka would do such a dreadful thing!" cried Dorothy, much distressed. "Go and get my kitten, please, Jellia, and we'll hear what she has to say about it." The green maiden hastened away, but presently returned and said: "The kitten will not come. She threatened to scratch my eyes out if I touched her." "Where is she?" asked Dorothy. "Under the bed in your own room," was the reply. So Dorothy ran to her room and found the kitten under the bed. "Come here, Eureka!" she said. "I won't," answered the kitten, in a surly voice. "Oh, Eureka! Why are you so bad?" The kitten did not reply. "If you don't come to me, right away," continued Dorothy, getting provoked, "I'll take my Magic Belt and wish you in the Country of the Gurgles." "Why do you want me?" asked Eureka, disturbed by this threat. "You must go to Princess Ozma. She wants to talk to you." "All right," returned the kitten, creeping out. "I'm not afraid of Ozma--or anyone else." Dorothy carried her in her arms back to where the others sat in grieved and thoughtful silence. "Tell me, Eureka," said the Princess, gently: "did you eat my pretty piglet?" "I won't answer such a foolish question," asserted Eureka, with a snarl. "Oh, yes you will, dear," Dorothy declared. "The piglet is gone, and you ran out of the room when Jellia opened the door. So, if you are innocent, Eureka, you must tell the Princess how you came to be in her room, and what has become of the piglet." "Who accuses me?" asked the kitten, defiantly. "No one," answered Ozma. "Your actions alone accuse you. The fact is that I left my little pet in my dressing-room lying asleep upon the table; and you must hove stolen in without my knowing it. When next the door was opened you ran out and hid yourself--and the piglet was gone." "That's none of my business," growled the kitten. "Don't be impudent, Eureka," admonished Dorothy. "It is you who are impudent," said Eureka, "for accusing me of such a crime when you can't prove it except by guessing." Ozma was now greatly incensed by the kitten's conduct. She summoned her Captain-General, and when the long, lean officer appeared she said: "Carry this cat away to prison, and keep her in safe confinement until she is tried by law for the crime of murder." So the Captain-General took Eureka from the arms of the now weeping Dorothy and in spite of the kitten's snarls and scratches carried it away to prison. "What shall we do now?" asked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, for such a crime had cast a gloom over all the company. "I will summon the Court to meet in the Throne Room at three o'clock," replied Ozma. "I myself will be the judge, and the kitten shall have a fair trial." "What will happen if she is guilty?" asked Dorothy. "She must die," answered the Princess. "Nine times?" enquired the Scarecrow. "As many times as is necessary," was the reply. "I will ask the Tin Woodman to defend the prisoner, because he has such a kind heart I am sure he will do his best to save her. And the Woggle-Bug shall be the Public Accuser, because he is so learned that no one can deceive him." "Who will be the jury?" asked the Tin Woodman. [Illustration: PORTRAIT OF THE WIZARD OF OZ.] "There ought to be several animals on the jury," said Ozma, "because animals understand each other better than we people understand them. So the jury shall consist of the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, Jim the Cab-horse, the Yellow Hen, the Scarecrow, the Wizard, Tik-tok the Machine Man, the Sawhorse and Zeb of Hugson's Ranch. That makes the nine which the law requires, and all my people shall be admitted to hear the testimony." They now separated to prepare for the sad ceremony; for whenever an appeal is made to law sorrow is almost certain to follow--even in a fairyland like Oz. But it must be stated that the people of that Land were generally so well-behaved that there was not a single lawyer amongst them, and it had been years since any Ruler had sat in judgment upon an offender of the law. The crime of murder being the most dreadful crime of all, tremendous excitement prevailed in the Emerald City when the news of Eureka's arrest and trial became known. The Wizard, when he returned to his own room, was exceedingly thoughtful. He had no doubt Eureka had eaten his piglet, but he realized that a kitten cannot be depended upon at all times to act properly, since its nature is to destroy small animals and even birds for food, and the tame cat that we keep in our houses today is descended from the wild cat of the jungle--a very ferocious creature, indeed. The Wizard knew that if Dorothy's pet was found guilty and condemned to death the little girl would be made very unhappy; so, although he grieved over the piglet's sad fate as much as any of them, he resolved to save Eureka's life. Sending for the Tin Woodman the Wizard took him into a corner and whispered: "My friend, it is your duty to defend the white kitten and try to save her, but I fear you will fail because Eureka has long wished to eat a piglet, to my certain knowledge, and my opinion is that she has been unable to resist the temptation. Yet her disgrace and death would not bring back the piglet, but only serve to make Dorothy unhappy. So I intend to prove the kitten's innocence by a trick." He drew from his inside pocket one of the eight tiny piglets that were remaining and continued: "This creature you must hide in some safe place, and if the jury decides that Eureka is guilty you may then produce this piglet and claim it is the one that was lost. All the piglets are exactly alike, so no one can dispute your word. This deception will save Eureka's life, and then we may all be happy again." "I do not like to deceive my friends," replied the Tin Woodman; "still, my kind heart urges me to save Eureka's life, and I can usually trust my heart to do the right thing. So I will do as you say, friend Wizard." After some thought he placed the little pig inside his funnel-shaped hat, and then put the hat upon his head and went back to his room to think over his speech to the jury. CHAPTER 19. THE WIZARD PERFORMS ANOTHER TRICK At three o'clock the Throne Room was crowded with citizens, men, women and children being eager to witness the great trial. Princess Ozma, dressed in her most splendid robes of state, sat in the magnificent emerald throne, with her jewelled sceptre in her hand and her sparkling coronet upon her fair brow. Behind her throne stood the twenty-eight officers of her army and many officials of the royal household. At her right sat the queerly assorted Jury--animals, animated dummies and people--all gravely prepared to listen to what was said. The kitten had been placed in a large cage just before the throne, where she sat upon her haunches and gazed through the bars at the crowds around her, with seeming unconcern. And now, at a signal from Ozma, the Woggle-Bug arose and addressed the jury. His tone was pompous and he strutted up and down in an absurd attempt to appear dignified. "Your Royal Highness and Fellow Citizens," he began; "the small cat you see a prisoner before you is accused of the crime of first murdering and then eating our esteemed Ruler's fat piglet--or else first eating and then murdering it. In either case a grave crime has been committed which deserves a grave punishment." "Do you mean my kitten must be put in a grave?" asked Dorothy. "Don't interrupt, little girl," said the Woggle-Bug. "When I get my thoughts arranged in good order I do not like to have anything upset them or throw them into confusion." "If your thoughts were any good they wouldn't become confused," remarked the Scarecrow, earnestly. "My thoughts are always----" "Is this a trial of thoughts, or of kittens?" demanded the Woggle-Bug. "It's a trial of one kitten," replied the Scarecrow; "but your manner is a trial to us all." "Let the Public Accuser continue," called Ozma from her throne, "and I pray you do not interrupt him." "The criminal who now sits before the court licking her paws," resumed the Woggle-Bug, "has long desired to unlawfully eat the fat piglet, which was no bigger than a mouse. And finally she made a wicked plan to satisfy her depraved appetite for pork. I can see her, in my mind's eye----" "What's that?" asked the Scarecrow. "I say I can see her in my mind's eye----" "The mind has no eye," declared the Scarecrow. "It's blind." "Your Highness," cried the Woggle-Bug, appealing to Ozma, "have I a mind's eye, or haven't I?" "If you have, it is invisible," said the Princess. "Very true," returned the Woggle-Bug, bowing. "I say I see the criminal, in my mind's eye, creeping stealthily into the room of our Ozma and secreting herself, when no one was looking, until the Princess had gone away and the door was closed. Then the murderer was alone with her helpless victim, the fat piglet, and I see her pounce upon the innocent creature and eat it up----" "Are you still seeing with your mind's eye?" enquired the Scarecrow. "Of course; how else could I see it? And we know the thing is true, because since the time of that interview there is no piglet to be found anywhere." [Illustration: EUREKA IN COURT.] "I suppose, if the cat had been gone, instead of the piglet, your mind's eye would see the piglet eating the cat," suggested the Scarecrow. "Very likely," acknowledged the Woggle-Bug. "And now, Fellow Citizens and Creatures of the Jury, I assert that so awful a crime deserves death, and in the case of the ferocious criminal before you--who is now washing her face--the death penalty should be inflicted nine times." There was great applause when the speaker sat down. Then the Princess spoke in a stern voice: "Prisoner, what have you to say for yourself? Are you guilty, or not guilty?" "Why, that's for you to find out," replied Eureka. "If you can prove I'm guilty, I'll be willing to die nine times, but a mind's eye is no proof, because the Woggle-Bug has no mind to see with." "Never mind, dear," said Dorothy. Then the Tin Woodman arose and said: "Respected Jury and dearly beloved Ozma, I pray you not to judge this feline prisoner unfeelingly. I do not think the innocent kitten can be guilty, and surely it is unkind to accuse a luncheon of being a murder. Eureka is the sweet pet of a lovely little girl whom we all admire, and gentleness and innocence are her chief virtues. Look at the kitten's intelligent eyes;" (here Eureka closed her eyes sleepily) "gaze at her smiling countenance!" (here Eureka snarled and showed her teeth) "mark the tender pose of her soft, padded little hands!" (Here Eureka bared her sharp claws and scratched at the bars of the cage.) "Would such a gentle animal be guilty of eating a fellow creature? No; a thousand times, no!" "Oh, cut it short," said Eureka; "you've talked long enough." "I'm trying to defend you," remonstrated the Tin Woodman. "Then say something sensible," retorted the kitten. "Tell them it would be foolish for me to eat the piglet, because I had sense enough to know it would raise a row if I did. But don't try to make out I'm too innocent to eat a fat piglet if I could do it and not be found out. I imagine it would taste mighty good." "Perhaps it would, to those who eat," remarked the Tin Woodman. "I myself, not being built to eat, have no personal experience in such matters. But I remember that our great poet once said: "'To eat is sweet When hunger's seat Demands a treat Of savory meat.' "Take this into consideration, friends of the Jury, and you will readily decide that the kitten is wrongfully accused and should be set at liberty." When the Tin Woodman sat down no one applauded him, for his arguments had not been very convincing and few believed that he had proved Eureka's innocence. As for the Jury, the members whispered to each other for a few minutes and then they appointed the Hungry Tiger their spokesman. The huge beast slowly arose and said: "Kittens have no consciences, so they eat whatever pleases them. The jury believes the white kitten known as Eureka is guilty of having eaten the piglet owned by Princess Ozma, and recommends that she be put to death in punishment of the crime." The judgment of the jury was received with great applause, although Dorothy was sobbing miserably at the fate of her pet. The Princess was just about to order Eureka's head chopped off with the Tin Woodman's axe when that brilliant personage once more arose and addressed her. "Your Highness," said he, "see how easy it is for a jury to be mistaken. The kitten could not have eaten your piglet--for here it is!" He took off his funnel hat and from beneath it produced a tiny white piglet, which he held aloft that all might see it clearly. Ozma was delighted and exclaimed, eagerly: "Give me my pet, Nick Chopper!" And all the people cheered and clapped their hands, rejoicing that the prisoner had escaped death and been proved to be innocent. As the Princess held the white piglet in her arms and stroked its soft hair she said: "Let Eureka out of the cage, for she is no longer a prisoner, but our good friend. Where did you find my missing pet, Nick Chopper?" "In a room of the palace," he answered. "Justice," remarked the Scarecrow, with a sigh, "is a dangerous thing to meddle with. If you hadn't happened to find the piglet, Eureka would surely have been executed." "But justice prevailed at the last," said Ozma, "for here is my pet, and Eureka is once more free." "I refuse to be free," cried the kitten, in a sharp voice, "unless the Wizard can do his trick with eight piglets. If he can produce but seven, then this it not the piglet that was lost, but another one." "Hush, Eureka!" warned the Wizard. "Don't be foolish," advised the Tin Woodman, "or you may be sorry for it." "The piglet that belonged to the Princess wore an emerald collar," said Eureka, loudly enough for all to hear. "So it did!" exclaimed Ozma. "This cannot be the one the Wizard gave me." "Of course not; he had nine of them, altogether," declared Eureka; "and I must say it was very stingy of him not to let me eat just a few. But now that this foolish trial is ended, I will tell you what really became of your pet piglet." At this everyone in the Throne Room suddenly became quiet, and the kitten continued, in a calm, mocking tone of voice: "I will confess that I intended to eat the little pig for my breakfast; so I crept into the room where it was kept while the Princess was dressing and hid myself under a chair. When Ozma went away she closed the door and left her pet on the table. At once I jumped up and told the piglet not to make a fuss, for he would be inside of me in half a second; but no one can teach one of these creatures to be reasonable. Instead of keeping still, so I could eat him comfortably, he trembled so with fear that he fell off the table into a big vase that was standing on the floor. The vase had a very small neck, and spread out at the top like a bowl. At first the piglet stuck in the neck of the vase and I thought I should get him, after all, but he wriggled himself through and fell down into the deep bottom part--and I suppose he's there yet." All were astonished at this confession, and Ozma at once sent an officer to her room to fetch the vase. When he returned the Princess looked down the narrow neck of the big ornament and discovered her lost piglet, just as Eureka had said she would. There was no way to get the creature out without breaking the vase, so the Tin Woodman smashed it with his axe and set the little prisoner free. Then the crowd cheered lustily and Dorothy hugged the kitten in her arms and told her how delighted she was to know that she was innocent. "But why didn't you tell us at first?" she asked. "It would have spoiled the fun," replied the kitten, yawning. Ozma gave the Wizard back the piglet he had so kindly allowed Nick Chopper to substitute for the lost one, and then she carried her own into the apartments of the palace where she lived. And now, the trial being over, the good citizens of the Emerald City scattered to their homes, well content with the day's amusement. CHAPTER 20. ZEB RETURNS TO THE RANCH Eureka was much surprised to find herself in disgrace; but she was, in spite of the fact that she had not eaten the piglet. For the folks of Oz knew the kitten had tried to commit the crime, and that only an accident had prevented her from doing so; therefore even the Hungry Tiger preferred not to associate with her. Eureka was forbidden to wander around the palace and was made to stay in confinement in Dorothy's room; so she began to beg her mistress to send her to some other place where she could enjoy herself better. Dorothy was herself anxious to get home, so she promised Eureka they would not stay in the Land of Oz much longer. The next evening after the trial the little girl begged Ozma to allow her to look in the enchanted picture, and the Princess readily consented. She took the child to her room and said: "Make your wish, dear, and the picture will show the scene you desire to behold." Then Dorothy found, with the aid of the enchanted picture, that Uncle Henry had returned to the farm in Kansas, and she also saw that both he and Aunt Em were dressed in mourning, because they thought their little niece had been killed by the earthquake. "Really," said the girl, anxiously, "I must get back as soon as poss'ble to my own folks." Zeb also wanted to see his home, and although he did not find anyone mourning for him, the sight of Hugson's Ranch in the picture made him long to get back there. "This is a fine country, and I like all the people that live in it," he told Dorothy. "But the fact is, Jim and I don't seem to fit into a fairyland, and the old horse has been begging me to go home again ever since he lost the race. So, if you can find a way to fix it, we'll be much obliged to you." "Ozma can do it, easily," replied Dorothy. "Tomorrow morning I'll go to Kansas and you can go to Californy." [Illustration: "I'M MUCH OBLIGED FOR ALL YOUR KINDNESS."] That last evening was so delightful that the boy will never forget it as long as he lives. They were all together (except Eureka) in the pretty rooms of the Princess, and the Wizard did some new tricks, and the Scarecrow told stories, and the Tin Woodman sang a love song in a sonorous, metallic voice, and everybody laughed and had a good time. Then Dorothy wound up Tik-tok and he danced a jig to amuse the company, after which the Yellow Hen related some of her adventures with the Nome King in the Land of Ev. The Princess served delicious refreshments to those who were in the habit of eating, and when Dorothy's bed time arrived the company separated after exchanging many friendly sentiments. Next morning they all assembled for the final parting, and many of the officials and courtiers came to look upon the impressive ceremonies. Dorothy held Eureka in her arms and bade her friends a fond good-bye. "You must come again, some time," said the little Wizard; and she promised she would if she found it possible to do so. "But Uncle Henry and Aunt Em need me to help them," she added, "so I can't ever be very long away from the farm in Kansas." Ozma wore the Magic Belt; and, when she had kissed Dorothy farewell and had made her wish, the little girl and her kitten disappeared in a twinkling. "Where is she?" asked Zeb, rather bewildered by the suddenness of it. "Greeting her uncle and aunt in Kansas, by this time," returned Ozma, with a smile. Then Zeb brought out Jim, all harnessed to the buggy, and took his seat. "I'm much obliged for all your kindness," said the boy, "and very grateful to you for saving my life and sending me home again after all the good times I've had. I think this is the loveliest country in the world; but not being fairies Jim and I feel we ought to be where we belong--and that's at the ranch. Good-bye, everybody!" He gave a start and rubbed his eyes. Jim was trotting along the well-known road, shaking his ears and whisking his tail with a contented motion. Just ahead of them were the gates of Hugson's Ranch, and Uncle Hugson now came out and stood with uplifted arms and wide open mouth, staring in amazement. "Goodness gracious! It's Zeb--and Jim, too!" he exclaimed. "Where in the world have you been, my lad?" "Why, in the world, Uncle," answered Zeb, with a laugh. The End [Illustration] 
27515	----	STATE TRIALS _All rights reserved_ [Illustration: W Ralegh.] STATE TRIALS POLITICAL AND SOCIAL SELECTED AND EDITED BY H. L. STEPHEN IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. I [Illustration] LONDON DUCKWORTH AND CO. NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1899 Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty CONTENTS PAGE INTRODUCTION, vii SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 1 CHARLES I., 75 THE REGICIDES, 123 COLONEL TURNER AND OTHERS, 169 THE SUFFOLK WITCHES, 211 ALICE LISLE, 239 _The portraits of_ SIR WALTER RALEIGH _and_ LORD RUSSELL _are taken from photographs of pictures in the National Portrait Gallery, by permission of_ Messrs. WALKER and BOUTALL. To G. DE L'É. D. DEAR GERALD,--As you suggested the idea of this book to me, and as I know that whether it succeeds or fails I can count confidently on your sympathy, I will throw into the form of a letter to you the few remarks which I might otherwise put into a preface. For as I have confessions to make which amount almost to an apology, I had rather address them to one who is pledged to express the most favourable possible view of my literary efforts, such as they are, than to that hypothetical reader, of whose tastes I feel most shamefully ignorant, though I am ready to assume everything in his favour. Far abler writers than I have frequently dilated on the charms attending a study of the reports of State Trials, as they are best known to the world; namely, in one-and-twenty stately volumes compiled by the industrious Howells, father and son, and published, a year after the battle of Waterloo, by the combined efforts of on a few of my contemporaries the idea that persons long since dead on the block or the gallows were Englishmen very much like ourselves, my object is secured. My task has been confined to a selection of passages to be transferred bodily from Howell's pages; to providing in an abbreviated form the connecting-links between them; and to the supply of sufficient notes to enable the ordinary reader to understand the main outlines of the stories of which the trial generally constitutes the catastrophe. As to my takings from Howell, I need say but little. I have indicated their existence by a change of type. I have carefully preserved those departures from conventional grammar, and that involved and uncouth, but, for that very reason, life-like style of narration which he and his predecessors inherited from the original but unknown authorities. As to my abbreviations, I am fully aware that they do not represent any very high literary effort. It is, I suppose, impossible that mere condensation of another man's narrative should be done very well; but it can certainly be done very ill. My aim, therefore, has been rather to escape disaster than to achieve any brilliant success. The charm of State Trials lies largely in matters of detail:--that Hale allowed two old women to be executed for witchcraft; that Lord Russell was obviously a traitor; that an eminent judge did not murder a woman in the early part of his career; and that a sea-captain did murder his brother in order to inherit his wealth, are in themselves facts of varying importance. What the trials in these cases tell us, however, as nothing else can, is what were the popular beliefs as to witchcraft shared by such a man as Hale; how revolutions were planned while such things were still an important factor in practical politics; and what was the state of the second city in the kingdom when a man could be kidnapped in its busiest streets by a gang of sailors and privateers-men. And this effect can only be reproduced by considering a mass of detail, picturesque enough in itself, but not always strictly relevant to the matter in hand. Again, to a lawyer at all events, it is impossible to omit those matters which show that the process which goes on at regular intervals in all the criminal courts in the country is essentially the same that it always has been since the Reformation; and accordingly I have not hesitated to indicate as fully as my original made possible the procedure, in the narrower sense of the word, followed at the various trials reported. In the matter of notes I have done my best, in a very narrow compass, to indicate how the trials were connected with contemporary history. I have also reminded the reader (to use the conventional phrase) of the fate of the various characters who are to be met with in each trial. In particular, I have aimed at bringing to the fore what must, after all, be the main point of interest in any trial; namely, who were the counsel briefed, and how they came to be briefed; who were the judges that tried it, how they came to be judges, and what position they held in the opinion of the junior bar at the time. For this part of my work I have taken care to have recourse to the best and most modern authority, and have stated hardly any facts which are not vouched for by the editor of the _Dictionary of National Biography_. In my selection of cases to be reported I have been guided by a variety of considerations. Personally, I admit that I like the political cases best. There is a squalor about private crime, which, though I like it myself, is inferior to politics as a staple. Besides, one has heard of the heroes of the political trials before; and to read Raleigh's little retort when Coke complains of a want of words adequately to express his opinion of Raleigh; to be reminded how the worst of kings proved himself an admirable lawyer, and the possessor of manners which, in a humbler station, would assuredly have made the man; to hear the jokes as to Essex's responsibility for the financial prospects of the proposed revolution which amused the company of desperate men in the wine-merchant's upper room; to come across the ghost of the conversation in lonely St. Martin's Lane between the revellers at the Greyhound Tavern, and its interruption by the hostile band hurrying to the duel in Leicester Fields, creates, in my mind at least, the fantastic illusion that Raleigh, Charles I., Russell, Mohun, and the rest of them were all once actually alive. I feel that I have unduly neglected the claims of what, at the period I have had to do with, was the sister kingdom of Scotland. The Scotch were not then, taking the difference of the population of the two countries into consideration, at all behind the English in the production of treason, murder, and other interesting forms of crime; and their misdeeds were in many respects the more picturesque of the two. I had hoped to place before my readers the true account, or what passes for such, of that murder of Colin Roy Campbell of Glenure which, as we now know, produced such romantic consequences for David Balfour. The 'Forty-five should have been represented, and Lord Lovat's adventures ought to have served my purpose to a turn. But, alas! the lawyers on these occasions have been hopelessly beaten by the professed story-tellers; and the reports of the trials of Lord Lovat and James Stewart are as dull as the romances of _Waverley_ and _Catriona_ are entrancing. Why this should be so I do not know. I can ascribe it only to the inferiority of the Scots criminal procedure to our own; and ignorance prevents me from proving that inferiority by any other fact than the one which I am anxious to account for. After diligent and minute inquiry, I am pleased, though not surprised, to find that Ireland was perfectly free from serious crime during the whole of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Since making my selection of trials I have become aware that Mr. Leslie Stephen, in his _Hours in a Library_, has chosen for notice precisely those trials which I have reported. I must disclaim any merit in having made the same selection as such an eminent critic; but at the same time I can confidently affirm that my choice was made before I had read the essay in question. Whether I have been guilty of the crime of plagiarism in this particular I cannot say; neither, as far as that goes, do I care. My readers at least have no reason to complain, and I can count on you, Gerald, to join with me in deprecating the wrath of the outraged author. Trusting confidently in your co-operation to secure for this little collection as favourable a reception as may be from that public for whose taste we both have so much respect,--I remain, yours to command, H. L. STEPHEN. THE INNER TEMPLE, _31st December 1898._ SIR WALTER RALEIGH[1] Raleigh's trial is so closely connected with the politics of the time that it cannot be properly understood without reference to them. James owed his succession to the throne, at all events the undisputed recognition of his right to that succession, in a great measure to Cecil's elaborate and careful preparations. It was therefore natural enough that Cecil's position as chief minister should be confirmed at the beginning of the new reign: but this fact drove two important parties into opposition to the new order of things. The Earl of Northumberland, Lord Grey, Lord Cobham, and Sir Walter Raleigh found themselves deprived of all chance of obtaining power, and the Catholics gradually realised that their position was not likely to be substantially improved. Northumberland indeed was won back by promises of royal favour, but Raleigh was deprived of his captainship of the Royal Guards and his post of Warden of the Stannaries, whilst his monopoly in wine was threatened. The all-important question of foreign politics formed a centre on which the international struggle for power turned. James himself was a stranger to the national hatred for the Spaniards which had hitherto been Raleigh's guiding principle. Cecil was probably more anxious for peace than anything else, though desirous to do all he could to advance the power of the Netherlands and hold the Spaniards in check. Meanwhile the various foreign powers concerned prepared to make what profit they could out of the altered state of England. A mission from the Netherlands effected practically nothing. The Duke of Sully, the ambassador from Henry IV. of France, obtained some assistance towards prolonging the defence of Ostend against the Spanish forces. The Archduke Albert[2] sent the Duke of Aremberg, not to negotiate, but to protract the time till the Court of Spain could decide upon a policy. Northumberland, together with Raleigh and Cobham, seem to have made overtures to Sully which were rejected, on which the two latter transferred their attentions to the Spanish interest, and certainly put themselves into communication with Aremberg. Meanwhile an extreme and apparently weak party among the Catholics entered into an obscure and violent undertaking popularly known as the 'surprising' or 'Bye' plot as contrasted with Raleigh's, known as the 'Main.' Watson, a secular priest, whose main motive, in Professor Gardiner's view, was a hatred of the Jesuits, had taken a leading part in reconciling the English Catholics to James's accession. Irritated by the exaction of fines for recusancy instituted at the beginning of the new reign, he allied himself with Clarke, another priest, Sir Griffin Markham, a Catholic gentleman discontented with the government for private reasons, George Brooke, Lord Cobham's brother, and Lord Grey. A fantastic scheme propounded by Markham was adopted, and the conspirators decided to seize the King while hunting, to carry him to the Tower, on the plea of protecting him from his enemies, and there install themselves in power under the shadow of his name. They were, as represented by Coke in Raleigh's trial, to swear to protect the Sovereign from all his enemies, and they affected to have a large following in the country. Copley, an insignificant recruit, was added to the party, and the execution of the plot was fixed for the 24th of June. On that day, however, their partisans proved to be too few for their designs, and the next day Grey separated himself from them. Meanwhile the Jesuits had become aware of the plot and communicated their knowledge to the government; and the conspirators were soon arrested. The connection of Brooke with the 'Bye' plot suggested Cobham's complicity; and Raleigh, as his nearest friend, was summoned to Windsor by Cecil to be examined before the Council. After this examination he wrote the letter to Cobham so often referred to in the trial, saying that he had said nothing to compromise him, and reminding him that one witness, possibly referring either to Aremberg's servant, or Brooke, was not enough to convict of treason. He subsequently wrote to Cecil informing him that Cobham had been in communication with Aremberg, and Cobham was arrested. Raleigh's own arrest followed on July 17th, and within a fortnight he attempted to commit suicide. He and Cobham were both subsequently examined, with the results that appear in the course of the trial. It must be remembered that the government probably had a quantity of private information which they did not produce, partly no doubt with the view of protecting Aremberg. This is particularly so in relation to the most serious part of the case; that, namely, relating to the scheme of placing Lady Arabella on the throne; as to which see Gardiner's _History_, vol. i. pp. 132, 133. The leading members of the 'Bye' were tried and convicted two days before Raleigh. Cobham and Grey were tried and convicted by the Chancellor sitting as Lord Steward soon after. The two priests and Brooke were hung. Cobham, Grey, and Markham were brought to the scaffold that they might be induced to make their dying declarations, and were then granted their lives. Cobham, when in instant expectation of death, persisted in avowing Raleigh's guilt. Beyond the interest that attaches to Raleigh's trial from the historical and personal points of view, it is interesting as showing the methods in which an important trial was conducted at the beginning of the seventeenth century. The most remarkable feature of the trial itself in the eyes of a modern reader, beyond its extreme informality, is that Raleigh was condemned on the statement of a confederate, who spoke under extreme pressure, with every inducement to exculpate himself at Raleigh's expense, and whom Raleigh never had a chance of meeting. The reasons given by Popham for refusing to allow Cobham to be called as a witness at the trial are instructive, and, as Professor Gardiner points out, prove that in political trials at all events, when the government had decided that the circumstances of the case were sufficient to justify them in putting a man on his trial, the view of the court before which he was tried was that he was to be condemned unless he succeeded in proving his innocence. This fact alone leads the modern Englishman to sympathise with Raleigh, and this feeling is naturally increased by what Sir James Stephen calls the 'rancorous ferocity' of Coke's behaviour. The second cause added to Raleigh's popularity, and the political reasons which led to his trial are probably what produced the same feelings among his contemporaries. It is beyond my present purpose to discuss how far Raleigh was really guilty of treason, even were I competent to express any opinion on the subject worth attending to. But for the credit of the lawyers who presided at the trial, I may point out that the assertions that the statute of Edward VI., requiring two witnesses in cases of treason, had been repealed, and that the trial at common law was by examination, and not by a jury and witnesses, were not as incomprehensibly unjust as they appear to us. A statute of Philip and Mary enacted that cases of treason should be tried according to the due order and course of common law, and the statute of Edward VI., being regarded as an innovation upon the common law, was thus held to be implicitly repealed. The rule as to the two witnesses seems to have been construed as referring to trial by witnesses as it existed under the civil law, which was taken to require two eye- or ear-witnesses to the actual fact constituting the crime. With such a trial, trial by jury was frequently contrasted, and if the rigour of the civil law was not to be insisted on, the only alternative seemed to be that the jury should form their opinion as they could, if not from their own knowledge, then from any materials that might be laid before them. This naturally did away with any rules of evidence as we understand them, and consequently Cobham's confession became as good evidence as the jury could expect to have. In fact, as Sir James Stephen says, 'The only rules of evidence as to matters of fact recognised in the sixteenth century seem to have been the clumsy rules of the mediæval civil law, which were supposed to be based on the Bible. If they were set aside, the jury were absolute, practically absolute, and might decide upon anything which they thought fit to consider evidence.' See further Gardiner's _History_, vol. i. pp. 108-140; and Stephen's _History of the Criminal Law_, vol. i. pp. 333-337. Sir Walter Raleigh was tried at Winchester on the 17th of November 1603 before a commission consisting of Thomas Howard,[3] Earl of Suffolk, Lord Chamberlain; Charles Blunt,[4] Earl of Devon; Lord Henry Howard,[5] afterwards Earl of Northampton; Robert Cecil,[6] Earl of Salisbury; Edward, Lord Wotton of Morley; Sir John Stanhope, Vice-Chamberlain; Lord Chief-Justice of England Popham;[7] Lord Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas Anderson;[8] Justices Gawdie and Warburton; and Sir W. Wade. The indictment charged Raleigh with high treason by conspiring to deprive the King of his government; to alter religion; to bring in the Roman Superstition; and to procure foreign enemies to invade the kingdom. The facts alleged to support these charges were that Lord Cobham,[9] on the 9th of June 1603, met Raleigh at Durham House in London, and conferred with him as to advancing Lady Arabella Stuart[10] to the throne; that it was there agreed that Cobham should, with Aremberg, the ambassador of the Archduke of Austria, bargain for a bribe of 600,000 crowns; that Cobham should go to the Archduke Albert, to procure his support for Lady Arabella, and from him to the King of Spain; that Lady Arabella should write three letters to the Archduke, to the King of Spain, and to the Duke of Savoy, promising to establish peace between England and Spain, to tolerate the Popish and Roman superstition, and to be ruled by them as to her marriage. Cobham was then to return to Jersey, where he would find Raleigh and take counsel with him as to how to distribute Aremberg's bribe. On the same day Cobham told his brother Brook of all these treasons, and persuaded him to assent to them; afterwards Cobham and Brook spoke these words, 'That there would never be a good world in England till the King (meaning our sovereign lord) and his cubs (meaning his royal issue) were taken away.' Further Raleigh published a book to Cobham, written against the title of the King, and Cobham published the same book to Brook. Further, Cobham, on the 14th of June, at Raleigh's instigation, moved Brook to incite Lady Arabella to write the letters as aforesaid. Also on the 17th of June Cobham, at Raleigh's instigation, wrote to Aremberg through one Matthew de Lawrency, to obtain the 600,000 crowns, which were promised to him on the 18th of June, and of which Cobham promised 8000 to Raleigh and 10,000 to Brook. To this indictment Raleigh pleaded Not Guilty; and a jury was sworn, to none of whom Raleigh took any objection. Heale, the King's Serjeant, then opened the case very shortly, merely reciting the facts mentioned in the indictment, concluding: 'Now, whether these things were bred in a hollow tree, I leave him to speak of, who can speak far better than myself; and so sat down again. ATTORNEY-GENERAL (Sir Ed. Coke[11])--I must first, my lords, before I come to the cause, give one caution, because we shall often mention persons of eminent places, some of them great monarchs: whatever we say of them, we shall but repeat what others have said of them; I mean the Capital Offenders, in their Confessions. We professing law must speak reverently of kings and potentates. I perceive these honourable lords, and the rest of this great assembly, are come to hear what hath been scattered upon the wrack of report. We carry a just mind, to condemn no man, but upon plain Evidence. Here is Mischief, Mischief _in summo gradu_, exorbitant Mischief. My Speech shall chiefly touch these three points: Imitation, Supportation, and Defence. The Imitation of evil ever exceeds the Precedent; as on the contrary, imitation of good ever comes short. Mischief cannot be supported but by Mischief; yea, it will so multiply, that it will bring all to confusion. Mischief is ever underpropped by falsehood or foul practices: and because all these things did concur in this Treason, you shall understand the main, as before you did the bye. The Treason of the bye consisteth in these Points: first that the lord Grey, Brook, Markham, and the rest, intended by force in the night to surprise the king's court; which was a Rebellion in the heart of the realm, yea, in the heart of the heart, in the Court. They intended to take him that is a sovereign, to make him subject to their power, purposing to open the doors with musquets and cavaliers, and to take also the Prince and Council: then under the king's authority to carry the King to the Tower; and to make a stale of the admiral. When they had the King there, to extort three things from him, first, A Pardon for all their Treasons: Secondly, A Toleration of the Roman Superstition; which their eyes shall sooner fall out than they shall ever see; for the king hath spoken these words in the hearing of many, 'I will lose the crown and my life, before ever I will alter Religion.' And thirdly, To remove Counsellors. In the room of the Lord Chancellor, they would have placed one Watson, a priest, absurd in Humanity and ignorant in Divinity. Brook, of whom I will speak nothing, Lord Treasurer. The great Secretary must be Markham; _Oculus patriæ_. A hole must be found in my Lord Chief-Justice's coat. Grey must be Earl-Marshal, and Master of the Horse, because he would have a table in court; marry, he would advance the earl of Worcester to a higher place. All this cannot be done without a multitude: therefore Watson the priest tells a resolute man that the king was in danger of Puritans and Jesuits; so to bring him in blindfold into the action saying, That the king is no king till he be crowned; therefore every man might right his own wrongs: but he is _rex natus_, his dignity descends as well as yours, my lords. Then Watson imposeth a blasphemous Oath, that they should swear to defend the king's person; to keep secret what was given them in charge, and seek all ways and means to advance the Catholic Religion. Then they intend to send for the Lord Mayor and the Aldermen, in the king's name, to the Tower; lest they should make any resistance, and then take hostages of them; and to enjoin them to provide for them victuals and munition. Grey, because the king removed before Midsummer, had a further reach to get a Company of Sword-men to assist the action: therefore he would stay till he had obtained a regiment from Ostend or Austria. So you see these Treasons were like Sampson's foxes, which were joined in their tails, though their heads were severed. RALEIGH--You Gentlemen of the Jury, I pray remember, I am not charged with the Bye, being the Treason of the priest. ATTORNEY--You are not. My lords, you shall observe three things in the Treasons: 1. They had a Watch-word (the king's safety): their Pretence was _Bonum in se_; their Intent was _Malum in se_: 2. They avouched Scripture; both the priests had _Scriptum est_: perverting and ignorantly mistaking the Scriptures; 3. They avouched the Common Law, to prove that he was no king until he was crowned; alledging a Statute of 13 Elizabeth. He then proceeds to mention other cases of treason where the accused had considered that their acts were _bonum in se_, and, defining treason, lays down that-- There is Treason in the heart, in the hand, in the mouth, in consummation: comparing that _in corde_ to the root of a tree; _in ore_, to the bud; _in manu_, to the blossom; and that which is _in consummatione_, to the fruit. Now I come to your Charge, You of the Jury: the greatness of Treason is to be considered in these two things, _determinatione finis_, and _electione mediorum_. This Treason excelleth in both, for that it was to destroy the king and his progeny. These treasons are said to be _crimen læsæ majestatis_; this goeth further, and may be termed, _crimen extirpandæ regiæ majestatis_, and _totius progenici suæ_. I shall not need, my lord, to speak anything concerning the king, nor of the bounty and sweetness of his nature whose thoughts are innocent, whose words are full of wisdom and learning, and whose works are full of honour, although it be a true saying, _Nunquam nimis quod nunquam satis_. But to whom do you bear Malice? To the Children? RALEIGH--To whom speak you this? You tell me news I never heard of. ATTORNEY--O sir, do I? I will prove you the notoriest traitor that ever came to the bar. After you have taken away the king, you would alter Religion: as you, sir Walter Raleigh, have followed them of the Bye in Imitation: for I will charge you with the words. RALEIGH--Your words cannot condemn me; my innocency is my defence. Prove one of these things wherewith you have charged me, and I will confess the whole Indictment, and that I am the horriblest traitor that ever lived, and worthy to be crucified with a thousand thousand torments. ATTORNEY--Nay, I will prove all: thou art a monster; thou hath an English face but a Spanish heart. Now you must have Money; Aremberg was no sooner in England (I charge thee, Raleigh) but thou incitest Cobham to go unto him, and to deal with him for Money, to bestow on discontented persons, to raise Rebellion on the kingdom. RALEIGH--Let me answer for myself. ATTORNEY--Thou shalt not. RALEIGH--It concerneth my life. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Sir Walter Raleigh, Mr. Attorney is but yet in the General: but when the king's Council have given the evidence wholly you shall answer every Particular. ATTORNEY--O! do I touch you? LORD CECIL--Mr. Attorney, when you have done with this General Charge, do you not mean to let him answer every Particular? ATTORNEY--Yes, when we deliver the Proofs to be read. Raleigh procured Cobham to go to Aremberg, which he did by his instigation: Raleigh supped with Cobham before he went to Aremberg; after supper, Raleigh conducted him to Durham-House, from thence Cobham went with Lawrency, a servant of Aremberg's unto him, and went in by a back way. Cobham could never be quiet until he had entertained this motion, for he had four Letters from Raleigh. Aremberg answered, The Money should be performed, but knew not to whom it should be distributed. Then Cobham and Lawrency came back to Durham-House, where they found Raleigh. Cobham and Raleigh went up and left Lawrency below, where they had secret conference in a gallery; and after, Cobham and Lawrency departed from Raleigh. Your jargon was Peace: what is that? Spanish invasion, Scottish subversion. And again, you are not a fit man to take so much Money for procuring of a lawful Peace, for Peace procured by money is dishonourable. Then Cobham must go to Spain, and return by Jersey, where you were Captain: and then, because Cobham had not so much policy, or at least wickedness, as you, he must have your advice for the distribution of the money. Would you have deposed so good a king, lineally descended of Elizabeth, eldest daughter of Edward IV.? Why then must you set up another? I think you meant to make Arabella a Titular Queen, of whose Title I will speak nothing; but sure you meant to make her a stale. Ah! good lady, you could mean her no good. RALEIGH--You tell me news, Mr. Attorney. ATTORNEY--Oh sir! I am the more large, because I know with whom I deal: for we have to deal to-day with a man of wit. RALEIGH--Did I ever speak with this lady? ATTORNEY--I will track you out before I have done. Englishmen will not be led by persuasion of words, but they must have books to persuade. RALEIGH--The Book was written by a man of your profession, Mr. Attorney. ATTORNEY--I would not have you so impatient. RALEIGH--Methinks you fall out with yourself; I say nothing. ATTORNEY--By this Book you will persuade men, that he is not the lawful king. Now let us consider some circumstances: my lords, you will know my lord Cobham (for whom we all lament and rejoice; lament in that his house, which hath stood so long unspotted, is now ruinated: rejoice, in that his Treasons are revealed): he is neither politician nor swordman; Raleigh was both, united in the Cause with him and therefore cause of his destruction. Another circumstance is, the secret contriving of it. Humphry Stafford claimed Sanctuary for Treason: Raleigh, in his Machiavelian policy hath made a Sanctuary for Treason: he must talk with none but Cobham; because, saith he, one Witness can never condemn me. For Brook said unto sir Griffith Markham, 'Take heed how you do make my lord Cobham acquainted; for whatsoever he knoweth, Raleigh the witch will get it out of him.' As soon as Raleigh was examined on one point of Treason concerning my lord Cobham he wrote to him thus: 'I have been examined of you, and confessed nothing.' Further, you sent to him by your trusty Francis Kemish,[12] that one witness could not condemn; and therefore bade his lordship be of good courage. Came this out of Cobham's quiver? No: but out of Raleigh's Machiavelian and devilish policy. Yea, for Cobham did retract it; why then did ye urge it? Now then see the most horrible practices that ever came out of the bottomless pit of the lowest hell. After that Raleigh had intelligence that Cobham had accused him, he endeavoured to have intelligence from Cobham which he had gotten by young sir John Payton: but I think it was the error of his youth. RALEIGH--The lords told it me, or else I had been sent to the Tower. ATTORNEY--Thus Cobham, by the instigation of Raleigh, entered into these actions: so that the question will be, whether you are not the principal traitor and he would nevertheless have entered into it? Why did Cobham retract all the same? First, because Raleigh was so odious, he thought he should fare the worse for his sake; secondly, he thought thus with himself, If he be free I shall clear myself the better. After this, Cobham asked for a Preacher to confer with, pretending to have Dr. Andrews;[13] but indeed he meant not to have him but Mr. Galloway,[14] a worthy and reverent preacher, who can do more with the King (as he said) than any other; that he seeing his constant denial, might inform the king thereof. Here he plays with the preacher. If Raleigh could persuade the lords that Cobham had no intent to travel, then he thought all should be well. Here is forgery! In the Tower, Cobham must write to sir Thos. Vane, a worthy man, that he meant not to go to Spain: which letter Raleigh devised in Cobham's name. RALEIGH--I will wash my hands of the indictment, and die a true man to the king. ATTORNEY--You are the absolutist traitor that ever was. RALEIGH--Your phrases will not prove it. ATTORNEY--Cobham writeth a letter to my lord Cecil, and doth with Mellis's man to lay it in a Spanish Bible and to make as though he found it by chance. This was after he had intelligence with this viper, that he was false. LORD CECIL--You mean a letter intended to me; I never had it. ATTORNEY--No, my lord, you had it not. You, my masters of the jury, respect not the wickedness and hatred of the man, respect his cause: if he be guilty, I know you will have care of it, for the preservation of the king, the continuance of the Gospel authorized, and the good of us all. RALEIGH--I do not hear yet, that you have spoken one word against me; here is no Treason of mine done: If my lord Cobham be a Traitor, what is that to me? ATTORNEY--All that he did was by thy instigation, thou viper; for I 'thou' thee, thou Traitor. RALEIGH--It becometh not a man of quality and virtue to call me so: But I take comfort in it, it is all you can do. ATTORNEY--Have I angered you? RALEIGH--I am in no case to be angry. CHIEF-JUSTICE POPHAM--Sir Walter Raleigh, Mr. Attorney speaketh out of the zeal of his duty, for the service of the king, and you for your life; be valiant on both sides. _The Lord Cobham's Examination._[15] 'He confesseth, he had a Passport to go into Spain, intending to go to the Archduke, to confer with him about these Practices; and because he knew the Archduke had not Money to pay his own army, from thence he meant to go to Spain to deal with the king for the 600,000 crowns, and to return by Jersey; and that nothing should be done, until he had spoken with sir Walter Raleigh for distribution of the Money to them which were discontented in England. At the first beginning, he breathed out oaths and exclamations against Raleigh, calling him Villain and Traitor; saying he had never entered into these courses but by his instigation, and that he would never let him alone.' (Here Mr. Attorney willed the Clerk of the Crown Office to read over these last words again, 'He would never let him alone.') 'Besides he spake of plots and invasions; of the particulars whereof he could give no account, though Raleigh and he had conferred of them. Further he said, he was afraid of Raleigh, that when he should return by Jersey, that he would have delivered him and the Money to the king.' 'Being examined of sir A. Gorge he freed him, saying, They never durst trust him: but sir Arthur Savage they intended to use, because they thought him a fit man.' RALEIGH--Let me see the Accusation: this is absolutely all the Evidence that can be brought against me; poor shifts! You Gentlemen of the Jury, I pray you understand this. This is that which must either condemn, or give me life; which must free me, or send my wife and children to beg their bread about the streets. This is that which must prove me a notorious Traitor, or a true subject to the king. Let me see my Accusation, that I may make my Answer. CLERK OF THE COUNCIL--I did read it, and shew you all the examinations. RALEIGH--At my first examination at Windsor, my lords asked me what I knew of Cobham's practice with Aremberg; I answered negatively: and as concerning Arabella I protest before God I never heard one word of it. If that be proved, let me be guilty of 10,000 Treasons. It is a strange thing you will impute that to me, when I never so much as heard the name of Arabella Stuart, but only the name of Arabella. After being examined, I told my lords, that I thought my lord Cobham had conference with Aremberg; I suspected his visiting of him; for after he departed from me at Durham-house I saw him pass by his own stairs, and passed over to St. Mary Saviours, where I knew Lawrency, a merchant, and a follower of Aremberg, lay, and therefore likely to go unto him. My lord Cecil asked my opinion concerning Lawrency; I said that if you do not apprehend Lawrency, it is dangerous, he will fly; if you do apprehend him, you shall give my lord Cobham notice thereof. I was asked who was the greatest man with my lord Cobham; I answered, I knew no man so great with him as young Wyat of Kent. As soon as Cobham saw my Letter to have discovered his dealing with Aremberg in his fury he accused me; but before he came to the stair-foot, he repented, and said he had done me wrong. When he came to the end of his Accusation he added, that if he had brought this money to Jersey, he feared that I would have delivered him and the Money to the King. Mr. Attorney, you said this never came out of Cobham's quiver; he is a simple man. Is he so simple? no: he hath a disposition of his own, he will not easily be guided by others; but when he has once taken head in a matter, he is not easily drawn from it: he is no babe. He then goes on to point out the inherent improbabilities of Cobham's story; he himself had no means for persuading the King of Spain to disburse money, having lost his wardenship of the Stannaries; he knew England to be stronger and Spain to be weaker than they had been; the Spanish fleet had been ruined, and the trade with the Indies had fallen off. Cobham had no money of his own. When Raleigh was examined, he had £40,000 worth of Cobham's jewels which he had bought of him. 'If he had had a fancy to run away he would not have left so much as to have purchased a lease in fee-farm. I saw him buy £300 worth of books to send to his library at Canterbury, and a cabinet of £30 to give to Mr. Attorney for drawing the conveyances; and God in Heaven knoweth, not I, whether he intended to travel or not. But for that practice with Arabella, or letters to Aremberg framed, or any discourse with him, or in what language he spake unto him; if I knew any of these things, I would absolutely confess the indictment, and acknowledge myself worthy of ten thousand deaths.' _Cobham's second Examination read._ The lord Cobham being required to subscribe to an Examination, there was shewed a Note under sir Walter Raleigh's hand; the which when he had perused, he paused, and after brake forth into those Speeches: Oh Villain! oh Traitor! I will now tell you all the truth; and then he said, His purpose was to go into Flanders, and into Spain, for the obtaining the aforesaid Money; and that Raleigh had appointed to meet him in Jersey as he returned home, to be advised of him about the distribution of the Money. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE POPHAM--When Cobham answered to the Interrogatories, he made scruple to subscribe, and being urged to it, he said, if he might hear me affirm, that if a person of his degree ought to set his hand he would: I lying then at Richmond for fear of the plague was sent for, and I told he ought to subscribe; otherwise it were a Contempt of a high nature: then he subscribed. The lords questioned with him further, and he shewed them a letter, as I thought written to me, but it was indeed written to my lord Cecil; he desired to see the Letter again, and then said, 'Oh wretch! oh traitor!' whereby I perceived you had not performed that trust he had reposed in you. RALEIGH--He is as passionate a man as lives; for he hath not spared the best friends he hath in England in his passion. My lords, I take it, he that has been examined, has ever been asked at the time of his Examination, if it be according to his meaning, and then to subscribe. Methinks, my lords, when he accuses a man, he should give some account and reason of it: it is not sufficient to say we talked of it. If I had been the plotter, would not I have given Cobham some arguments, whereby to persuade the king of Spain, and answer his objections? I knew Westmoreland and Bothwell, men of other understandings than Cobham, were ready to beg their bread. SIR THOS. FOWLER (one of the Jury)--Did sir Walter Raleigh write a letter to my lord before he was examined concerning him or not? ATTORNEY--Yes. LORD CECIL--I am in great dispute with myself to speak in the case of this gentleman; a former dearness between me and him tyed so firm a knot of my conceit of his virtues, now broken by a discovery of his imperfections. I protest, did I serve a king that I knew would be displeased with me for speaking, in this case I would speak, whatever came of it; but seeing he is compacted of piety and justice, and one that will not mislike of any man for speaking the truth, I will answer your question. Sir Walter Raleigh was staid by me at Windsor, upon the first news of Copley, that the king's person should be surprized by my lord Grey, and Mr. Geo. Brook; when I found Brook was in, I suspected Cobham, then I doubted Raleigh to be a partaker. I speak not this, that it should be thought I had greater judgment than the rest of my lords in making this haste to have them examined. Raleigh following to Windsor, I met with him upon the Terrace and willed him, as from the king, to stay; saying the lords had something to say to him; then he was examined, but not concerning my lord Cobham but of the surprizing treason. My lord Grey was apprehended, likewise Brook; by Brook, we found that he had given notice to Cobham of the surprizing treason, as he delivered it to us; but with as much sparingness of a brother as he might. We sent for my lord Cobham to Richmond, where he stood upon his justification and his quality; sometimes being froward; he said he was not bound to subscribe, wherewith we made the king acquainted. Cobham said, if my Lord Chief-Justice would say it was a Contempt, he would subscribe; whereof being resolved, he subscribed. There was a light given to Aremberg, that Lawrency was examined; but that Raleigh knew that Cobham was examined is more than I know. RALEIGH--If my lord Cobham had trusted me in the Main, was not I as fit a man to be trusted in the Bye? LORD CECIL--Raleigh did by his Letters acquaint us that my lord Cobham had sent Lawrency to Aremberg, when he knew not he had any dealings with him. LORD H. HOWARD--It made for you if Lawrency had been only acquainted with Cobham, and not with you. But you knew his whole estate, and were acquainted with Cobham's practice with Lawrency: and it was known to you before that Lawrency depended upon Aremberg. ATTORNEY--1. Raleigh protested against the surprizing treason. 2. That he knew not of the matter touching Arabella. I would not charge you, sir Walter, with the matter of falsehood: you say you suspected the Intelligence that Cobham had with Aremberg by Lawrency. RALEIGH--I thought it had been no other intelligence, but such as might be warranted. ATTORNEY--Then it was but lawful suspicion. But to that whereas you said, that Cobham had accused you in passion, I answer three ways. 1. I observed, when Cobham said let me see the letter again, he paused; and when he did see that count Aremberg was touched, he cried out, oh traitor! oh villain! now will I confess the whole truth. 2. The accusation of a man on hearsay is nothing: would he accuse himself on passion and ruinate his case and posterity out of malice to accuse you? 3. Could this be out of passion? Mark the manner of it; Cobham had told this at least two months before to his brother Brook, 'You are fools, you are on the Bye, Raleigh and I are on the Main, we mean to take away the king and his cubs.' This he delivered two months before. So mark the manner and the matter; he would not turn the weapon against his own bosom, and accuse himself to accuse you. RALEIGH--Hath Cobham confessed that? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--This is spoken by Mr. Attorney to prove that Cobham's speech came not out of passion. RALEIGH--Let it be proved that Cobham said so. ATTORNEY--Cobham saith that he was a long time doubtful of Raleigh that he would send him and the money to the king. Did Cobham fear lest you would betray him in Jersey? Then of necessity there must be trust between you. No man can betray a man but he that is trusted, in my understanding. That is the greatest argument to prove that he was acquainted with Cobham's proceedings. Raleigh has a deeper reach, than to make himself as he said, 'Robin Hood, a Kett, or Cade'; yet I never heard that Robin Hood was a traitor; they say he was an outlaw. And whereas he saith that our king is not only more wealthy and potent than his predecessors, but also more politic and wise, so that he could have no hope to prevail; I answer, There is no king so potent, wise, and active, but he may be overtaken through treason. Whereas you say Spain is so poor, discoursing so largely thereof; it had been better for you to have kept in Guiana, than to have been so well acquainted with the state of Spain. Besides, if you could have brought Spain and Scotland to have joined, you might have hoped to prevail a great deal the better. For his six Overthrows, I answer, he hath the more malice, because repulses breed desire of revenge. Then you say you never talked with Cobham, but about leases, and letting lands, and ordering his house; I never knew you Clerk of the Kitchen, etc. If you had fallen on your knees at first and confessed the Treason, it had been better for you. You say, He meant to have given me a Cabinet of £30; perhaps he thought by those means to have anticipated me therewith. But you say all these are Circumstances: I answer, all this Accusation in Circumstance is true. Here now I might appeal to my lords, that you take hold of this, that he subscribed not to the Accusation. LORD HENRY HOWARD--Cobham was not then pressed to subscribe. ATTORNEY--His Accusation being testified by the lords, is of as great force as if he had subscribed. Raleigh saith again, If the Accuser be alive he must be brought face to face to speak; and alledges 25 Edw. 3rd, that there must be two sufficient Witnesses, that must be brought face to face before the accused; and alledgeth 12 and 13 Elizabeth. RALEIGH--You try me by the Spanish Inquisition, if you proceed only by the Circumstances, without two Witnesses. ATTORNEY--This is a treasonable speech. RALEIGH--_Evertere Hominem justum in causa sua injustum est._ Good my lords, let it be proved, either by the laws of the land, or the laws of God, that there ought not to be two Witnesses appointed; yet I will not stand to defend this point in law, if the king will have it so: it is no rare thing for a man to be falsely accused. A Judge condemned a woman in Sarum for killing her husband, on the testimony of one Witness; afterwards his man confessed the Murder, when she was executed; who after being touched in conscience for the Judgment was used to say: _Quod nunquam de hoc facto animam in vita sua purgaret_. It is also commanded by the Scripture; _Allocutus est Jehova Mosen, in Ore duorum aut trium Testium_, etc. If Christ requireth it, as it appeareth Matt. xviii.; if by the Canon, Civil Law, and God's Word, it be required, that there must be two Witnesses at the least, bear with me if I desire one. I would not desire to live, if I were privy to Cobham's proceedings. I have been a slave, a villain, a fool, if I had endeavoured to set up Arabella, and refused so gracious a lord and sovereign. But urge your proofs. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You have offered Questions on diverse Statutes, all which mention two accusers in case of Indictments: you have deceived yourself, for the laws of 25 Edw. 3rd and 5 Edw. 6th are repealed. It sufficeth now if there be proofs made either under hand, or by testimony of Witnesses, or by oaths; it needs not the Subscription of the party, so there be hands of credible men to testify the Examination. RALEIGH--It may be an error in me; and if those laws be repealed, yet I hope the equity of them remains still; but if you affirm it, it must be a law to posterity. The Proof of the Common Law is by witness and jury: let Cobham be here, let him speak it. Call my accuser before my face, and I have done. ATTORNEY--_Scientia sceleris est mera ignorantia._ You have read the letter of the law, but understand it not. Here was your anchor-hold, and your rendezvous: you trust to Cobham, either Cobham must accuse you, or nobody; if he did, then it would not hurt you, because he is but one Witness; if he did not, then you are safe. RALEIGH--If ever I read a word of the law or statutes before I was Prisoner in the Tower, God confound me. The Attorney-General then points out that Cobham confessed that he had a passport to travel, by means of which he intended to go to the Archduke, and then to the King of Spain to raise money, after which Raleigh confessed that he was to have joined him in Jersey on his way home. Cobham had further stated that nothing could be settled as to the distribution of the money they were to receive without Raleigh's concurrence. In reply, Raleigh pointed out that all this depended on Cobham's accusation, which he had never signed or vouched. 'I beseech you, my lords, let Cobham be sent for, charge him on his soul, on his allegiance to the King; if he affirm it, I am guilty.' LORD CECIL--It is the Accusation of my lord Cobham, it is the Evidence against you: must it not be of force without his subscription? I desire to be resolved by the Judges whether by the law it is not a forcible argument of evidence. JUDGES--My lord, it is. RALEIGH--The king at his coronation is sworn _In omnibus Judiciis suis æquitatem, non rigorem legis, observare_. By the rigour and cruelty of the law it may be a forcible evidence. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--That is not the rigour of the law, but the justice of the law; else when a man hath made a plain Accusation, by practice he might be brought to retract it again. RALEIGH--Oh my lord, you may use equity. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--That is from the king; you are to have justice from us. LORD ANDERSON--The law is, if the matter be proved to the jury, they must find you guilty; for Cobham's Accusation is not only against you, there are other things sufficient. LORD CECIL--Now that sir Walter Raleigh is satisfied, that Cobham's Subscription is not necessary, I pray you, Mr. Attorney, go on. RALEIGH--Good Mr. Attorney, be patient, and give me leave. LORD CECIL--An unnecessary patience is a hindrance; let him go on with his proofs, and then repel them. RALEIGH--I would answer particularly. LORD CECIL--If you would have a table and pen and ink, you shall. Then paper and ink was given him. Here the Clerk of the Crown read the Letter, which the lord Cobham did write in July, which was to the effect of his former Examination; further saying, 'I have disclosed all: to accuse any one falsely, were to burden my own conscience.' ATTORNEY--Read Copley's Confession the 8th of June; He saith, He was offered 1000 crowns to be in this action. Here Watson's Additions were read. 'The great mass of Money from the count was impossible,' etc. Brook's Confession read. 'There have Letters passed,' saith he, 'between Cobham and Aremberg, for a great sum of money to assist a second action, for the surprizing of his majesty.' ATTORNEY--It is not possible it was of passion: for it was in talk before three men, being severally examined, who agreed in the sum to be bestowed on discontented persons; That Grey should have 12,000 crowns, and Raleigh should have 8,000, or 10,000 crowns. _Cobham's Examination, July 18._ If the money might be procured (saith he) then a man may give pensions. Being asked if a pension should not be given to his brother Brook, he denied it not. _Lawrency's Examination._ Within five days after Aremberg arrived, Cobham resorted unto him. That night that Cobham went to Aremberg with Lawrency, Raleigh supped with him. ATTORNEY--Raleigh must have his part of the Money, therefore he is now a traitor. The crown shall never stand one year on the head of the king (my master) if a traitor may not be condemned by Circumstances: for if A tells B and B tells C and C D, etc., you shall never prove treason by two Witnesses. _Raleigh's Examination was read._ He confesseth Cobham offered him 8,000 crowns, which he was to have for the furtherance of the peace between England and Spain, and that he should have it within three days. To which he said, he gave this answer; When I see the Money, I will tell you more: for I had thought it had been one of his ordinary idle conceits, and therefore made no Account thereof. RALEIGH--The Attorney hath made a long narration of Copley, and the Priests, which concerns me nothing, neither know I how Cobham was altered. For he told me if I would agree to further the Peace, he would get me 8,000 crowns. I asked him, Who shall have the rest of the money? He said, I will offer such a nobleman (who was not named) some of the Money. I said, He will not be persuaded by you, and he will extremely hate you for such a motion. Let me be pinched to death with hot irons, if ever I knew there was any intention to bestow the money on discontented persons. I had made a discourse against the peace, and would have printed it; if Cobham changed his mind, if the Priests, if Brook had any such intent, what is that to me? They must answer for it. He offered me the Money before Aremberg came, that is difference of time. SERJ. PHILIPS--Raleigh confesseth the matter, but avoideth it by distinguishing of times. You said, it was offered you before the coming of Aremberg, which is false. For you being examined whether you should have such money of Cobham, or not, you said, Yea, and that you should have it within two or three days. _Nemo moriturus præsumitur mentiri._ LORD HENRY HOWARD--Alledge me any ground or cause, wherefore you gave ear to my lord Cobham for receiving pensions, in matters you had not to deal with. RALEIGH--Could I stop my lord Cobham's mouth? LORD CECIL--Sir Walter Raleigh presseth, that my lord Cobham should be brought face to face. If he asks things of favour and grace, they must come only from him that can give them. If we sit here as commissioners, how shall we be satisfied whether he ought to be brought, unless we hear the Judges speak? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--This thing cannot be granted, for then a number of treasons should flourish: the Accuser may be drawn by practice whilst he is in person. JUSTICE GAWDY--The Statute you speak of concerning two Witnesses in case of Treason, is found to be inconvenient, therefore by another law it was taken away. RALEIGH--The common trial of England is by Jury and Witnesses. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--No, by examination: if Three conspire a Treason, and they all confess it; here is never a Witness, yet they are condemned.[16] JUSTICE WARBURTON--I marvel, sir Walter, that you, being of such experience and wit, should stand on this point; for so many horse-stealers may escape, if they may not be condemned without witnesses. If one should rush into the king's Privy Chamber, whilst he is alone, and kill the king (which God forbid), and this man be met coming with his sword all bloody; shall not he be condemned to death? My lord Cobham hath, perhaps, been laboured withal; and to save you, his old friend, it may be that he will deny all that which he hath said. RALEIGH--I know not how you conceive the Law. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Nay, we do not conceive the Law, but we know the Law. RALEIGH--The wisdom of the law of God is absolute and perfect: _Hæc fac et vives_, etc. But now by the Wisdom of the State, the Wisdom of the Law is uncertain. Indeed, where the Accuser is not to be had conveniently, I agree with you; but here my Accuser may; he is alive, and in the house. Susanna had been condemned, if Daniel had not cried out, 'Will you condemn an innocent Israelite, without examination or knowledge of the truth?' Remember it is absolutely the Commandment of God: If a false witness rise up you shall cause him to be brought before the Judges; if he be found false, he shall have the punishment which the accused should have had. It is very sure for my lord to accuse me is my certain danger, and it may be a means to excuse himself. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--There must not such a gap be opened for the destruction of the king, as would be if we should grant this. You plead hard for yourself, but the laws plead as hard for the king. I did never hear that course to be taken in a case of Treason, as to write one to another, or speak one to another, during the time of their imprisonment. There hath been intelligence between you; and what under-hand practices there may be, I know not. If the circumstances agree not with the Evidence, we will not condemn you. RALEIGH--The king desires nothing but the knowledge of the truth, and would have no advantage taken by severity of the law. If ever we had a gracious king, now we have; I hope, as he is, such are his ministers. If there be but a trial of five marks at Common Law, a witness must be deposed. Good my lords, let my Accuser come face to face, and be deposed. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You have no law for it: God forbid any man should accuse himself upon his oath! ATTORNEY--The law presumes, a man will not accuse himself to accuse another. You are an odious man, for Cobham thinks his cause the worse that you are in it. Now you shall hear of some stirs to be raised in Scotland. _Part of Copley's Examination._ 'Also Watson told me, that a special person told him, that Aremberg offered to him 1000 crowns to be in that action; and that Brook said, the stirs in Scotland came out of Raleigh's head.' RALEIGH--Brook hath been taught his Lesson. LORD HENRY HOWARD--This examination was taken before. Did I teach him his lesson? RALEIGH--I protest before God, I meant it not by any privy-counsellor; but because money is scant, he will juggle on both sides. _Raleigh's Examination._ 'The way to invade England, were to begin with Stirs in Scotland.' RALEIGH--I think so still: I have spoken it to divers of the lords of the Council, by way of discourse and opinion. ATTORNEY--Now let us come to those words, 'of destroying the king and his cubs.' RALEIGH--O barbarous! If they, like unnatural villains, should use those words, shall I be charged with them? I will not hear it; I was never any Plotter with them against my country, I was never false to the crown of England. I have spent 4000 pounds of my own against the Spanish Faction, for the good of my country. Do you bring the words of these hellish spiders, Clark, Watson, and others against me? ATTORNEY--Thou hast a Spanish heart, and thyself art a Spider of Hell; for thou confesseth the king to be a most sweet and gracious prince, and yet hast conspired against him. _Watson's Examination read._ 'He said, that George Brook told him twice, That his brother, the lord Cobham, said to him, that you are but on the bye, but Raleigh and I are on the main.' _Brook's Examination read._ 'Being asked what was meant by this Jargon, the Bye and the Main? he said, That the lord Cobham told him, that Grey and others were in the Bye, he and Raleigh were on the Main. Being asked, what exposition his brother made of these words? He said, he is loath to repeat it. And after saith, by the Main was meant the taking away of the king and his issue; and thinks on his conscience, it was infused into his brother's head by Raleigh.' _Cobham's Examination read._ 'Being asked, if ever he had said, "It will never be well in England, till the king and his cubs were taken away"; he said, he had answered before, and that he would answer no more to that point.' RALEIGH--I am not named in all this: there is a law of two sorts of Accusers; one of his own knowledge, another by hear-say. EARL OF SUFFOLK--See the Case of Arnold. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--It is the Case of sir Will. Thomas, and sir Nicholas Arnold. RALEIGH--If this may be, you will have any man's life in a week. ATTORNEY--Raleigh saith, that Cobham was in a passion when he said so. Would he tell his brother anything of malice against Raleigh, whom he loved as his life? RALEIGH--Brook never loved me; until his brother had accused me, he said nothing. LORD CECIL--We have heard nothing that might lead us to think that Brook accused you, he was only in the surprizing Treason: for by accusing you he should accuse his brother. RALEIGH--He doth not much care for that. LORD CECIL--I must judge the best. The accusation of his brother was not voluntary; he pared everything as much as he could to save his brother. _Cobham's Examination read._ 'He saith he had a Book written against the Title of the King, which he had of Raleigh, and that he gave it to his brother Brook: and Raleigh said it was foolishly written.' ATTORNEY--After the king came within 12 miles of London, Cobham never came to see him; and intended to travel without seeing the queen and the prince. Now in this discontentment you gave him the Book, and he gave it his brother. RALEIGH--I never gave it him, he took it off my table. For I well remember a little before that time I received a Challenge from sir Amias Preston,[17] and for that I did intend to answer it, I resolved to leave my estate settled, therefore I laid out all my loose papers, amongst which was this Book. LORD HOWARD--Where had you this Book? RALEIGH--In the old Lord Treasurer's Study, after his death. LORD CECIL--Did you ever shew or make known this Book to me? RALEIGH--No, my lord. LORD CECIL--Was it one of the books which was left to me or my brother? RALEIGH--I took it out of the study in my Lord Treasurer's house in the Strand. LORD CECIL--After my father's decease, sir Walter Raleigh desired to search for some Cosmographical descriptions of the Indies, which he thought were in his Study, and were not to be had in print; which I granted, and would have trusted sir Walter Raleigh as soon as any man: though since for some infirmities, the bands of my affection to him have been broken; and yet reserving my duty to the king my master, which I can by no means dispense with, by God, I love him, and have a great conflict within myself: but I must needs say, sir Walter used me a little unkindly to take the Book away without my knowledge: nevertheless, I need make no apology in behalf of my father, considering how useful and necessary it is for privy-counsellors and those in his place to intercept and keep such kind of writings; for whosoever should then search his study may in all likelihood find all the notorious Libels that were writ against the late queen; and whosoever should rummage my Study, or at least my Cabinet, may find several against the king, our Sovereign Lord, since his accession to the throne. RALEIGH--The Book was in Manuscript, and the late Lord Treasurer had wrote in the beginning of it with his own Hand, these words, 'This is the Book of Robert Snagg.' And I do own, as my lord Cecil has said, that I believe they may also find in my house almost all the Libels that have been writ against the late queen. ATTORNEY--You were no privy-counsellor, and I hope never shall be. LORD CECIL--He was not a sworn counsellor of state, but he has been called to consultations. RALEIGH--I think it a very severe interpretation of the law, to bring me within compass of Treason for this Book, writ so long ago, of which nobody had read any more than the Heads of the Chapters, and which was burnt by G. Brook without my privity; admitting I had delivered the same to my lord Cobham, without allowing or approving, but discommending it, according to Cobham's first Accusation: and put the case, I should come to my lord Cecil, as I have often done, and find a stranger with him, with a packet of Libels, and my lord should let me have one or two of them to peruse: this I hope is no Treason. ATTORNEY--I observe there was intelligence between you and Cobham in the Tower; for after he said it was against the king's Title, he denied it again. SIR W. WADE--First my lord Cobham confesseth it, and after he had subscribed it, he revoked it again: to me he always said, that the drift of it was against the king's Title. RALEIGH--I protest before God, and all his works, I gave him not the Book. (_Note._--Sir Robert Wroth speaketh, or whispereth something secretly.) ATTORNEY--My lords, I must complain of Sir Robert Wroth; he says this Evidence is not material. SIR R. WROTH--I never spake the words. ATTORNEY--Let Mr. Serjeant Philips testify whether he heard him say the word or no. LORD CECIL--I will give my word for sir R. Wroth. SIR R. WROTH--I will speak as truly as you, Mr. Attorney, for my God, I never spake it. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Wherefore should this Book be burnt? RALEIGH--I burned it not. SERJEANT PHILIPS--You presented your friend with it when he was discontented. If it had been before the queen's death, it had been a less matter; but you gave it him presently when he came from the king, which was the time of his discontentment. RALEIGH--Here is a Book supposed to be treasonable; I never read it, commended it, or delivered it, nor urged it. ATTORNEY--Why, this is cunning. RALEIGH--Every thing that doth make for me is cunning, and every thing that maketh against me is probable. ATTORNEY--Lord Cobham saith, that Kemish came to him with a letter torn, and did wish him not to be dismayed, for one witness could not hurt him. RALEIGH--This poor man hath been close prisoner these 18 weeks; he was offered the rack to make him confess. I never sent any such message by him; I only writ to him, to tell him what I had done with Mr. Attorney; having of his at that time a great pearl and a diamond. LORD H. HOWARD--No circumstance moveth me more than this. Kemish was never on the rack, the king gave charge that no rigour should be used. COMMISSIONERS--We protest before God, there was no such matter intended to our knowledge. RALEIGH--Was not the Keeper of the Rack sent for, and he threatened with it? SIR W. WADE--When Mr. Solicitor and myself examined Kemish, we told him he deserved the Rack, but did not threaten him with it. COMMISSIONERS--It was more than we knew. _Cobham's Examination read._ He saith, Kemish brought him a Letter from Raleigh, and that part which was concerning the Lords of the Council was rent out; the Letter contained that he was examined, and cleared himself of all; and that the lord H. Howard said, because he was discontent, he was fit to be in the action. And further, that Kemish said to him from Raleigh that he should be of good comfort, for one witness could not condemn a man for treason. LORD CECIL--Cobham was asked whether, and when, he heard from you? He said, every day. RALEIGH--Kemish added more, I never bade him speak those words. (_Note._--Mr. Attorney here offered to interrupt him.) LORD CECIL--It is his last discourse; give him leave Mr. Attorney. RALEIGH--I am accused concerning Arabella, concerning Money out of Spain. My Lord Chief-Justice saith, a man may be condemned with one witness, yea, without any witness. Cobham is guilty of many things, _Conscientia mille testes_; he hath accused himself, what can he hope for but mercy? My lords, vouchsafe me this grace: Let him be brought, being alive, and in the house; let him avouch any of these things, I will confess the whole indictment and renounce the king's mercy. LORD CECIL--Here hath been a touch of the lady Arabella Stuart, a near kinswoman of the king's. Let us not scandal the innocent by confusion of speech: she is as innocent of all these things as I, or any man here; only she received a Letter from my lord Cobham, to prepare her; which she laughed at, and immediately sent it to the king. So far was she from discontentment, that she laughed him to scorn. But you see how far the count of Aremberg did consent. _The lord Admiral (Nottingham) being by in a Standing, with the lady Arabella, spake to the court_: The lady doth here protest upon her salvation, that she never dealt in any of these things, and so she willed me to tell the court. LORD CECIL--The lord Cobham wrote to my lady Arabella, to know if he might come to speak with her, and gave her to understand, that there were some about the king that laboured to disgrace her; she doubted it was but a trick. But Brook saith his brother moved him to procure Arabella to write Letters to the king of Spain; but he saith, he never did it. RALEIGH--The lord Cobham hath accused me, you see in what manner he hath forsworn it Were it not for his Accusation, all this were nothing. Let him be asked, if I knew of the letter which Lawrency brought to him from Aremberg. Let me speak for my life, it can be no hurt for him to be brought; he dares not accuse me. If you grant me not this favour, I am strangely used; Campian[18] was not denied to have his accusers face to face. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Since he must needs have justice, the acquitting of his old friend may move him to speak otherwise than the truth. RALEIGH--If I had been the infuser of all these Treasons into him; you gentlemen of the jury, mark this, he said I have been the cause of all his miseries, and the destruction of his house, and that all evil hath happened unto him by my wicked counsel; if this be true, whom hath he cause to accuse and to be revenged on, but on me? and I know him to be as revengeful as any man on earth. ATTORNEY--He is a party, and may not come; the law is against it. RALEIGH--It is a toy to tell me of law; I defy such law, I stand on the fact. LORD CECIL--I am afraid my often speaking (who am inferior to my lords here present) will make the world think that I delight to hear myself talk. My affection to you, sir Walter, was not extinguished, but slaked in regard to your deserts. You know the law of the realm (to which your mind doth not contest) that my lord Cobham cannot be brought. RALEIGH--He may be, my lord. LORD CECIL--But dare you challenge it? RALEIGH--No. LORD CECIL--You say that my lord Cobham, your main accuser, must come to accuse you. You say he hath retracted: I say, many particulars are not retracted. What the validity of all this is, is merely left to the jury. Let me ask you this, If my lord Cobham will say you were the only instigator of him to proceed in the treason, dare you put yourself on this? RALEIGH--If he will speak it before God and the king, that ever I knew of Arabella's matter or the money out of Spain, or of the surprizing treason; I put myself on it, God's will and the king's be done with me. LORD H. HOWARD--How! If he speak things equivalent to that you have said? RALEIGH--Yes, in the main point. LORD CECIL--If he say, you have been the instigator of him to deal with the Spanish king, had not the Council cause to draw you hither? RALEIGH--I put myself on it. LORD CECIL--Then, sir Walter, call upon God and prepare yourself; for I do verily believe that my lords will prove this. Excepting your faults (I call them no worse), by God I am your friend. The heat and passion in you, and the Attorney's zeal in the king's service, make me speak this. RALEIGH--Whosoever is the workman, it is reason he should give an account of his work to his workmaster. But let it be proved that he acquainted me with any of his conferences with Aremberg: he would surely have given me some account. LORD CECIL--That follows not: if I set you on work, and you give me no account, am I therefore innocent? ATTORNEY--For the lady Arabella, I said she was never acquainted with the matter. Now that Raleigh had conference in all these treasons, it is manifest. The jury hath heard the matter. There is one Dyer, a pilot, that being in Lisbon met with a Portugal gentleman, who asked him if the king of England was crowned yet: to whom he answered, 'I think not yet, but he shall be shortly.' Nay, saith the Portugal, that shall never be, for his throat will be cut by Don Raleigh and Don Cobham before he be crowned. _Dyer_ was called and sworn, and delivered this evidence. DYER--I came to a merchant's house in Lisbon, to see a boy that I had there; there came a gentleman into the house, and enquiring what countryman I was, I said, an Englishman. Whereupon he asked me, if the king was crowned? And I answered, No, but that I hoped he should be shortly. Nay, saith he, he shall never be crowned; for Don Raleigh and Don Cobham shall cut his throat ere that day come. RALEIGH--What infer you upon this? ATTORNEY--That your treason hath wings. RALEIGH--If Cobham did practice with Aremberg, how could it not but be known in Spain? Why did they name the Duke of Buckingham with Jack Straw's treason, and the Duke of York with Jack Cade, but that it was to countenance his treason? Consider, you Gentlemen of the Jury, there is no cause so doubtful which the king's council cannot make good against the law. Consider my disability and their ability; they prove nothing against me, only they bring the accusation of my lord Cobham which he hath repented and lamented as heartily, as if it had been for an horrible murder: for he knew that all this sorrow that should come to me, is by his means. Presumptions must proceed from precedent or subsequent facts. I have spent 40,000 crowns against the Spaniards. I had not purchased £40 a year. If I had died in Guiana, I had not left 300 marks a year to my wife and son. I that have always condemned Spanish faction, methinks it is a strange thing that now I should affect it! Remember what St. Austin says, _Sic judicate tanquam ab alio mox judicandi; unus judex, unum tribunal_. If you will be contented on presumptions to be delivered up to be slaughtered, to have your wives and children turned into the streets to beg their bread; if you will be contented to be so judged, judge so of me. SERJ. PHILIPS--I hope to make this so clear, as that the wit of man shall have no colour to answer it. The matter is treason in the highest degree, the end to deprive the king of his crown. The particular treasons are these: first, to raise up rebellion, and to effect that, to procure money; to raise up tumults in Scotland, by divulging a treasonable Book against the king's right to the crown; the purpose, to take away the life of his majesty and his issue. My lord Cobham confesseth sir Walter to be guilty of all these treasons. The question is, whether he be guilty as joining with him, or instigating of him? The course to prove this was by my lord Cobham's accusation. If that be true, he is guilty, if not he is clear. So whether Cobham say true, or Raleigh, that is the question. Raleigh hath no answer but the shadow of as much wit as the wit of man can devise. He useth his bare denial; the denial of a defendant must not move the jury. In the Star Chamber, or in the Chancery, for matter of title, if the defendant be called in question, his denial on his oath is no evidence to the court to clear him, he doth it _in propria causa_; therefore much less in matters of treason. Cobham's testification against him before them, and since, hath been largely discoursed. RALEIGH--If truth be constant, and constancy be in truth, why hath he forsworn that that he hath said? You have not proved any one thing against me by direct proofs, but all by circumstances. ATTORNEY--Have you done? The king must have the last. RALEIGH--Nay, Mr. Attorney, he which speaketh for his life, must speak last. False repetitions and mistakings must not mar my cause. You should speak _secundum allegata et probata_. I appeal to God and the king in this point whether Cobham's accusation is sufficient to condemn me. ATTORNEY--The king's safety and your clearing cannot agree. I protest before God, I never knew a clearer treason. RALEIGH--I never had intelligence with Cobham since I came to the Tower. ATTORNEY--Go to, I will lay thee upon thy back, for the confidentest traitor that ever came at a bar. Why should you take 8,000 crowns for a peace? LORD CECIL--Be not so impatient, good Mr. Attorney. Give him leave to speak. ATTORNEY--If I may not be patiently heard, you will encourage traitors and discourage us. I am the king's sworn servant, and must speak; if he be guilty, he is a traitor; if not, deliver him. (_Note._--Here Mr. Attorney sat down in a chafe and would speak no more until the commissioners urged and intreated him. After much ado, he went on, and made a long repetition of all the evidence for the direction of the jury; and at the repeating of some things, sir Walter Raleigh interrupted him and said he did him wrong.) ATTORNEY--Thou art the most vile and execrable traitor that ever lived. RALEIGH--You speak indiscreetly, barbarously, and uncivilly. ATTORNEY--I want words sufficient to express thy viperous treasons. RALEIGH--I think you want words indeed, for you have spoken one thing half a dozen times. ATTORNEY--Thou art an odious fellow, thy name is hateful to all the realm of England for thy pride. RALEIGH--It will go near to prove a measuring cast between you and me, Mr. Attorney. ATTORNEY--Well, I will now make it appear to the world that there never lived a viler viper upon the face of the earth than thou.--And there withal he drew a letter out of his pocket saying further--My lords, you shall see this is an agent that hath writ a treatise against the Spaniard, and hath ever so detested him; this is he that hath spent so much money against him in service; and yet you shall all see whether his heart be not wholly Spanish. The lord Cobham, who of his own nature was a good and honourable gentleman, till overtaken by this wretch now finding his conscience heavily burdened with some courses which the subtlety of this traitor had drawn him into, my lords, he could be at no rest with himself, nor quiet in his thoughts, until he was eased of that heavy weight: out of which passion of his mind and discharge of his duty to his prince and his conscience to God, taking it upon his salvation that he wrote nothing but the truth, with his own hands he wrote this letter. Now sir, you shall see whether you had intelligence with Cobham within four days before he came to the Tower. If he be wholly Spanish, that desired a pension of £1500 a year from Spain, that Spain by him might have intelligence, then Raleigh is a traitor: he hath taken an apple and pinned a letter into it and threw it into my lord Cobham's window, the contents whereof were this, 'It is doubtful whether we shall be proceeded with or no, perhaps you shall not be tried.' This was to get a retractation. Oh! it was Adam's apple whereby the devil did deceive him. Further he wrote thus, 'Do not as my lord of Essex did; take heed of a preacher, for by his persuasion he confessed and made himself guilty.'[19] I doubt not but this day God shall have as great a conquest by this traitor, and the Son of God shall be as much glorified as when it was said _Vicisti Galilæe_; you know my meaning. What though Cobham retracted, yet he could not rest or sleep until he had confirmed it again. If this be not enough to prove him a traitor, the king my master shall not live three years to an end. (_Note._--Here Mr. Attorney produced the lord Cobham's letter, and as he read it, inserted some speeches.) 'I have thought fit to set down this to my lords, wherein I protest on my soul to write nothing but the truth. I am now come near the period of my time, therefore I confess the whole truth before God and his angels. Raleigh, four days before I came from the Tower, caused an apple' (Eve's apple) 'to be thrown in at my chamber window; the effect of it was, to intreat me to right the wrong that I had done him, in saying, "that I should have come home by Jersey"; which under my hand to him I have retracted. His first Letter I answered not, which was thrown in the same manner; wherein he prayed me to write him a Letter, which I did. He sent me word, that the Judges met at Mr. Attorney's house, and that there was good hope the proceedings against us should be stayed: he sent me another time a little tobacco. At Aremberg's coming, Raleigh was to have procured a pension of £1500 a year, for which he promised, that no action should be against Spain, the Low Countries, or the Indies, but he would give knowledge beforehand. He told me, the States had audience with the king.'--(_Attorney._ 'Ah! is not this a Spanish heart in an English body?') 'He hath been the original cause of my ruin; for I had no dealing with Aremberg, but by his instigation. He hath also been the cause of my discontentment; he advised me, not to be overtaken by preachers, as Essex was; and that the king would better allow of a constant denial, than to accuse any.' ATTORNEY--Oh, damnable atheist! He hath learned some Text of Scripture to serve his own purpose, but falsely alledged. He counsels him not to be counselled by preachers, as Essex was: He died the child of God, God honoured him at his death; thou wast by when he died: _Et lupus et turpes instant morientibus Ursæ_. He died indeed for his offence. The king himself spake these words: 'He that shall say, Essex dies not for Treason, is punishable.' RALEIGH--You have heard a strange tale of a strange man. Now he thinks, he hath matter enough to destroy me; but the king and all of you shall witness, by our deaths, which of us was the ruin of the other. I bid a poor fellow throw in the Letter at his window, written to this purpose; 'You know you have undone me, now write three lines to justify me.' In this I will die, that he hath done me wrong: Why did not he acquaint him with my dispositions? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--But what say you now of the Letter, and the Pension of £1500 per annum? RALEIGH--I say, that Cobham is a base, dishonourable, poor soul. ATTORNEY--Is he base? I return it into thy throat on his behalf: but for thee he had been a good subject. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I perceive you are not so clear a man, as you have protested all this while; for you should have discovered these matters to the king. (_Note._--Here Raleigh pulled a Letter out of his pocket, which the lord Cobham had written to him, and desired my lord Cecil to read it, because he only knew his hand; the effect of it was as follows:) _Cobham's Letter of Justification to Raleigh._ 'Seeing myself so near my end, for the discharge of my own conscience, and freeing myself from your blood, which else will cry vengeance against me; I protest upon my salvation I never practised with Spain by your procurement; God so comfort me in this my affliction, as you are a true subject, for any thing that I know. I will say as Daniel, _Purus sum a sanguine hujus_. God have mercy upon my soul, as I know no Treason by you.' RALEIGH--Now I wonder how many souls this man hath. He damns one in this Letter and another in that. (Here was much ado: Mr. Attorney alledged, that his last Letter was politicly and cunningly urged from the lord Cobham, and that the first was simply the truth; and lest it should seem doubtful that the first Letter was drawn from my lord Cobham by promise of mercy, or hope of favour, the Lord Chief-Justice willed that the Jury might herein be satisfied. Whereupon the earl of Devonshire delivered that the same was mere voluntary, and not extracted from the lord Cobham upon any hopes or promise of Pardon.) This concluded the evidence, and the jury having retired for less than a quarter of an hour, they returned, and brought in a verdict of Guilty. When asked whether he had anything to say why judgment should not be passed upon him, Raleigh said that he had never practised with Spain, that he never knew that Cobham meant to get there ('I will ask no mercy at the king's hands, if he will affirm it'), that he never knew of the practice with lady Arabella, that he knew nothing of Cobham's practice with Aremberg, nor of the surprising Treason. The Lord Chief-Justice replied that he was persuaded that Cobham had accused him truly, and reminded him that he had been offered a pension to act as a spy for Spain. Raleigh answered that he submitted himself, and his 'son of tender years, unbrought up,' to the king's mercy. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I thought I should never have seen this day, to have stood in this place to give Sentence of Death against you; because I thought it impossible, that one of so great parts should have fallen so grievously. God hath bestowed on you many benefits. You had been a man fit and able to have served the king in good place. You had brought yourself into a good state of living; if you had entered into a good consideration of your estate and not allowed your own wit to have intrapped yourself, you might have lived in good comfort. It is best for man not to seek to climb too high, lest he fall: nor yet to creep too low, lest he be trodden on. It was the Poesy of the wisest and greatest Counsellor of our time in England, _In media spatio mediocria firma locantur_. You might have lived well with £3000 a year, for so have I heard your revenues to be. I know nothing might move you to be discontented: but if you had been down, you know fortune's wheel, when it is turned down, riseth again. I never heard that the king took away anything from you but the Captainship of the Guard, which he did with very good reason, to have one of his own knowledge, whom he might trust, in that place. You have been taken for a wise man, and so have shewed wit enough this day. Again for Monopolies for Wine, etc., if the king had said, It is a matter that offends my people, should I burden them for your private good? I think you could not well take it hardly, that his subjects were eased, though by your private hindrance. Two vices have lodged chiefly in you; one is an eager ambition, the other corrupt covetousness. Ambition, in desiring to be advanced to equal grace and favour, as you have been beforetime; that grace you had then, you got not in a day or year. For your covetousness, I am sorry to hear that a gentleman of your wealth should become a base Spy for the enemy, which is the vilest of all other; wherein on my conscience, Cobham hath said true: by it you would have increased your living £1500 a year. This covetousness is like canker, that eats the iron place where it lives. Your case being thus, let it not grieve you if I speak a little out of zeal, and love to your good. You have been taxed by the world, with the Defence of the most heathenish and blasphemous Opinions, which I list not to repeat, because Christian ears cannot endure to hear them, nor the authors and maintainers of them be suffered to live in any Christian Commonwealth. You know what men said of Harpool. You shall do well, before you go out of the world, to give satisfaction therein, and not die with these imputations on you. Let not any devil persuade you to think there is no eternity in Heaven: for if you think thus, you shall find eternity in Hell-fire. In the first accusation of my lord Cobham, I observed his manner of speaking; I protest before the living God, I am persuaded he spoke nothing but the truth. You wrote, that he should not in any case confess any thing to a Preacher, telling him an example of my lord of Essex, that noble earl that is gone; who, if he had not been carried away with others, had lived in honour to this day among us: he confessed his offences, and obtained mercy of the Lord; for I am verily persuaded in my heart, he died a worthy servant of God. Your conceit of not confessing anything is very inhuman and wicked. In this world is the time for confessing, that we may be absolved in the Day of Judgment. You have shewed a fearful sign of denying God, in advising a man not to confess the truth. It now comes to my mind, why you may not have your Accuser come face to face: for such an one is easily brought to retract, when he seeth there is no hope of his own life. It is dangerous that any Traitors should have access to, or conference with one another; when they see themselves must die, they will think it best to have their fellow live, that he may commit the like treason again, and so in some sort seek revenge.--Now it resteth to pronounce the Judgment, which I wish you had not been this day to have received of me: for if the fear of God in you had been answerable to your other great parts, you might have lived to have been a singular good subject. I never saw the like Trial, and hope I shall never see the like again. _The Judgment._ But since you have been found guilty of these horrible Treasons, the judgment of this court is, That you shall be had from hence to the place whence you came, there to remain until the day of execution; and from thence you shall be drawn upon a hurdle through the open streets to the place of execution, there to be hanged and cut down alive, and your body shall be opened, your heart and bowels plucked out, and your privy members cut off, and thrown into the fire before your eyes; then your head to be stricken off from your body, and your body shall be divided into four quarters, to be disposed of at the king's pleasure: And God have mercy upon your soul. The execution of sentence on Raleigh was deferred, and he was committed to the Tower, where he remained as a State prisoner for the next thirteen years, engaged in philosophic and scientific pursuits and the education of Prince Henry, the then Prince of Wales. All this time, however, he remained a person of considerable political importance, owing to the assistance which the opponents of the proposed marriage between Prince Charles and the Spanish Infanta hoped to derive from his general popularity, and his reputation as the leading representative of English hatred of Spain. At last, in 1616, he was released from custody, though he was still technically a condemned man, and allowed to prepare his expedition in search of the gold-mine which he believed to exist in Guiana, on the banks of the Orinoco. The expedition was in fact promoted by Winwood, then Secretary, and Villiers, who was at the moment in the hands of the enemies of Somerset and the Spanish faction, and was always intended by them as an act of hostility to Spain. How far Raleigh entered into it in the spirit in which he represented it to the King, may be judged of from the fact that he was ready at one time to direct it against the Spaniards in Genoa, as a relief to the Duke of Savoy, with whom they were then at war, and at another against the French, to support a rebellion against the Queen-Mother, then in power. He had also entered into negotiations with the French Court to bring his ships back to France rather than England when its end was accomplished. What Raleigh's actual intentions were when he started, it is impossible to say. But they were all frustrated when a force which he sent up the Orinoco was disastrously defeated in January 1617, in an attack on a Spanish settlement, which was unexpectedly discovered between the sea and the supposed situation of the mine. Raleigh returned a ruined man. He wished himself to go to France, but his crew forced him to promise to obtain their pardon from the King before he brought his ship into port. In the end, after having touched at Kinsale, he persuaded his men to sail for Plymouth. On landing he set out for London, but on the way met his cousin, Sir Lewis Stukely, Vice-Admiral of Devon, charged with orders to arrest him. Returning to Plymouth, he found means to put himself into communication with the captain of a French ship, lying in the Sound. Preparations were made for his escape in her, but Raleigh changed his mind when he was actually in a boat on his way to board her, and returned to land. Soon after orders came that he should be brought up to London; but he managed to procure a little more time by feigning illness at Salisbury. Here he attempted to bribe Stukely to allow him to escape; but this proving in vain, he sent King, one of his captains, to hire a vessel at Gravesend to await him till he could go on board. The master, however, communicated the plan to a captain of one of the King's ships, who passed it on to Stukely, who thereupon communicated both attempts to the King. The next day Stukely sent the further information to the Court, that Le Clerc, the agent of the King of France, had offered Raleigh a passage on a French ship, and letters which would procure him an honourable reception in France, which Raleigh had refused on the ground that his escape was already provided for. Stukely was accordingly ordered to feign friendship with Raleigh, and to aid his attempt to escape, arresting him at the last moment; the object being to gain as much information as to his designs as he could from Raleigh, and possibly to obtain papers which would contain evidence against him and his confederates. Raleigh was thereupon taken to his own house in Bread Street, where he received a visit from Le Clerc, who repeated his offers, which were accepted, and he was finally arrested the next morning as he was escaping in a boat with Stukely and King, and brought back once more to the Tower. Here Sir Thomas Wilson, an old spy of Queen Elizabeth's, was set to extract from him, if he could, an acknowledgment of the true character of his dealings with the French; and at length Raleigh wrote to the King admitting that he had sailed with a commission from the French admiral, and that La Chesnée, the interpreter to the French Ambassador, had offered to assist in his escape. Meanwhile a commission had been sitting to advise the King as to the best course for him to follow. In the end they reported that Raleigh could not be tried for any offence of which he had been guilty as an attainted man, that if he were executed at all, he must therefore be executed upon the old judgment, and that it would not be illegal to send him to execution on a simple warrant. At the same time, they recommended that he should be allowed something as near a trial as the circumstances admitted of; that there should be a public proceeding in which the witnesses should be publicly called, and that Raleigh should be heard in his own defence. This, however, the King would not allow; and on the 28th of October 1618, Raleigh was brought up from the Tower to the King's Bench at Westminster to receive judgment. He was called on to say why execution should not be awarded against him, and pleaded that whereas since judgment he had held the King's commission for a voyage beyond the seas, with power of life and death over others, he was discharged of the judgment; 'but the voyage, notwithstanding my endeavour, had no other success, but what was fatal to me, the loss of my son, and the wasting of my whole estate.' Sir Edward Coke, now Lord Chief-Justice, ruled that this plea was bad, as the commission had not the effect of a pardon, 'for by words of a special nature, in case of treason, you must be pardoned, and not implicitly.' He then proceeded, not without dignity, to order that execution should be granted. The night before the Execution, Sir Walter wrote the following Letters, the one to the King, the other to his Wife:-- _Sir Walter Raleigh's Letter to the King._ 'The life which I had, most mighty prince, the law hath taken from me, and I am now but the same earth and dust out of which I was made. If my offence had any proportion with your majesty's mercy, I might despair, or if my deserving had any quantity with your majesty's unmeasurable goodness, I might yet have hope; but it is you that must judge that, not I. Name, blood, gentility or estate, I have none; no not so much as a _vitam plantæ_: I have only a penitent soul in a body of iron, which moveth towards the loadstone of death, and cannot be with-held from touching it, except your majesty's mercy turn the point towards me that expelleth. Lost I am for hearing of vain man, for hearing only, and never believing or accepting: and so little account I made of that speech of his, which was my condemnation (as my forsaking him doth truly witness), that I never remembered any such thing, till it was at my trial objected against me. So did he repay my care, who cared to make him good, which I now see no care of man can effect. But God (for my offence to him) hath laid this heavy burden upon me, miserable and unfortunate wretch that I am! But for not loving you (my sovereign), God hath not laid this sorrow on me; for he knows (with whom I am not in case to lie) that I honoured your majesty by fame, and loved and admired you by knowledge; so that whether I live or die, your majesty's loving servant I will live and die. If now, I write what seems not well-favoured, most merciful prince, vouchsafe to ascribe it to the counsel of a dead heart, and to a mind that sorrow hath confounded. But the more my misery is, the more is your majesty's mercy, if you please to behold it, and the less I can deserve, the more liberal your majesty's gift shall be: herein you shall only imitate God, by giving free life; and by giving it to such a one, from whom there can be no retribution, but only a desire to pay a lent life with the same great love, which the same great goodness shall bestow on it. This being the first letter that ever your majesty received from a dead man: I humbly submit myself to the will of God, my supreme lord, and shall willingly and patiently suffer whatsoever it shall please your majesty to afflict me withal. 'WALTER RALEIGH.' _Sir Walter Raleigh's Letter to his Wife._ 'You shall now receive, my dear wife, my last words in these my last lines. My love I send you, that you may keep it when I am dead; and my counsel, that you may remember it when I am no more. I would not by my Will present you with sorrows, dear Besse, let them go into the grave with me, and be buried in the dust. And seeing that it is not God's will that I should see you any more in this life, bear it patiently, and with a heart like thyself. First, I send you all the thanks which my heart can conceive, or my words can rehearse, for your many travails, and care taken for me; which though they have not taken effect as you wished, yet my debt to you is not the less; but pay it I never shall in this world. Secondly, I beseech you, for the love you bare me living, do not hide yourself many days, but by your travels seek to help your miserable fortunes, and the right of your poor child. Thy mourning cannot avail me, I am but dust. Thirdly, you shall understand that my land was conveyed _bona fide_ to my child: the Writings were drawn at Midsummer was twelve months, my honest cousin Brett can testify so much, and Dolberry too can remember somewhat therein. And I trust my blood will quench their malice that have cruelly murdered me, and that they will not seek also to kill thee and thine with extreme poverty. To what friend to direct thee I know not, for all mine have left me in the true time of trial. And I perceive that my death was determined from the first day. Most sorry I am, God knows, that being thus surprised with death I can leave you in no better estate. God is my witness, I meant you all my office of wines, or all that I could have purchased by selling it, half my stuff, and all my jewels, but some one for the boy; but God hath prevented all my resolutions, that great God that ruleth all in all: but if you can live free from want, care for no more, the rest is but vanity. Love God, and begin betimes to repose yourself upon him, and therein shall you find true and lasting riches and endless comfort: for the rest, when you have travelled and wearied your thoughts over all sorts of worldly cogitations, you shall but sit down by sorrow in the end. Teach your son also to love and fear God whilst he is yet young, that the fear of God may grow with him; and then God will be a husband to you, and a father to him; a husband and a father that cannot be taken from you. Baily oweth me £500 and Adrian £600 in Jersey. I also have much owing me besides. The arrearages of the wines will pay your debts. And howsoever you do, for my soul's sake, pay all poor men. When I am gone, no doubt you shall be sought to, for the world thinks I was very rich. But take heed of the pretences of men, and their affections, for they last not but in honest and worthy men; and no greater misery can befall you in this life than to become a prey, and afterwards to be despised. I speak not this, God knows, to dissuade you from marriage, for it will be best for you both in respect of the world and of God. As for me, I am no more yours, nor you mine, death hath cut us asunder; and God hath divided me from the world and you from me. Remember your poor child for his father's sake who chose you and loved you in his happiest times. Get those Letters, if it be possible, which I writ to the lords, wherein I sued for life: God is my witness it was for you and yours that I desired life; but it is true that I disdained myself for begging of it: for know it, my dear wife, that your son is the son of a true man, and who, in his own respect, despiseth death, and all his misshapen and ugly form. I cannot write much, God he knows how hardly I steal this time while others sleep, and it is also time that I should separate my thoughts from the world. Beg my dead body, which living was denied thee; and either lay it at Sherburne (and if the land continue) or in Exeter church by my father and mother. I can say no more, Time and Death call me away; the everlasting, powerful, infinite and omnipotent God, that Almighty God, who is goodness itself, the true life and true light, keep thee and thine, have mercy on me, and teach me to forgive my persecutors and accusers, and send us to meet in his glorious kingdom. My dear wife, farewell. Bless my poor boy. Pray for me, and let my good God hold you both in his arms. Written with the dying hand of sometime thy husband, but now alas overthrown.' 'WALTER RALEIGH.' On the 29th of October 1618, at nine o'clock in the morning, Raleigh was brought to the scaffold in Old Palace Yard. As he began to make his dying speech he saw Lords Arundel, Northampton, and Doncaster with other lords and knights at a window, but too far off to hear him easily. 'I will strain my voice,' said he, 'for I would willingly have your honours hear me'; whereupon Arundel and the others came down to the scaffold, and he having saluted them, began his speech again. He made no reference to his original conviction, but occupied himself in justifying his conduct since his return from Guiana. He denied having had any commission from the French king, or knowing anything of a French agent till he met him in his lodgings. He never spoke dishonourably of the King. He did try to escape, but it was to save his life; and he feigned illness at Salisbury, but it was in the hope of being able to work upon the King's pity. He forgave the Frenchman, Le Clerc or La Chesnée, and Sir Lewis Stukeley, 'for I have received the Sacrament this morning of Mr. Dean of Westminster, and I have forgiven all men; but that they are perfidious, I am bound in charity to speak, that all men may take heed of them,' Stukeley, 'my keeper and kinsman,' had said that he had told him that Carew and Doncaster had advised him to escape; but this was not true; and it was needless that they should so tell him, for he was left as much as ten days together at liberty to go where he would. He had not offered Stukeley any money to procure his escape. So far was it from being the case that he was brought by force into England, his soldiers mutinied, and forced him to take an oath that he would not go there till they would; and it was only by great exertions that he persuaded them to go to Ireland, and then to England. He had only £100 with him when he started for Guiana, and of that he gave his wife £25. 'It is said that I should be a persecutor of the death of the Earl of Essex, and that I stood in a window over against him when he suffered, and puffed out tobacco in disdain of him. God I take to witness, I shed tears for him when he died; and as I hope to look God in the face hereafter, my lord of Essex did not see my face when he suffered, for I was afar off in the Armoury when I saw him, but he saw not me. I confess indeed I was of the contrary faction, but I know my lord of Essex was a noble gentleman, and that it would be worse with me when he was gone; for I got the hate of those who wished me well before, and those that set me against him afterwards set themselves against me, and were my greatest enemies, and my soul hath many times been grieved that I was not nearer him when he died; because, as I understood afterwards, that he asked for me at his death to have been reconciled unto me.' And then proclamation having been made, he took leave of the lords, knights, and gentlemen on the scaffold, particularly of Lord Arundel, and asked to see the axe, and when it was brought to him, he felt along the edge of it, and smiling, said to the sheriff, 'This is a sharp medicine, but it is a physician that will cure all diseases.' He then prayed a little, and having made the sign, the executioner cut off his head with two blows. FOOTNOTES: [1] The following are the leading dates in Raleigh's life. He was born about 1562 at Hayes, near Budleigh Salterton; he was at Oriel in 1572; he was present at the battles of Jarnac and Montcontour in 1569; he may have been in Paris during the massacre of St. Bartholomew in 1572; he was in Islington in 1577; and fighting in the Low Countries in 1578. He left England on a freebooting expedition the same year, and returned in 1579. He was about the Court on his return, and in 1580 went to Ireland, where he massacred the Spanish prisoners taken at Smerwick. In 1581 he returned to the Court, and attracted the Queen's notice, possibly by laying down his cloak for her to walk over, according to the well-known legend, for which Professor Laughton and Mr. Sidney Lee consider that there may be a foundation in fact. He was knighted in 1584, and made Warden of the Stannaries in 1585, and subsequently received many other profitable grants. In 1584 he sent out the expedition which discovered Virginia, and other expeditions to occupy it, but without success, in 1585 and 1587. In 1588 began his quarrel with Essex; he was in Ireland in 1589, and returned to introduce Spenser to the Queen. In 1592 he helped to fit out a powerful expedition, and against the Queen's orders took it to sea himself; returning in a few months, after capturing the _Madre de Dios_, containing a cargo estimated at the value of half a million. He was committed to the Tower in July for having carried on an intrigue with Elizabeth Throgmorton, and he retired to Sherborne in the same year. In 1593 Raleigh and his friends Harriot and Marlowe incurred the suspicion of the government as atheists, and an inquiry was held, of which the results are not known. In February 1594-95 he started on his first Guiana expedition, and returned in 1595 after sailing some way up the Orinoco. He took part in the expedition to Cadiz in 1596. In July 1600 he was sent with Lord Cobham to congratulate Lord Grey on the battle of Nieuport, and later in the year went as governor to Jersey. He was present, as related in the text, at Essex's trial (see p. 70). The immediate causes which led to his trial are stated above. [2] Archduke Albert was a younger brother of the Emperor Rudolf II., and had married Isabella, the eldest daughter of Philip II. of Spain, who made over the sovereignty of the Netherlands to his daughter and son-in-law a few years before his death in 1598. [3] Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk (1561-1626), was the second son of the Duke of Norfolk beheaded by Elizabeth in 1572. He gained considerable distinction as a sailor, taking part in the defeat of the Armada and the attack on the Spanish treasure-ship in which Sir Richard Grenville was killed. He rose to a position of influence under Elizabeth, was made an Earl on James's accession, and after filling many high offices became Lord High Treasurer in 1614, which office he held till 1619. In that year he was dismissed, fined £30,000, and imprisoned in the Tower, for serious embezzlements and other frauds. He was afterwards received back into favour: it was generally supposed that his wife was chiefly to blame for his defalcations. He was grandfather to the second Lord Howard of Escrick, the witness against Lord Russell, whose trial see in vol. ii. [4] Charles Blunt, Earl of Devon (1563-1606), was the second son of the eighth Lord Mountjoy. He soon attracted the Queen's notice, fought in the Low Countries, and took part in the defeat of the Armada. He was offered and accepted the post of Lord Deputy of Ireland after it was vacated by Essex, and was to some extent implicated in Essex's subsequent treason. In 1602 he obtained Tyrone's surrender in Ireland after three years' fighting. He returned to England in 1603, and held occasional important appointments. In 1605 he was married by Laud to Lady Rich, the former mistress of Sir Philip Sidney and himself, and the divorced wife of Lord Rich. The event is chiefly remarkable for the part taken in it by Laud. [5] Henry Howard, Earl of Northampton (1540-1614), was the second son of the Earl of Surrey, beheaded in Henry VIII.'s reign. After a long period of political intrigue he rose to power on James's accession, having long been in correspondence with him. He was an avowed enemy of Raleigh. He maintained a position of great influence till the end of his life, generally using his influence in support of the king's prerogative and the Catholics. After his death he was accused of complicity in the poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury in the Tower: not altogether without reason. He built Northumberland House. [6] Robert Cecil, Earl of Salisbury (1563?-1612), was at the time of this trial at the middle point of his long official career. He first appears in a public capacity in 1588, when he was sent to Spain in the train of Lord Derby, having been appointed ambassador to negotiate conditions of peace. He represented Hertfordshire in the House of Commons in 1589; in 1591 he was sworn of the Privy Council; and in 1596, during the absence of his rival Essex on the Cadiz expedition, he was appointed Secretary of State. In 1598 he took part in an embassy to Paris with Lord Brooke, Raleigh, and others to hinder an alliance between France and Spain. In 1600 Cecil was a member of a Commission appointed to report on Essex's return from Ireland without permission, and managed to mitigate the gravity of his offence; but in 1601, on Essex's trial for treason, had to defend himself from an accusation by Essex of having declared himself in favour of the Infanta's claim to the throne. By careful preparations he secured the peaceable accession of James II. to the throne, and was raised to the peerage, and eventually made Earl of Salisbury in consequence. For the rest of his life he remained James's most trusted minister. [7] John Popham (1531-1607) was born of a good family in Somersetshire. He was reported to have been stolen by gypsies in his youth, but was educated at Balliol. He began life in London as a law-student and a highwayman; but soon became, according to Campbell, a consummate lawyer, practising chiefly as a special pleader. He became a Serjeant and Solicitor-General in 1578, Speaker in 1580, Attorney-General in 1581, and Lord Chief-Justice in 1592. He presided at the trial of Guy Fawkes and his fellow-conspirators. He enjoyed the reputation of being a sound lawyer and a severe judge. He left the greatest estate that had ever been amassed by a lawyer; but it is probably untrue that he acquired Littlecot Hall by fraudulently acquitting 'Wild Darrell' of the murder of its newly born heir. He was, however, reported to have saved money while he was a highwayman. [8] Sir Edmund Anderson (1530-1605) was born at Flinborough or Broughton in Lincolnshire. He was educated at Lincoln College, Oxford, called to the bar, and made a Serjeant in 1577. He tried Robert Brown, founder of the Brownists, as assistant judge on the Norfolk Circuit in 1581; in the same year he tried Campian, the Jesuit, on the Western Circuit. In both cases he expressed strong views as to the claims of the Established Church. He was promoted to the chiefship of the Common Pleas in 1582, and tried Babington for treason in 1586, and Davison for beheading Mary, Queen of Scots. He also took part in the trials of the Duke of Arundel; Sir John Perrot, Lord Deputy of Ireland; and the Earl of Essex. He also tried Udall, the puritan, and no doubt tried to entrap him into a confession of guilt. Apart from political trials, he had the reputation of being a good judge and a sound lawyer. [9] Henry Brooke, eighth Lord Cobham, was the son of a leading favourite of Queen Elizabeth's. On his father's death he succeeded to much of his father's influence; Robert Cecil married his sister; and they were both enemies of Essex. Cobham's influence did not last into James's reign, and he entered on the transactions which are discussed in Raleigh's trial. He himself was tried and convicted after Raleigh (see p. 6), but after being pardoned on the scaffold he remained a prisoner in the Tower till 1617, when he was allowed to pay a visit to Bath for his health: he died on the way home. [10] Arabella Stuart was the daughter of the Earl of Lenox, younger brother of Lord Darnley, the grandson of Margaret, eldest sister of Henry VII., and thus stood next in succession to James. Her claim to the throne as against James was that she was born in England, whereas he was an alien. She had been arrested by Elizabeth in consequence of a rumour that she was to marry William Seymour, grandson of Catherine Grey. She was imprisoned in 1609 on another rumour of her marriage to some person unknown. In 1610 she became actually engaged to William Seymour: he promised not to marry her without the King's consent, but married her secretly a few months afterwards. The marriage was discovered, and she was committed to private custody whilst her husband was committed to the Tower. She escaped, disguised in a man's clothes, but was arrested in the Straits of Dover. She died in the Tower in 1615. [11] Sir Edward Coke (1552-1634) came of an old Norfolk family, and was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge. He was called to the bar in 1578, having already acquired a reputation as a lawyer. He entered public life as member for Aldborough in 1589, and as member for Norfolk in 1592. He became Speaker in 1593, and in opposition to Bacon became Attorney-General in 1593. In 1598, on the death of his first wife, he married Elizabeth Hatton, Burghley's granddaughter, again depriving Bacon of a prize. He was retained to prosecute Essex, Southampton, and the Gunpowder Plot conspirators, against all of whom he showed the same animus that he did against Raleigh. In 1606 he became Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas, in which capacity he maintained the independence of the Law Courts against ecclesiastical interference. He likewise offered a resolute opposition to the King's claim to place impositions on imported merchandise, and to regulate by proclamation such matters as the erection of new buildings in London and the manufacture of starch from wheat. In 1613 Coke, much against his will, was promoted, on Bacon's advice, to the post of Chief-Justice of the King's Bench, where, though his dignity was greater, his profits were less, and he was less likely to have opportunity for opposing the King's measures. At the same time he was made a Privy Councillor. His opposition to the power of the Chancellor to exercise his equitable jurisdiction by injunction, and to the King's power to grant commendams proved less successful than his former measures; and what was considered his excess of zeal in inquiring into the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, his opposition to the growth of the powers of the Ecclesiastical Commission and the Star Chamber, and no doubt other less public matters, led to his being deprived of his office on the 5th of November 1616. After his dismissal he became engaged in a most undignified quarrel with his wife as to whether their daughter should marry Buckingham's elder brother, which she eventually did. In 1617 he was recalled to the Council, and occasionally judicially employed. In 1621 he re-entered the House of Commons, and took up the popular side in resisting monopolies and other abuses. He was engaged in drawing up the charges against Bacon in the same year. He drew up the 'Protestation' affirming the privileges of Parliament in December 1621, and was committed to the Tower in consequence. He was released in August 1622, but remained in a kind of qualified confinement. He resisted an attempt by James to exclude him from the 1624 Parliament by sending him on a commission to Ireland, and though he continued in opposition contrived to reconcile himself to the King to some extent. He opposed Charles's demands for money in his first two parliaments and drafted the Petition of Right, and made his final appearance in the debate on the Grand Remonstrance (1628), when he openly accused Buckingham as being the cause of the misfortunes of the country. [12] _Post_, p. 45. [13] Andrews (1555-1626) was appointed to the living of St. Giles, Cripplegate, in 1589, through Walsingham's influence. He was made Master of Pembroke Hall soon after. He refused two bishoprics offered him by Elizabeth because he would not consent to the alienation of any part of their revenues; but became Dean of Windsor in 1601. He subsequently became Bishop of Chichester in 1605; of Ely in 1609; of Winchester in 1619. He took part in the Hampton Court Conference, and his name stands first in the list of the authors of the Authorised Version. [14] Patrick Galloway had followed the King from Scotland: he had assisted James in some of his religious writings, and was Moderator of the General Assembly in 1590 and 1602. He afterwards upheld the liberties of the Kirk against the attempts of James to restrict them, and warmly supported the Five Articles of Perth in 1618. [15] See _ante_, p. 5. [16] See _ante_, p. 7. [17] Sir Amyas Preston came of a good family settled at Crichet in Somerset. He was lieutenant of the _Ark_ in the attack on the Armada: and afterwards ravaged the West Indies, in company of Somers, in 1596. He was knighted by Howard during his Cadiz expedition. He seems to have been a friend of Essex; the challenge to Raleigh took place in 1601, but did not lead to a meeting. [18] Edmund Campian (1540-1581), the famous Jesuit, was educated at Christ's Hospital, and afterward at St. John's, Oxford. He took an oath against the Pope's supremacy on proceeding to a Master's degree, in 1564; but was probably always a Catholic at heart. He welcomed Elizabeth to Oxford in a Latin oration in 1566, and was subsequently patronised by Leicester and Cecil. He took deacon's orders, and went to Dublin in the hope of having the direction of the Dublin University, which it was proposed to resuscitate. He fell under suspicion as a Papist, but managed to escape arrest and return to England, whence, after hearing Dr. Storey's trial in 1571, he repaired to Douay, and formally renounced the Protestant faith. He went to Rome, became a Jesuit, and was among the first to be despatched to England on a Jesuit mission. He landed at Dover in 1580, and was arrested, but released and went to London. After various adventures in different parts of the country he was again arrested, and brought to London in 1581. He was rigorously examined as to his mission, but concealed the fact that he was charged to persuade Catholics to separate themselves from the English communion. Afterwards he was tortured, and a report, probably false, was spread abroad that he had betrayed his companions. He was then called upon to meet his adversaries in a public disputation, which he did with great courage and skill. After being again tortured, he was tried and convicted of treason in stirring up sedition. His trial was most unfairly conducted, and it seems probable that the charge was altogether false. He was executed on 1st December 1581. [19] 'Take heed of a preacher as Essex did.' Essex admitted his guilt at the end of his trial. Howell (_State Trials_, vol. i. p. 1358) says: 'On the 25th of February 1601, which was the day appointed for his execution, Thomas Mountford and William Barlow, doctors of divinity, with Ashton, the minister of the Church in the Tower, were sent unto him early to administer Christian consolation to his soul. In the presence of these men he gave thanks to Almighty God from the bottom of his heart, that his designs, which were so dangerous to the state, succeeded not. He told them he had now looked thoroughly and seriously into his sin, and was heartily sorry he had so obstinately defended an unjust cause at the bar.... He acknowledged how worthy he was to be spued out (these were his words) by the Commonwealth for the wickedness of his enterprize, which he likened to a leprosy spread far and near, and that he had infected many.' CHARLES I The following report was first published 'by Authority, to prevent false and impertinent relations.' It was licensed by Gilbert Mabbot, and, so far as one can judge from internal evidence, is rather the slightly amplified transcript of a barrister's note, than the work of anybody who in those days might represent a modern newspaper reporter. The whole is carelessly put together, as far as form is concerned; the grammar is often halting, and the sentences are not always finished. But I should suppose that all the arguments used on either side are fairly indicated, except in those places where it is suggested in a note that 'authority' made excisions. If such excisions were made, however, the fact that the gaps were left in their present state is evidence of the substantial accuracy and fairness of the rest of the report. Taking a purely legal view of the matter, which no one will pretend covers the whole, or indeed the most important part of the case, one does not see why, if Bradshaw left in as much as he did, he should not have left in everything. From the point of view of defending counsel, Charles had an unanswerable case, and he was enough of a lawyer to make the most of it. Bradshaw, on the other hand, seems, to me at least, to have played his part not badly. Considering all things, I do not myself see that his behaviour to Charles was unnecessarily harsh. If you have made up your mind to cut off a man's head, and if you are aware that your position as a judge is a false one, you are bound to assert your authority without much regard to prisoners' feelings, or even good manners. I am not in a position to discuss what effect the essential illegality of the trial, from a formal point of view, produced on contemporary and subsequent opinion; but I think it may safely be said that the trial presents the most striking example to be found in English history of the view held in this country of the authority of the law. I have only to add that in this trial I have reproduced the original report exactly as I found it. On Saturday, being the 20th day of January 1649, the Lord President of the High Court of Justice,[20] with near fourscore of the members of the said Court, having sixteen gentlemen with partizans, and a sword, and a mace, with their and other officers of the said Court, marching before them, came to the place ordered to be prepared for their sitting at the west-end of the great Hall at Westminster; where the Lord President, in a crimson velvet chair, fixed in the midst of the Court, placed himself, having a desk with a crimson-velvet cushion before him; the rest of the members placing themselves on each side of him upon several seats, or benches, prepared and hung with scarlet for that purpose; and the partizans dividing themselves on each side of the court before them. The Court being thus sat, and Silence made, the great gate of the said Hall was set open, to the end that all persons without exception, desirous to see or hear, might come into it. Upon which the Hall was presently filled, and silence again ordered. This done, colonel Thomlinson, who had the charge of the Prisoner, was commanded to bring him to the Court; who within a quarter of an hour's space brought him, attended with about twenty officers with partizans, marching before him, there being other gentlemen, to whose care and custody he was likewise committed, marching in his rear. Being thus brought up within the face of the Court, the Serjeant at Arms, with his mace, receives and conducts him strait to the bar, having a crimson-velvet chair set before him. After a stern looking upon the Court, and the people in the galleries on each side of him, he places himself, not at all moving his hat, or otherwise shewing the least respect to the court; but presently rises up again, and turns about, looking downwards upon the guards placed on the left side, and on the multitude of spectators on the right side of the said great Hall. After silence made among the people, the Act of Parliament for the trying of Charles Stuart, king of England, was read over by the Clerk of the Court, who sat on one side of a table covered with a rich Turkey-carpet, and placed at the feet of the said Lord President; upon which table was also laid the sword and mace. After reading the said Act, the several names of the Commissioners were called over, every one who was present, being eighty, as aforesaid, rising up, and answering to his call. Having again placed himself in his Chair, with his face towards the Court, silence being again ordered, the Lord President stood up, and said, LORD PRESIDENT--Charles Stuart, king of England, the Commons of England assembled in Parliament being deeply sensible of the calamities that have been brought upon this nation, which is fixed upon you as the principal author of it, have resolved to make inquisition for blood; and according to that debt and duty they owe to justice, to God, the kingdom, and themselves, and according to the fundamental power that rests in themselves, they have resolved to bring you to Trial and Judgment; and for that purpose have constituted this High Court of Justice, before which they are brought. This said, Mr. Cook,[21] Solicitor for the Commonwealth standing within a bar on the right hand of the Prisoner, offered to speak; but the king having a staff in his hand, held it up, and laid it on the said Mr. Cook's shoulder two or three times, bidding him hold. Nevertheless, the Lord President ordering him to go on, he said, MR. COOK--My lord, I am commanded to charge Charles Stuart King of England, in the name of the Commons of England, with Treason and High Misdemeanors; I desire the said Charge may be read. The said Charge being delivered to the Clerk of the Court, the Lord President ordered it should be read; but the king bid him hold. Nevertheless, being commanded by the Lord President to read it, the Clerk begun, and the Prisoner sat down again in his chair, looking sometimes on the High Court, sometimes up to the Galleries; and having risen again, and turned about to behold the guards and spectators, sat down, looking very sternly, and with a countenance not at all moved, till these words, viz.:--'Charles Stuart to be a Tyrant and Traitor,' etc. were read; at which he laughed, as he sat, in the face of the Court. The Charge being read, the Lord President replied; LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, You have now heard your Charge, containing such matter as appears in it; you find, that in the close of it, it is prayed to the Court, in the behalf of the commons of England, that you answer to your Charge. The Court expects your Answer. KING--I would know by what power I am called hither; I was not long ago in the Isle of Wight; how I came there, is a longer story than I think it fit at this present time for me to speak of; but there I entered into a Treaty with both houses of Parliament, with as much public faith as it is possible to be had of any people in the world. I treated there with a number of honorable lords and gentlemen, and treated honestly and uprightly; I cannot say but they did very nobly with me, we were upon the conclusion of the Treaty. Now I would know by what authority, I mean lawful; there are many unlawful authorities in the world, thieves and robbers by the highways; but I would know by what authority I was brought from thence, and carried from place to place, and I know not what; and when I know what lawful authority, I shall answer. Remember I am your king, your lawful king, and what sins you bring upon your heads, and the judgment of God upon this land; think well upon it, I say, think well upon it, before you go further from one sin to a greater; therefore let me know by what lawful authority I am seated here, and I shall not be unwilling to answer. In the mean time, I shall not betray my trust; I have a trust committed to me by God, by old and lawful descent; I will not betray it, to answer to a new unlawful authority; therefore resolve me that and you shall hear more of me. LORD PRESIDENT--If you had been pleased to have observed what was hinted to you by the Court, at your first coming hither, you would have known by what authority; which authority requires you, in the name of the people of England, of which you are elected king, to answer them. KING--No. Sir, I deny that. LORD PRESIDENT--If you acknowledge not the authority of the Court, they must proceed. KING--I do tell them so; England was never an elective kingdom, but an hereditary kingdom, for near these thousand years; therefore let me know by what authority I am called hither. I do stand more for the Liberty of my people, than any here that come to be my pretended Judges; and therefore let me know by what lawful authority I am seated here, and I will answer it; otherwise I will not answer it. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, how really you have managed your trust, is known: your way of answer is to interrogate the Court, which beseems not you in this condition. You have been told of it twice or thrice. KING--Here is a gentleman, lieutenant-colonel Cobbet; ask him, if he did not bring me from the Isle of Wight by force. I do not come here as submitting to the Court: I will stand as much for the privilege of the house of commons, rightly understood, as any man here whatsoever. I see no house of lords here that may constitute a parliament; and the king too should have been. Is this the bringing of the king to his parliament? Is this the bringing an end to the Treaty in the public faith of the world? Let me see a legal authority warranted by the Word of God, the Scriptures, or warranted by the Constitutions of the kingdom, and I will answer. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir; You have propounded a question, and have been answered. Seeing you will not answer, the Court will consider how to proceed; in the mean time, those that brought you hither, are to take charge of you back again. The Court desires to know, whether this be all the Answer you will give or no. KING--Sir, I desire that you would give me, and all the world, satisfaction in this: let me tell you, it is not a slight thing you are about, I am sworn to keep the peace, by that duty I owe to God and my country, and I will do it to the last breath of my body; and therefore ye shall do well to satisfy first God, and then the country, by what authority you do it; if you do it by an usurped authority, you cannot answer. There is a God in Heaven, that will call you, and all that give you power, to account. Satisfy me in that, and I will answer; otherwise I betray my Trust, and the Liberties of the people: and therefore think of that, and then I shall be willing. For I do avow, that it is as great a sin to withstand lawful authority, as it is to submit to a tyrannical, or any other ways unlawful authority; and therefore satisfy me that, and you shall receive my answer. LORD PRESIDENT--The Court expects you should give them a final Answer; their purpose is to adjourn to Monday next; if you do not satisfy yourself, though we do tell you our authority, we are satisfied with our authority, and it is upon God's authority and the kingdom's; and that peace you speak of will be kept in the doing of justice, and that is our present work. KING--For answer, let me tell you, you have shewn no lawful authority to satisfy any reasonable man. LORD PRESIDENT--That is, in your apprehension; we are satisfied that are your Judges. KING--It is not my apprehension, nor yours neither, that ought to decide it. LORD PRESIDENT--The Court hath heard you, and you are to be disposed of as they have commanded. The Court adjourns to the Painted Chamber, on Monday at ten of the clock in the forenoon, and thence hither. It is to be observed that as the Charge was reading against the king, the head of his Staff fell off, which he wondered at; and seeing none to take it up, he stoops for it himself. As the King went away, facing the Court, he said, 'I do not fear that' (meaning the Sword). The People in the Hall, as he went down the stairs, cried out, some, 'God save the King' and most for 'Justice.'[22] At the High Court of Justice sitting in Westminster Hall, Monday, January 22, 1649. O Yes! made; Silence commanded; the Court called, and answered to their names. Silence commanded upon pain of imprisonment, and the Captain of the Guard to apprehend all such as make disturbance. Upon the king's coming in, a shout was made. Command given by the Court to the Captain of the Guard, to fetch and take into his custody those who make any disturbance. MR. SOLICITOR--May it please your lordship, my Lord President; I did at the last court in the behalf of the Commons of England, exhibit and give in to this court a Charge of High Treason, and other High Crimes, against the prisoner at the bar whereof I do accuse him in the name of the People of England; and the Charge was read unto him, and his Answer required. My lord, He was not then pleased to give an Answer, but instead of answering, did there dispute the Authority of this high Court. My humble motion to this high Court in behalf of the kingdom of England is, That the prisoner may be directed to make a positive Answer, either by way of confession, or negation; which if he shall refuse to do, that the matter of the Charge may be taken _pro confesso_, and the Court may proceed according to justice. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, You may remember at the last Court you were told the occasion of your being brought hither, and you heard a Charge read against you, containing a Charge of High Treason and other high crimes against this realm of England: you heard likewise, that it was prayed in the behalf of the People, that you should give an Answer to that Charge, that thereupon such proceedings might be had, as should be agreeable to justice. You were then pleased to make some scruples concerning the authority of this Court, and knew not by what authority you were brought hither; you did divers times propound your questions, and were as often answered. That it was by authority of the Commons of England assembled in parliament, that did think fit to call you to account for those high and capital Misdemeanours wherewith you were then charged. Since that the Court hath taken into consideration what you then said; they are fully satisfied with their own authority, and they hold it fit you should stand satisfied with it too; and they do require it, that you do give a positive and particular Answer to this Charge that is exhibited against you; they do expect you should either confess or deny it; if you deny, it is offered in the behalf of the kingdom to be made good against you; their authority they do avow to the whole world, that the whole kingdom are to rest satisfied in, and you are to rest satisfied with it. And therefore you are to lose no more time, but to give a positive Answer thereunto. KING--When I was here last, it is very true, I made that question; truly if it were only my own particular case, I would have satisfied myself with the protestation I made the last time I was here against the Legality of this Court, and that a king cannot be tried by any superior jurisdiction on earth; but it is not my case alone, it is the Freedom and the Liberty of the people of England; and do you pretend what you will, I stand more for their Liberties. For if power without law may make laws, may alter the fundamental laws of the kingdom, I do not know what subject he is in England, that can be sure of his life, or any thing that he calls his own: therefore when that I came here, I did expect particular reasons to know by what law, what authority you did proceed against me here. And therefore I am a little to seek what to say to you in this particular, because the affirmative is to be proved, the negative often is very hard to do: but since I cannot persuade you to do it, I shall tell you my reasons as short as I can--My Reasons why in conscience and the duty I owe to God first, and my people next, for the preservation of their lives, liberties, and estates I conceive I cannot answer this, till I be satisfied of the legality of it. All proceedings against any man whatsoever---- LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, I must interrupt you, which I would not do, but that what you do is not agreeable to the proceedings of any court of justice: You are about to enter into argument, and dispute concerning the Authority of this Court, before whom you appear as a Prisoner, and are charged as an high Delinquent: if you take upon you to dispute the Authority of the Court, we may not do it, nor will any court give way unto it: you are to submit unto it, you are to give a punctual and direct Answer, whether you will answer your charge or no, and what your Answer is. KING--Sir, By your favour, I do not know the forms of law: I do know law and reason, though I am no lawyer professed; but I know as much law as any gentleman in England; and therefore (under favour) I do plead for the Liberties of the People of England more than you do: and therefore if I should impose a belief upon any man, without reasons given for it, it were unreasonable: but I must tell you, that that reason that I have, as thus informed, I cannot yield unto it. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, I must interrupt you, you may not be permitted; you speak of law and reason; it is fit there should be law and reason, and there is both against you. Sir, the Vote of the Commons of England assembled in parliament, it is the reason of the kingdom, and they are these that have given to that law, according to which you should have ruled and reigned. Sir, you are not to dispute our Authority, you are told it again by the Court. Sir, it will be taken notice of, that you stand in contempt of the Court, and your contempt will be recorded accordingly. KING--I do not know how a king can be a Delinquent; but by any law that ever I heard of, all men (Delinquents, or what you will), let me tell you, they may put in Demurrers against any proceeding as legal: and I do demand that, and demand to be heard with my Reasons: if you deny that, you deny reason. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you have offered something to the Court: I shall speak something unto you, the Sense of the Court. Sir, neither you nor any man are permitted to dispute that point, you are concluded, you may not demur to the jurisdiction of the Court: if you do, I must let you know, that they over-rule your Demurrer; they sit here by the authority of the Commons of England, and all your predecessors and you are responsible to them. KING--I deny that; shew me one precedent. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you ought not to interrupt while the Court is speaking to you. This point is not to be debated by you, neither will the Court permit you to do it; if you offer it by way of Demurrer to the Jurisdiction of the Court, they have considered of their Jurisdiction, they do affirm their own Jurisdiction. KING--I say, Sir, by your favour, that the Commons of England was never a Court of Judicature: I would know how they came to be so. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you are not to be permitted to go on in that Speech and these discourses. Then the clerk of the Court read as followeth:-- 'Charles Stuart, king of England, You have been accused on behalf of the People of England of High Treasons, and other high Crimes; the Court have determined that you ought to answer the same.' KING--I will answer the same so soon as I know by what Authority you do this. LORD PRESIDENT--If this be all that you will say, then Gentlemen, you that brought the Prisoner hither, take charge of him back again. KING--I do require that I may give in my Reasons why I do not answer, and give me time for that. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, it is not for Prisoners to require. KING--Prisoners! Sir, I am not an ordinary prisoner. LORD PRESIDENT--The Court hath considered of their jurisdiction, and they have already affirmed their jurisdiction; if you will not answer, we shall give order to record your default. KING--You never heard my Reasons yet. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, your Reasons are not to be heard against the highest jurisdiction. KING--Shew me that Jurisdiction where reason is not to be heard. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, we shew it you here. The Commons of England; and the next time you are brought, you will know more of the pleasure of the Court; and, it may be, their final determination. KING--Shew me where ever the House of Commons was a Court of Judicature of that kind. LORD PRESIDENT--Serjeant, take away the Prisoner. KING--Well, Sir, remember that the king is not suffered to give in his Reasons for the Liberty and Freedom of all his Subjects. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you are not to have Liberty to use this language; How great a friend you have been to the Laws and Liberties of the people, let all England and the world judge. KING--Sir, under favour, it was the Liberty, Freedom, and Laws of the subject, that ever I took--defended myself with arms; I never took up arms against the people, but for the laws. LORD PRESIDENT--The command of the Court must be obeyed; no Answer will be given to the Charge. KING--Well, Sir! And so he was guarded forth to sir Robert Cotton's house. Then the Court adjourned to the Painted Chamber on Tuesday at 12 o'clock, and from thence they intend to adjourn to Westminster Hall; at which time all persons concerned are to give their attendance. At the High Court of Justice sitting in Westminster Hall, Tuesday, January 23, 1649. O Yes made, Silence commanded, the Court called, 73 persons present. The King comes in with his guard, looks with an austere countenance upon the Court, and sits down. The second O Yes made, and Silence commanded. MR. COOK, SOLICITOR-GENERAL--May it please your lordship, my lord President; this is now the third time, that by the great grace and favour of this High Court, the Prisoner hath been brought to the bar before any issue joined in the cause. My lord, I did at the first court exhibit a Charge against him, containing the highest Treasons that ever was wrought upon the theatre of England; That a king of England trusted to keep the law, that had taken an oath so to do, that had tribute paid him for that end, should be guilty of a wicked Design to subvert and destroy our Laws, and introduce an Arbitrary and Tyrannical Government, in defiance of the Parliament and their Authority, set up his standard for War against his Parliament and People: And I did humbly pray, in the behalf of the people of England, that he might speedily be required to make an Answer to the Charge. But my lord, instead of making any Answer, he did then dispute the Authority of this High Court. Your lordship was pleased to give him a further day to consider, and to put in his Answer; which day being Yesterday, I did humbly move, that he might be required to give a direct and positive Answer, either by denying or confession of it; But, my lord, he was then pleased for to demur to the Jurisdiction of the Court; which the court did then over-rule, and commanded him to give a direct and positive Answer. My lord, besides this great delay of justice, I shall now humbly move your lordship for speedy Judgment against him. My lord, I might press your lordship upon the whole, that according to the known rules of the law of the land, That if a Prisoner shall stand as contumacious in contempt, and shall not put in an issuable plea, Guilty or not Guilty of the Charge given against him, whereby he may come to a fair trial; that, as by an implicit confession, it may be taken _pro confesso_, as it hath been done to those who have deserved more favour than the Prisoner at the bar has done. But, besides, my lord, I shall humbly press your lordship upon the whole fact. The house of commons, the supreme Authority and Jurisdiction of the kingdom, they have declared, That it is notorious, that the matter of the Charge is true, as it is in truth, my lord, as clear as crystal, and as the sun that shines at noon-day: which if your lordship and the Court be not satisfied in, I have notwithstanding, on the people of England's behalf, several Witnesses to produce. And therefore I do humbly pray, and yet I must confess it is not so much I, as the innocent blood that hath been shed, the cry whereof is very great for justice and judgment; and therefore I do humbly pray, that speedy Judgment be pronounced against the Prisoner at the bar. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you have heard what is moved by the Counsel on the behalf of the kingdom against you. Sir, you may well remember, and if you do not, the Court cannot forget, what dilatory dealings the Court hath found at your hands. You were pleased to propound some Questions, you have had our Resolutions upon them. You were told, over and over again, That the Court did affirm their own jurisdiction; that it was not for you, nor any other man, to dispute the jurisdiction of the supreme and highest Authority of England, from which there is no appeal, and touching which there must be no dispute; yet you did persist in such carriage, as you gave no manner of obedience, nor did you acknowledge any authority in them, nor the High Court that constituted this Court of Justice. Sir, I must let you know from the Court, that they are very sensible of these delays of your's, and that they ought not, being thus authorised by the supreme Court of England, to be thus trifled withal; and that they might in justice, if they pleased, and according to the rules of justice, take advantage of these delays and proceed to pronounce judgment against you; yet nevertheless they are pleased to give direction, and on their behalfs I do require you, that you make a positive Answer unto this Charge that is against you, Sir, in plain terms, for Justice knows no respect of persons; you are to give your positive and final Answer in plain English, whether you be Guilty or Not Guilty of these Treasons laid to your charge. The King, after a little pause, said, KING--When I was here yesterday, I did desire to speak for the Liberties of the people of England; I was interrupted; I desire to know yet whether I may speak freely or not. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you have had the Resolution of the Court upon the like question the last day, and you were told that having such a Charge of so high a nature against you, and your work was, that you ought to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the Court, and to answer to your Charge. Sir, if you answer to your Charge, which the Court gives you leave now to do, though they might have taken the advantage of your contempt; yet if you be able to answer to your Charge, when you have once answered, you shall be heard at large, make the best defence you can. But, Sir, I must let you know from the Court, as their commands, that you are not to be permitted to issue out into any other discourses, till such time as you have given a positive Answer concerning the matter that is charged upon you. KING--For the Charge, I value it not a rush; it is the Liberty of the People of England that I stand for. For me to acknowledge a new Court that I never heard of before, I that am your King, that should be an example to all the people of England for to uphold justice, to maintain the old laws: indeed I do not know how to do it. You spoke very well the first day that I came here (on Saturday) of the obligations that I had laid upon me by God, to the maintenance of the Liberties of my people; the same obligation you spake of, I do acknowledge to God that I owe to him, and to my people, to defend as much as in me lies the ancient laws of the kingdom: therefore, until that I may know that this is not against the fundamental Laws of the kingdom, by your favour I can put in no particular Charge.[23] If you will give me time, I will shew you my Reasons why I cannot do it, and this---- Here, being interrupted, he said, By your favor, you ought not to interrupt me: How I came here, I know not; there's no law for it to make your king your prisoner. I was in a Treaty upon the public faith of the kingdom, that was the known[24] ... two Houses of Parliament that was the representative of the kingdom; and when that I had almost made an end of the Treaty, then I was hurried away, and brought hither: and therefore---- Here the Lord President said, Sir, you must know the pleasure of the Court. KING--By your favour, sir. LORD PRESIDENT--Nay, sir, by your favour, you may not be permitted to fall into those discourses; you appear as a Delinquent, you have not acknowledged the authority of the Court, the Court craves it not of you; but once more they command you to give your positive Answer.--Clerk, do your duty. KING--Duty, Sir! The Clerk reads. 'Charles Stuart, king of England, you are accused in behalf of the commons of England of divers Crimes and Treasons, which Charge hath been read unto you: the Court now requires you to give your positive and final Answer, by way of confession or denial of the Charge.' KING--Sir, I say again to you, so that I might give satisfaction to the people of England of the clearness of my proceeding, not by way of Answer, not in this way, but to satisfy them that I have done nothing against that trust that has been committed to me, I would do it; but to acknowledge a new Court, against their Privileges, to alter the fundamental laws of the kingdom--sir, you must excuse me. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, this is the third time that you have publicly disowned this Court, and put an affront upon it. How far you have preserved the privileges of the people, your actions have spoke it; but truly, Sir, men's intentions ought to be known by their actions; you have written your meaning in bloody characters throughout the whole kingdom. But, Sir, you understand the pleasure of the Court.--Clerk, Record the Default.--And, Gentlemen, you that took charge of the Prisoner, take him back again. KING--I will only say this one word more to you: If it were only my own particular, I would not say any more, nor interrupt you. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you have heard the pleasure of the Court, and you are (notwithstanding you will not understand it) to find that you are before a court of justice. Then the King went forth with his guard, and proclamation was made, That all persons which had then appeared, and had further to do at the Court, might depart into the Painted Chamber; to which place the Court did forthwith adjourn, and intended to meet in Westminster Hall by ten of the clock next morning. CRYER--God bless the kingdom of England! Wednesday, January 24th, 1649. This day it was expected the High Court of Justice would have met in Westminster Hall, about ten of the clock; but at the time appointed, one of the Ushers, by direction of the Court (then sitting in the Painted Chamber) gave notice to the people there assembled, That in regard the Court was then upon the Examination of Witnesses, in relation to present affairs, in the Painted Chamber, they could not sit there; but all persons appointed to be there, were to appear upon further summons. The Proceedings of the High Court of Justice sitting in Westminster Hall, on Saturday the 27th of January 1649. O Yes made: Silence commanded; the court called; Serjeant Bradshaw Lord President (in a scarlet robe), with sixty-eight other members of the court. As the King comes in, a Cry made in the Hall for Execution! Justice! Execution![25] KING--I shall desire a word to be heard a little, and I hope I shall give no occasion of interruption. LORD PRESIDENT--You may answer in your time, hear the Court first. KING--If it please you, Sir, I desire to be heard, and I shall not give any occasion of interruption, and it is only in a word: a sudden Judgment. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you shall be heard in due time, but you are to hear the Court first. KING--Sir, I desire--it will be in order to what I believe the Court will say; and therefore, Sir, an hasty Judgment is not so soon recalled. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you shall be heard before the Judgment be given, and in the mean time you may forbear. KING--Well, Sir, shall I be heard before the Judgment be given? LORD PRESIDENT--Gentlemen, it is well known to all, or most of you here present, that the Prisoner at the Bar hath been several times convened and brought before the Court to make answer to a Charge of Treason, and other high Crimes exhibited against him in the name of the people of England [Here a malignant lady (Lady Fairfax) interrupted the Court, saying 'Not half the People'; but she was soon silenced. See the Trial of Daniel Axtell, Oct. 15, 1660]; to which Charge being required to answer he hath been so far from obeying the commands of the Court by submitting to their justice, as he began to take upon him to offer reasoning and debate unto the Authority of the Court, and of the highest court that constituted them to try and judge him: but being over-ruled in that, and required to make his Answer, he was still pleased to continue contumacious, and to refuse to submit or answer. Hereupon the Court, that they may not be wanting to themselves, to the trust reposed in them, nor that any man's wilfulness prevent justice, they have thought fit to take the matter into their consideration, they have considered of the Charge, they have considered of the Contumacy, and of that Confession, which in law doth arise upon that contumacy; they have likewise considered of the notoriety of the fact charged upon this Prisoner, and upon the whole matter they are resolved, and have agreed upon a Sentence to be now pronounced against this Prisoner; but in respect he doth desire to be heard, before the Sentence be read and pronounced, the Court hath resolved that they will hear him. Yet, Sir, thus much I must tell you beforehand, which you have been minded of at other courts, that if that you have to say be to offer any debate concerning jurisdiction, you are not to be heard in it; you have offered it formerly, and you have indeed struck at the root, that is, the power and supreme authority of the Commons of England, which this Court will not admit a debate of; and which indeed is an irrational thing in them to do, being a court that acts upon authority derived from them, that they should presume to judge upon their superior, from whom there is no appeal. But, sir, if you have anything to say in defence of yourself concerning the matter charged, the Court hath given me in command to let you know they will hear you. KING--Since that I see that you will not hear anything of debate concerning that which I confess I thought most material for the Peace of the Kingdom, and for the Liberty of the Subject, I shall wave it; I shall speak nothing to it, but only I must tell you, that this many a day all things have been taken away from me, but that, that I call more dear to me than my life, which is my conscience and my honour: and if I had respect to my life more than the Peace of the Kingdom, the Liberty of the Subject, certainly I should have made a particular Defence for myself; for by that at leastwise I might have delayed an ugly Sentence, which I believe will pass upon me. Therefore certainly, Sir, as a man that hath some understanding, some knowledge of the world, if that my true zeal to my country had not overborne the care that I have of my own preservation, I should have gone another way to work than that I have done. Now, Sir, I conceive, that an hasty Sentence once passed, may sooner be repented than recalled; and truly, the self-same desire that I have for the Peace of the Kingdom, and the Liberty of the subject more than my own particular, does make me now at last desire, that having something for to say that concerns both, I desire before Sentence be given, that I may be heard in the Painted Chamber before the Lords and Commons. This delay cannot be prejudicial to you, whatsoever I say; if that I say no reason, those that hear me must be judges: I cannot be judge of that, which I have: if it be reason, and really for the welfare of the kingdom, and the liberty of the subject, I am sure on't, very well it is worth the hearing; therefore I do conjure you, as you love that which you pretend, I hope it is real, the Liberty of the Subject, the Peace of the kingdom, that you will grant me the hearing, before any Sentence be past. I only desire this, that you will take this into your consideration, it may be you have not heard of it before-hand; if you will, I'll retire, and you may think of it; but if I cannot get this liberty I do here protest, that so fair shews of Liberty and Peace are pure shews, and not otherwise, since you will not hear your king. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you have now spoken. KING--Yes, Sir. LORD PRESIDENT--And this that you have said is a further declining of the Jurisdiction of this Court, which was the thing wherein you were limited before. KING--Pray excuse me, Sir, for my interruption, because you mistake me; it is not a declining of it, you do judge me before you hear me speak; I say it will not, I do not decline it, though I cannot acknowledge the Jurisdiction of the Court; yet, Sir, in this give me leave to say, I would do it, though I do not by this acknowledge it, I do protest it is not the declining of it, since I say, if that I do say any thing, but that which is for the Peace of the Kingdom, and the Liberty of the Subject, then the shame is mine. Now I desire that you will take this into your consideration; if you will, I'll withdraw. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, this is not altogether new that you have moved unto us, not altogether new to us, though it is the first time in person you have offered it to the Court. Sir, you say you do not decline the Jurisdiction of the Court. KING--Not in this that I have said. LORD PRESIDENT--I understand you well, Sir; but nevertheless, that which you have offered seems to be contrary to that saying of yours; for the Court are ready to give a Sentence; It is not as you say, That they will not hear your king; for they have been ready to hear you, they have patiently waited your pleasure for three Courts together, to hear what you would say to the People's Charge against you, to which you have not vouchsafed to give any Answer at all. Sir, this tends to a further delay; truly, Sir, such delays as these, neither may the kingdom nor justice well bear; you have had three several days to have offered in this kind what you would have pleased. This Court is founded upon that Authority of the Commons of England in whom rests the supreme jurisdiction; that which you now tender is to have another jurisdiction, and a co-ordinate jurisdiction. I know very well you express yourself, Sir, that notwithstanding that you would offer to the Lords and Commons in the Painted Chamber, yet nevertheless you would proceed on here, I did hear you say so. But, Sir, that you would offer there, whatever it is, it must needs be in delay of the Justice here; so as if this Court be resolved, and prepared for the Sentence, this that you offer they are not bound in justice to grant; But, Sir, according to what you seem to desire, and because you shall know the further pleasure of the Court upon that which you have moved, the Court will withdraw for a time. KING--Shall I withdraw? LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you shall know the pleasure of the Court presently. The Court withdraws for half an hour into the Court of Wards. SERJEANT-AT-ARMS--The Court gives command, that the Prisoner be withdrawn; and they give order for his return again. The Court withdraws for half an hour and returns. LORD PRESIDENT--Serjeant-at-Arms, send for your Prisoner. Sir, you were pleased to make a motion here to the Court to offer a desire of yours, touching the propounding of somewhat to the Lords in the Painted Chamber, for the peace of the kingdom; Sir, you did, in effect, receive an Answer before the Court adjourned; truly, Sir, their withdrawing, and adjournment was _pro forma tantum_: for it did not seem to them that there was any difficulty in the thing; they have considered of what you have moved, and have considered of their own Authority, which is founded, as hath been often said, upon the supreme Authority of the Commons of England assembled in parliament: the Court acts according to their Commission. Sir, the return I have to you from the Court, is this: That they have been too much delayed by you already, and this that you now offer hath occasioned some little further delay; and they are Judges appointed by the highest Judges; and Judges are no more to delay, than they are to deny Justice: they are good words in the great old Charter of England; _Nulli negabimus, nulli vendemus, nulli differemus Justitiam._ There must be no delay; but the truth is, Sir, and so every man here observes it, that you have much delayed them in your Contempt and Default, for which they might long since have proceeded to Judgment against you; and notwithstanding what you have offered, they are resolved to proceed to Punishment, and to Judgment, and that is their unanimous Resolution. KING--Sir, I know it is in vain for me to dispute, I am no sceptic for to deny the Power that you have; I know that you have Power enough: Sir, I confess, I think it would have been for the kingdom's peace, if you would have taken the pains for to have shewn the lawfulness of your Power; for this Delay that I have desired, I confess it is a delay, but it is a delay very important for the Peace of the Kingdom; for it is not my person that I look on alone, it is the kingdom's welfare, and the kingdom's peace; it is an old Sentence, That we should think long, before we resolve of great matters. Therefore, Sir, I do say again, that I do put at your doors all the inconveniency of an hasty Sentence. I confess I have been here now, I think, this week; this day eight days was the day I came here first, but a little Delay of a day or two further may give Peace; whereas an hasty Judgment may bring on that trouble and perpetual inconveniency to the kingdom, that the child that is unborn may repent it; and therefore again, out of the duty I owe to God, and to my country, I do desire that I may be heard by the Lords and Commons in the Painted Chamber, or any other chamber that you will appoint me. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you have been already answered to what you even now moved, being the same you moved before, since the Resolution and the Judgment of the Court in it; and the Court now requires to know whether you have any more to say for yourself than you have said, before they proceed to Sentence? KING--I say this, Sir, That if you will hear me, if you will give but this Delay, I doubt not but I shall give some satisfaction to you all here, and to my People after that; and therefore I do require you, as you will answer it at the dreadful Day of Judgment, that you will consider it once again. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, I have received direction from the Court. KING--Well, Sir. LORD PRESIDENT--If this must be re-enforced, or any thing of this nature, your Answer must be the same; and they will proceed to Sentence, if you have nothing more to say. KING--Sir, I have nothing more to say, but I shall desire, that this may be entered what I have said. LORD PRESIDENT--The Court then, Sir, hath something else to say to you; which, although I know it will be very unacceptable, yet notwithstanding they are willing, and are resolved to discharge their duty. Sir, You speak very well of a precious thing, which you call Peace; and it had been much to be wished that God had put it into your heart, that you had as effectually and really endeavoured and studied the Peace of the kingdom, as now in words you seem to pretend; but, as you were told the other day, actions must expound intentions; yet actions have been clean contrary. And truly, Sir, it doth appear plainly enough to them, that you have gone upon very erroneous principles: The kingdom hath felt it to their smart; and it will be no case to you to think of it; for, Sir, you have held yourself, and let fall such language, as if you had been no way subject to the Law, or that the law had not been your superior. Sir, the Court is very sensible of it, and I hope so are all the understanding people of England, that the law is your superior; that you ought to have ruled according to the law; you ought to have so. Sir, I know very well your pretence hath been that you have done so; but, Sir, the difference hath been who shall be the expositors of this law: Sir, whether you and your party, out of courts of justice, shall take upon them to expound law, or the courts of justice, who are the expounders? Nay, the Sovereign and the High Court of Justice, the Parliament of England, that are not only the highest expounders, but the sole makers of the law? Sir, for you to set yourself with your single judgment, and those that adhere unto you, to set yourself against the highest Court of Justice, that is not law. Sir, as the Law is your Superior, so truly, Sir, there is something that is superior to the Law, and that is indeed the Parent or Author of the Law, and that is the people of England: for, Sir, as they are those that at the first (as other countries have done) did chuse to themselves this form of government even for Justice sake, that justice might be administered, that peace might be preserved; so, Sir, they gave laws to their governors, according to which they should govern; and if those laws should have proved inconvenient or prejudicial to the public, they had a power in them, and reserved to themselves, to alter as they shall see cause. Sir, it is very true what some of your side have said, '_Rex non habet parem in regno_,' say they: This Court will say the same, while King, that you have not your peer in some sense, for you are _major singulis_; but they will aver again that you are _minor universis_. And the same Author tells you that, '_non debet esse major eo in regno suo in exhibitione juris, minimus autem esse debet in judicio suscipiendo_' [Bract., De Leg., lib. I. c. viii.] This we know to be law, _Rex habet superiorem, Deum et legem, etiam et curiam_; so says the same author. And truly, Sir, he makes bold to go a little further, _Debent ei ponere frænum_: they ought to bridle him. And, Sir, we know very well the stories of old: those wars that were called the Barons' War, when the nobility of the land did stand out for the Liberty and Property of the Subject, and would not suffer the kings, that did invade, to play the tyrants freer, but called them to account for it; we know that truth, that they did _frænum ponere_. But, sir, if they do forbear to do their duty now, and are not so mindful of their own honour and the kingdom's good as the Barons of England of old were, certainly the Commons of England will not be unmindful of what is for their preservation, and for their safety; _Justitiæ fruendi causa reges constituti sunt_. This we learn: The end of having kings, or any other governors, it is for the enjoying of justice; that is the end. Now, Sir, if so be the king will go contrary to that end, or any other governor will go contrary to the end of his government; Sir, he must understand that he is but an officer in trust, and he ought to discharge that trust; and they are to take order for the animadversion and punishment of such an offending governor. This is not law of yesterday, Sir (since the time of the division betwixt you and your people), but it is law of old. And we know very well the Authors and the Authorities that do tell us what the law was in that point upon the Election of Kings upon the Oath that they took unto their people: And if they did not observe it, there were those things called Parliaments; the Parliaments were they that were to adjudge (the very Words of the Author) the plaints and wrongs done of the king and the queen, or their children; such wrongs especially, when the people could have no where else any Remedy. Sir, that hath been the people of England's case: they could not have their Remedy elsewhere but in parliament. Sir, Parliaments were ordained for that purpose, to redress the Grievances of the people; that was their main end. And truly, Sir, if so be that the kings of England had been rightly mindful of themselves, they were never more in majesty and state than in the Parliament: But how forgetful some have been, Stories have told us, we have a miserable, a lamentable, a sad experience of it. Sir, by the old laws of England, I speak these things the rather to you, because you were pleased to let fall the other day, You thought you had as much knowledge in the Law as most gentlemen in England: it is very well, Sir. And truly, Sir, it is very fit for the gentlemen of England to understand that Law under which they must live, and by which they must be governed. And then, Sir, the Scripture says, 'They that know their master's will and do it not' what follows? The Law is your master, the acts of parliament. The Parliaments were to be kept antiently, we find in our old Author, twice in the year, that the Subject upon any occasion might have a ready Remedy and Redress for his Grievance. Afterwards, by several acts of parliament in the days of your predecessor Edward the third, they should have been once a year. Sir, what the Intermission of parliaments hath been in your time, it is very well known, and the sad consequences of it; and what in the interim instead of these Parliaments hath been by you by an high and arbitrary hand introduced upon the People, that likewise hath been too well known and felt. But when God by his Providence had so far brought it about, that you could no longer decline the calling of a Parliament, Sir, yet it will appear what your ends were against the antient and your native kingdom of Scotland: the Parliament of England not serving your ends against them, you were pleased to dissolve it. Another great necessity occasioned the calling of this parliament; and what your Designs, and Plots, and Endeavours all along have been, for the crushing and confounding of this Parliament, hath been very notorious to the whole kingdom. And truly, Sir, in that you did strike at all; that had been a sure way to have brought about That that this Charge lays upon you, your intention to subvert the Fundamental Laws of the Land; for the great bulwark of the Liberties of the People is the Parliament of England; and to subvert and root up that, which your aim hath been to do, certainly at one blow you had confounded the Liberties and the Property of England. Truly, Sir, it makes me to call to mind; I cannot forbear to express it; for, Sir, we must deal plainly with you, according to the merits of your cause; so is our Commission; it makes me to call to mind (these proceedings of yours) That that we read of a great Roman Emperor, by the way let us call him a great Roman tyrant, Caligula, that wished that the people of Rome had had but one neck, that at one blow he might cut it off. And your proceedings have been somewhat like to this; for the body of the people of England hath been (and where else) represented but in the Parliament; and could you but have confounded that, you had at one blow cut off the neck of England. But God hath reserved better things for us, and hath pleased for to confound your designs, and to break your forces, and to bring your person into custody, that you might be responsible to justice. Sir, we know very well that it is a question much on your side press'd, By what Precedent we shall proceed? Truly, Sir, for Precedents, I shall not upon these occasions institute any long discourse; but it is no new thing to cite precedents almost of all nations, where the people (where the power hath been in their hands) have made bold to call their Kings to account; and where the change of government hath been upon occasion of the Tyranny and Misgovernment of those that have been placed over them, I will not spend time to mention either France, or Spain, or the Empire, or other countries; volumes may be written of it. But truly, Sir, that of the kingdom of Arragon, I shall think some of us have thought upon it, where they have the justice of Arragon, that is, a man, _tanquam in medio positus_, betwixt the King of Spain and the people of the country; that if wrong be done by the King, he that is king of Arragon, the justice, hath power to reform the wrong; and he is acknowledged to be the king's superior, and is the grand preserver of their privileges, and hath prosecuted kings upon their miscarriages. Sir, what the Tribunes of Rome were heretofore, and what the Ephori were to the Lacedemonian State, we know that is the Parliament of England to the English state; and though Rome seemed to lose its liberty when once the Emperors were; yet you shall find some famous acts of justice even done by the Senate of Rome; that great Tyrant of his time, Nero, condemned and judged by the Senate. But truly, Sir, to you I should not need to mention these foreign examples and stories: If you look but over Tweed, we find enough in your native kingdom of Scotland. If we look to your first King Fergus, that your Stories make mention of, he was an elective king; he died, and left two sons, both in their minority; the kingdom made choice of their uncle, his brother, to govern in the minority. Afterwards the elder brother, giving small hope to the people that he would rule or govern well, seeking to supplant that good uncle of his that governed them justly, they set the elder aside, and took to the younger. Sir, if I should come to what your Stories make mention of, you know very well you are the hundred and ninth king of Scotland; for not to mention so many kings as that kingdom, according to their power and privileges, have made bold to deal withal, some to banish, and some to imprison, and some to put to death, it would be too long: and as one of your own authors says, it would be too long to recite the manifold examples that your own stories make mention of. _Reges_, etc. (say they) we do create: we created kings at first: _Leges_, etc., we imposed laws upon them. And as they are chosen by the suffrages of the People at the first, so upon just occasion, by the same suffrages they may be taken down again. And we will be bold to say, that no kingdom hath yielded more plentiful experience than that your native kingdom of Scotland hath done concerning the Deposition and the Punishment of their offending and transgressing kings. It is not far to go for an example: near you--Your grandmother set aside, and your Father, an infant, crowned. And the State did it here in England; here hath not been a want of some examples. They have made bold (the Parliament and the People of England) to call their Kings to account; there are frequent examples of it in the Saxons' time, the time before the Conquest. Since the Conquest there want not some Precedents neither; King Edward the Second, King Richard the Second, were dealt with so by the Parliament, as they were deposed and deprived. And truly, Sir, whoever shall look into their Stories, they shall not find the Articles that are charged upon them to come near to that height and capitalness of Crimes that are laid to your Charge; nothing near. Sir, you were pleased to say, the other day, wherein they dissent; and I did not contradict it. But take all together, Sir; If you were as the Charge speaks, and no otherwise, admitted king of England; but for that you were pleased then to alledge, how that for almost a thousand years these things have been, Stories will tell you, if you go no higher than the time of the Conquest; if you do come down since the Conquest, you are the twenty-fourth king from William called the Conqueror, you shall find one half of them to come merely from the state, and not merely upon the point of descent. It were easy to be instanced to you; but time must not be lost that way. And truly, Sir, what a grave and learned Judge said in his time, and well known to you, and is since printed for posterity, That although there was such a thing as a descent many times, yet the kings of England ever held the greatest assurance of their Titles when it was declared by Parliament. And, Sir, your Oath, the manner of your Coronation, doth shew plainly, that the kings of England, although it is true, by the law the next person in blood is designed: yet if there were just cause to refuse him, the people of England might do it. For there is a Contract and a bargain made between the King and his people, and your Oath is taken; and certainly, Sir, the bond is reciprocal; for as you are the Liege Lord, so they Liege Subjects. And we know very well, that hath been so much spoken of, _Ligeantia est duplex_. This we know, now, the one tie, the one bond, is the Bond of Protection that is due from the sovereign; the other is the Bond of Subjection that is due from the Subject. Sir, if this bond be once broken, farewell sovereignty! _Subjectio trahit_, etc. These things may not be denied, Sir; I speak it rather, and I pray God it may work upon your heart, that you may be sensible of your Miscarriages. For whether you have been, as by your office you ought to be, a Protector of England, or the Destroyer of England, let all England judge, or all the world, that hath look'd upon it. Sir, though you have it by inheritance in the way that is spoken of, yet it must not be denied that your office was an office of trust, and indeed an office of the highest trust lodged in any single person; For as you were the Grand Administrator of Justice, and others were, as your delegates, to see it done throughout your realms; if your greatest office were to do Justice, and preserve your People from wrong, and instead of doing that, you will be the great Wrong-doer yourself; if instead of being a Conservator of the Peace, you will be the grand Disturber of the Peace; surely this is contrary to your office, contrary to your trust. Now, Sir, if it be an office of inheritance, as you speak of, your Title by Descent, let all men know that great offices are seizable and forfeitable, as if you had it but for a year, and for your life. Therefore, Sir, it will concern you to take into your serious consideration your great Miscarriages in this kind. Truly, Sir, I shall not particularize the many Miscarriages of your reign whatsoever, they are famously known: It had been happy for the kingdom, and happy for you too, if it had not been so much known, and so much felt, as the Story of your Miscarriages must needs be, and hath been already. Sir, That which we are now upon, by the command of the highest Court, hath been and is to try and judge you for these great offences of your's. Sir, the Charge hath called you Tyrant, a Traitor, a Murderer, and a Public Enemy to the Commonwealth of England. Sir, it had been well if that any of all these terms might rightly and justly have been spared, if any one of them at all. KING--Ha! LORD PRESIDENT--Truly, Sir, We have been told '_Rex est dum bene regit, Tyrannus qui populum opprimit_': And if so be that be the definition of a Tyrant, then see how you come short of it in your actions, whether the highest Tyrant, by that way of arbitrary government, and that you have sought for to introduce, and that you have sought to put, you were putting upon the people? Whether that was not as high an Act of Tyranny as any of your predecessors were guilty of, nay, many degrees beyond it? Sir, the term Traitor cannot be spared. We shall easily agree it must denote and suppose a Breach of Trust; and it must suppose it to be done to a superior. And therefore, Sir, as the people of England might have incurred that respecting you, if they had been truly guilty of it, as to the definition of law; so on the other side, when you did break your trust to the kingdom, you did break your trust to your superior; For the kingdom is that for which you were trusted. And therefore, sir, for this breach of Trust when you are called to account, you are called to account by your superiors. '_Minimus ad majorem in judicium vocat._' And, Sir, the People of England cannot be so far wanting to themselves, God having dealt so miraculously and gloriously for them: but that having power in their hands, and their great enemy, they must proceed to do justice to themselves and to you: For, Sir, the Court could heartily desire, that you would lay your hand upon your heart, and consider what you have done amiss, that you would endeavour to make your peace with God. Truly, Sir, these are your High-Crimes, Tyranny and Treason. There is a third thing too, if those had not been, and that is Murder, which is laid to your charge. All the bloody Murders, which have been committed since this time that the division was betwixt you and your people, must be laid to your charge, which have been acted or committed in these late wars. Sir, it is an heinous and crying sin: And truly, Sir, if any man will ask us what Punishment is due to a Murderer, let God's Law, let man's law speak. Sir, I will presume that you are so well read in Scripture, as to know what God himself hath said concerning the shedding of man's blood: Gen. IX., Numb. XXXV. will tell you what the punishment is: And which this Court, in behalf of the whole kingdom, are sensible of, of that innocent blood that has been shed, whereby indeed the land stands still defiled with that blood; and, as the text hath it, it can no way be cleansed but with the shedding of the Blood of him that shed this blood. Sir, we know no dispensation from this blood in that Commandment 'Thou shalt do no Murder': We do not know but that it extends to kings as well as to the meanest peasants, the meanest of the people: the command is universal. Sir, God's law forbids it; Man's law forbids it: Nor do we know that there is any manner of exception, not even in man's laws, for the punishment of murder in you. It is true, that in the case of kings every private hand was not to put forth itself to this work for their reformation and punishment; But, Sir, the people represented having power in their hands, had there been but one wilful act of murder by you committed, had power to have convened you, and to have punished you for it. But then, Sir, the weight that lies upon you in all those respects that have been spoken, by reason of your Tyranny, Treason, Breach of Trust, and the Murders that have been committed; surely, Sir, it must drive you into a sad consideration concerning your eternal condition. As I said at first, I know it cannot be pleasing to you to hear any such things as these are mentioned unto you from this Court, for so we do call ourselves, and justify ourselves to be a Court, and a high Court of Justice, authorized by the highest and solemnest court of the kingdom, as we have often said; And although you do not yet endeavour what you may to discourt us, yet we do take knowledge of ourselves to be such a Court as can administer Justice to you: and we are bound, Sir, in duty to do it. Sir, all I shall say before the reading of your Sentence, it is but this: The Court does heartily desire that you will seriously think of those evils that you stand guilty of. Sir, you said well to us the other day, you wished us to have God before our eyes. Truly Sir, I hope all of us have so: That God, who we know is a King of Kings, and Lord of Lords; that God with whom there is no respect of Persons; that God, who is the Avenger of innocent Blood; We have that God before us; that God, who does bestow a curse upon them that with-hold their hands from shedding of blood, which is in the case of guilty malefactors, and that do deserve death: That God we have before our eyes. And were it not that the conscience of our duty hath called us unto this place, and this imployment, Sir, you should have had no appearance of a Court here. But, Sir, we must prefer the discharge of our duty unto God, and unto the kingdom, before any other respect whatsoever. And although at this time many of us, if not all of us, are severely threatened by some of your party, what they intend to do, Sir, we do here declare, That we shall not decline or forbear the doing of our duty in the administration of Justice, even to you, according to the merit of your Offence although God should permit those men to effect all that bloody design in hand against us. Sir, we will say, and we will declare it, as those Children in the Fiery Furnace, that would not worship the golden image, that Nebuchadnezzar had set up, 'That their God was able to deliver them from that danger that they were near unto'; But yet if he would not do it, yet notwithstanding that they would not fall down and worship the Image. We shall thus apply it; That though we should not be delivered from those bloody hands and hearts that conspire the overthrow of the kingdom in general, of us in particular, for acting in this great Work of Justice, though we should perish in the Work, yet by God's grace, and by God's strength, we will go on with it. And this is all our resolutions, Sir, I say for yourself, we do heartily wish and desire that God would be pleased to give you a sense of your sins, that you would see wherein you have done amiss, that you may cry unto him, that God would deliver you from Blood-guiltiness. A good king was once guilty of that particular thing, and was clear otherwise, saving in the matter of Uriah. Truly, Sir, the Story tells us that he was a repentant king: and it signifies enough, that he had died for it, but that God was pleased to accept of him, and to give him his pardon, 'Thou shalt not die, but the child shall die: Thou hast given cause to the enemies of God to blaspheme.' KING--I would desire only one word before you give Sentence; and that is, that you would hear me concerning those great Imputations that you have laid to my charge. LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, You must give me now leave to go on; for I am not far from your Sentence, and your time is now past. KING--But I shall desire you will hear me a few words to you: For truly, whatever Sentence you will put upon me in respect of those heavy imputations, that I see by your Speech you have put upon me; Sir, It is very true, that---- LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, I must put you in mind: Truly, Sir, I would not willingly, at this time especially, interrupt you in anything you have to say, that is proper for us to admit of; but, Sir, you have not owned us as a Court, and you look upon us as a sort of people met together; and we know what language we receive from your party. KING--I know nothing of that. LORD PRESIDENT--You disavow us as a Court; and therefore for you to address yourself to us, not acknowledging us as a Court to judge of what you say, it is not to be permitted. And the truth is, all along, from the first time you were pleased to disavow and disown us, the Court needed not to have heard you one word; For unless they be acknowledged a Court, and engaged, it is not proper for you to speak. Sir, we have given you too much liberty already, and admitted of too much delay, and we may not admit of any farther. Were it proper for us to do it, we should hear you freely; and we should not have declined to hear you at large, what you could have said or proved on your behalf, whether for totally excusing, or for in part excusing those great and heinous Charges, that in whole or in part are laid upon you. But, Sir, I shall trouble you no longer; your sins are of so large a dimension, that if you do but seriously think of them, they will drive you to a sad consideration of it, and they may improve in you a sad and serious repentance; And that the Court doth heartily wish that you may be so penitent for what you have done amiss, that God may have mercy, at leastwise, upon your better part: Truly, Sir, for the other, it is our parts and duties to do that, which the law prescribes. We are not here _jus dare_ but _jus dicere_. We cannot be unmindful of what the Scripture tells us; 'For to acquit the Guilty is of equal Abomination, as to condemn the Innocent.' We may not acquit the Guilty. What sentence the law affirms to a Traitor, Tyrant, a Murderer, and a public Enemy to the Country, that Sentence you are now to hear read unto you; and that is the Sentence of the Court. The Lord President commands the sentence to be read: make an O yes, and command Silence while the Sentence is read. O yes made: Silence commanded. The Clerk read the Sentence, which was drawn up in Parchment: 'Whereas the Commons of England in Parliament had appointed them an High Court of Justice, for the Trying of Charles Stuart, King of England, before whom he had been three times convened; and at the first time a Charge of High-Treason, and other Crimes and Misdemeanors, was read in the behalf of the Kingdom of England,' etc. [Here the Clerk read the Charge.] 'Which Charge being read unto him, as aforesaid, he the said Charles Stuart was required to give his Answer: But he refused so to do; and so expressed the several Passages of his Trial in refusing to answer. For all which Treasons and Crimes this Court doth adjudge, That the said Charles Stuart, as a Tyrant, Traitor, Murderer, and a Public Enemy, shall be put to Death, by the severing his Head from His Body.' After the Sentence read, the Lord President said, This Sentence now read and published, is the Act, Sentence, Judgment, and Resolution of the whole Court. Here the Court stood up, as assenting to what the President said. KING--Will you hear me a word, Sir? LORD PRESIDENT--Sir, you are not to be heard after the Sentence. KING--No, Sir? LORD PRESIDENT--No, Sir; by your favour, Sir. Guard, withdraw your Prisoner. KING--I may speak after the Sentence--By your Favour, Sir, I may Speak after the Sentence ever. By your Favour (Hold!) the Sentence, Sir---- I say, Sir, I do---- I am not suffered for to speak: Expect what Justice other People will have. O yes: All manner of Persons that have any thing else to do, are to depart at this time, and to give their attendance in the Painted Chamber; to which place this Court doth forthwith adjourn itself. Then the Court rose, and the King went with his guard to sir Robert Cotton's, and from thence to Whitehall. FOOTNOTES: [20] John Bradshaw (1602-1659) was the son of a Cheshire gentleman. Called to the bar in 1627, he practised at Congleton till about 1643, when he became judge of the Sheriff's Court in London, and was enjoying, according to Campbell, 'a considerable but obscure practice'; had, according to Clarendon, 'a good practice in his chamber, and [was] much employed by the fractious'; and became, according to Milton, 'a profound lawyer, an eloquent advocate.' He defended Lilburne successfully in 1645. He was made President of the High Court for the purpose of this trial, after the position had been declined by Whitelock, Rolle, St. John, and Wilde. After this trial he presided at the trials of the Duke of Hamilton following on the Battle of Worcester; and Holland, Norwich, Capel, and Owen after the siege of Colchester. Later on he vigorously opposed Cromwell, and accepted a seat in Richard Cromwell's Council of State. He became a Commissioner of the Great Seal in 1659, and died in October of that year. His body was exhumed at the Restoration with those of Cromwell and others, hung at Tyburn, and buried under the gallows. According to a legend perpetuated by an inscription on a cannon, his body was taken to Annapolis and buried there. A panegyric was written on him by Milton. [21] John Cook acted with Bradshaw as one of the counsel defending Lilburne in 1646. After the trial, of a scurrilous account of which he was probably the author, he was made Master of the hospital of St. Cross, and afterwards held various judicial posts in Ireland. On the Restoration he was tried and executed with the other regicides. [22] See _post_, p. 150. [23] 'This is as the king expressed it; but I suppose he meant Answer.'--Former Edition. [24] Clement Walker says: 'Whether these breaches and interruptions were made by Bradshaw, or are omissions and expunctions of some material parts of the king's speech, which this licensed penman durst not set down, I know not. I hear much of the king's argument is omitted, and much depraved, none but licensed men being suffered to take notes.' [25] See p. 150. THE REGICIDES Before Charles II. left Breda to return to England as King; he published a proclamation dated 4-14th April 1660, in which he promised among other things a general pardon for all crimes, to everybody who made submission to the new order of things within forty days, 'excepting only such persons as shall hereafter be excepted by Parliament.' Accordingly, on the 8th of July 1661, the matter was discussed in the Parliament which recalled the King, and a list of excepted persons was drawn up. The House of Lords, as was natural, showed a greater desire for severity than the House of Commons, which gave Charles an opportunity, of which he was not slow to avail himself, of appearing before the House of Lords as an advocate for leniency. The result was that the Act of Oblivion was passed by the newly elected Parliament on 11th July 1661. The Act, which deserves careful study for various reasons, begins by pardoning all crimes committed between 1st January 1637 and 24th January 1660. There then follow exceptions. These include murders not committed under the authority of the King or Parliament, double marriages, witchcraft, and 'any theft or stealing of any goods, or other felonies' committed since 4th March 1659. But the more important exceptions are contained in three sections, by one of which various persons are excluded from the benefit of the Act, while by the other two some of them are not to be executed without the authority of an Act of Parliament. It is obvious that, as is pointed out by Bridgman in Tichburne's trial, these sections did not affect the functions of the jury in the trials of any of the named persons. Marten, who was in the second category of exceptions, condescended to attempt to defend himself on the ground that his name was Harry Marten, and the name in the Act was Henry Martin; and Cook took a still more technical point of defence on the same subject. In the result the King's conduct in the matter seems generally to have been regarded as lenient, and indeed his character seems to be free from the reproach of cruelty or a desire for vengeance. It is interesting to observe that there was a question of including Milton in the list of excepted persons. He was not, however, so included, and as he would otherwise have been subjected to a long term of imprisonment, we must, if we agree with Lord Campbell in attributing to Hale any credit for the composition of _The Pilgrim's Progress_, consider that Charles missed a chance of contributing to the writing of _Paradise Lost_. * * * * * As a preliminary to the trial a meeting was held to settle certain points of law which it was foreseen would arise. This was attended by all the judges then in office, namely, Sir Orlando Bridgman, Chief-Baron of the Exchequer;[26] Justices Foster[27] and Hide of the Common Pleas;[28] Justice Mallet[29] of the King's Bench; together with Sir Geoffry Palmer,[30] the King's Attorney; Sir Heneage Finch,[31] the King's Solicitor; Sir Edward Turner, Attorney to the Duke of York; Mr. Wadham Windham, of Lincoln's Inn; and Mr. Kelyng,[32] the reporter. It was there resolved to try the prisoners at Newgate by commission of Gaol Delivery, rather than by a special commission of Oyer and Terminer, so as to proceed with the trial at once; that all the prisoners should be arraigned the first day; that the King's counsel might privately manage the evidence before the Grand Jury (the practice of allowing any advocates to appear before the Grand Jury has long fallen into disuse); that the murder of the King should be precisely laid in the indictment, and be made use of as one of the overt acts to prove the compassing of his death; that any act tending to the compassing of the King's death besides the one laid in the indictment might be given in evidence; that the two witnesses required in treason need not speak to the same overt act;[33] that the fact that a juror had already found another prisoner guilty on the same indictment was no good ground for a challenge; that the prisoners should not be tried in irons; that the murder of the King should be stated to have been committed by _quidam ignotus_, with a visor on his face;[34] that the compassing of the King's death should be laid to have been committed on the 29th Jan. 24 Car. I., and the murder itself on _tricesimo mensis ejusdem Januarii_, without naming any year of any king; and that the indictment should conclude '_contra pacem nuper domini regis coron' et dignitat' suas_,' etc.; and other technical matters were settled in the same way. The indictment was in Latin, being preferred after Michaelmas, until which time English was allowed by the Convention which was sitting when the King was restored. The trials began on the 9th of October 1660, at Hick's Hall in the County of Middlesex, when the Grand Jury were charged by the Lord Chief-Baron Bridgman. True bills were found against thirty-one persons,[35] a true bill being found against Hulet on the 12th. On the next day Thomas Harrison[36] was put up to plead. CLERK--Thomas Harrison, How sayest thou? Art thou Guilty of the treason whereof thou standest indicted, and art now arraigned? Or not Guilty? HARRISON--My Lords, have I liberty to speak? COURT--No more (at this time) than Guilty or Not Guilty. Mr. Harrison, you have heard the direction before. We can but give you the same rule. If you plead Guilty you shall be heard at large; if Not Guilty, you know what remains. HARRISON--Will you give me leave to give you my answer in my own words? LORD CHIEF-BARON--There is no answer but what the law directs; it is the same with you as with all others, or as I would desire if I was in your condition. You must plead Not Guilty, or if you confess Guilty, there must be judgment on your confession. HARRISON--You express your rule very fair, as well to me as to this gentleman (pointing to sir H. Waller, who had just pleaded guilty); but I have something to say, which concerns your Lordships as well as myself. COURT--You must hold, and plead Guilty or Not Guilty. HARRISON--My Lord, I have been kept close prisoner near these three months, that nobody might have access to me. Do you call me to give you a legal answer, not knowing of my trial till nine of the clock last night, and brought away from the Tower to this place at six of the clock this morning? COURT--You must give your direct answer, Guilty, or Not Guilty. You cannot say it is sudden or unprovided. You spend your time in vain. You trouble the Court. You must plead Guilty, or Not Guilty. We must not suffer you to make discourses here. You must plead either Guilty or Not Guilty. CLERK--Are you Guilty, or Not Guilty? After objecting to plead in this way for a little more time, Harrison was at last persuaded to plead Not Guilty. He then objected to complete the usual formula by saying that he would be tried by God and his Country, saying that they were vain words; but eventually-- HARRISON--I do offer myself to be tried in your own way by God and my Country. CLERK--God send you a good deliverance. On the next day, the 11th, at seven o'clock in the morning, Harrison's trial began by the calling of the jury, of whom Harrison challenged thirty-five, his maximum number. The case was then opened by Finch, the Solicitor-General, who, after explaining the law of treason by quotations from the Bible and Coke, charged the prisoner more particularly with having brought the King up to London; with having signed the warrant constituting the Court which tried him; with having sat as a member of the Court; and with having signed the death-warrant. All the witnesses were then sworn, six in all. _Masterson_ proved that he saw Harrison sitting 'in that which they called the High Court of Justice' on the 27th of January 1649, the day when the King was sentenced; and that when the sentence was read he, with others, stood up as assenting to it. _Clark_, _Kirk_, and _Nutley_ also gave evidence to the same effect; the latter adding that some few days before the 20th there was a Committee in the Exchequer Chamber of which the prisoner was a member. I do remember well it was in the evening; they were lighting of candles, they were somewhat private. This gentleman was there, I saw him; for through the kindness of Mr. Phelps, who was then Clerk to that Committee, I was admitted, pretending first to speak with the said Mr. Phelps, and that I had some business with him; and so (as I said before) I was admitted into the Committee Chamber. Being there I did observe some passages fall from the prisoner at the bar; the words were to this purpose; he was making a narrative of some discourse that passed between his late majesty and himself in coming between Windsor and London, or Hurst Castle, I know not well which. My Lord, that passage that I observed to fall from him in that discourse was this; he said that the King as he sat in the coach with him was importunate to know what they intended to do with him. The King asked, What do they intend to do with me; Whether to murder me or no? 'and I said to him, There was no such intent on as to kill him, we have no such thoughts.' But (said he) the Lord has reserved you for a public example of justice. There is one word more, my Lords, and that is this, which I heard from the prisoner at the bar. The reason and end of their meeting together at that Committee was concerning the charge. So much I observed. It was concerning the contracting of the impeachment. I observed that some found fault with the length of that as it was drawn. They were offering some reasons to contract it, and I heard this prisoner at the bar vent this expression; 'Gentlemen, it will be good for us to blacken him what we can; pray let us blacken him,' or words to that purpose. I am sure 'blacken' was his word. _Lord Newburgh_,[37] when he was living at Bagshot, saw Harrison conducting the King in custody from Hurst Castle to London. The two warrants, one for the trial, the other for the execution of the King, were produced, and Harrison's signatures to them were proved to be in his handwriting. The Court pointed out that they were not produced as records, but as evidence of overt acts of constituting a compassing of the King's death on his part. HARRISON--I do not come to be denying anything that in my own judgment and conscience I have done or committed, but rather to be bringing it forth to the light. COURT--Sir, you must understand this by the way, this you must take along with you, that these are read not as anything of authority in themselves, or as used to any other purpose, but as evidence of the fact against you; take that along with you. This concluded the evidence; and Windham summed up the case very shortly, concluding, 'I think a clearer evidence of a fact can never be given than is for these things,' [Here the spectators hummed.] LORD CHIEF-BARON--Gentlemen, this humming is not at all becoming the gravity of this Court. Let there be free speaking by the prisoner and the Court Counsel. It is more fitting for a stage-play than for a Court of Justice. HARRISON--It is now time, my Lords, to offer what I have to say. Have these learned gentlemen offered what they have to say? COUNSEL--We have no more till he hath given us occasion, not for evidence of the fact. HARRISON--My lords, the matter that hath been offered to you, as it was touched, was not a thing done in a corner. I believe the sound of it hath been in most nations. I believe the hearts of some have felt the terrors of that presence of God that was with his servants in those days (however it seemeth good to him to suffer this turn to come on us) and are witnesses that the things were not done in a corner. I have desired, as in the sight of him that searcheth all hearts, whilst this hath been done, to wait, and receive from him convictions upon my own conscience, though I have sought it with tears many a time, and prayers over and over, to that God to whom you and all nations are less than a drop of water in the bucket; and to this moment I have received rather assurance of it, and that the things that have been done as astonishing on the one hand, I do believe ere it be long it will be made known from Heaven, there was more from God than men are aware of. I do profess that I would not offer of myself the least injury to the poorest man or woman that goes upon the earth. That I have humbly to offer is this, to your Lordships; you know what a contest hath been in these nations for many years. Divers of those that sit upon the bench were formerly as active----[38] COURT--Pray, Mr. Harrison, do not thus reflect on the Court. This is not the business. HARRISON--I followed not my own judgment; I did what I did, as out of conscience to the Lord; for when I found those that were as the apple of mine eye to turn aside, I did loath them, and suffered imprisonment many years. Rather than to turn as many did, that did put their hands to this plough, I chose rather to be separated from wife and family than to have compliance with them, though it was said, 'Sit thou at my right hand,' and such kind expressions. Thus I have given a little poor testimony that I have not been doing things in a corner, or from myself. May be I might be a little mistaken; but I did it all according to the best of my understanding, desiring to make the revealed will of God in his Holy Scriptures as a guide to me. I humbly conceive that what was done, was done in the name of the Parliament of England, that what was done, was done by their power and authority; and I do humbly conceive it is my duty to offer unto you in the beginning that this Court, or any Court below the High Court of Parliament, hath no jurisdiction of their actions. Here are many learned in the law, and to shorten the work, I desire I may have the help of counsel learned in the laws, that may in this matter give me a little assistance to offer those grounds that the law of the land doth offer. I say, what was done, was done by the authority of the Parliament, which was then the Supreme Authority, and that those that have acted under them are not to be questioned by any power less than them. And for that I conceive there is much out of the laws to be shewed to you and many Precedents also in the case. Much is to be offered to you in that; according to the laws of the nations, that was a due Parliament. Those Commissions were issued forth, and what was done was done by their power; and whereas it hath been said we did assume and usurp an authority, I say this was done rather in the fear of the Lord. COURT--Away with him. Know where you are, Sir; you are in the assembly of Christians; will you make God the author of your treasons and murders? Take heed where you are. Christians must not hear this. We will allow you to say for your own defence what you can; and we have with a great deal of patience suffered you to sally out, wherein you have not gone about so much for extenuation of your crimes, as to justify them, to fall upon others, and to blaspheme God, and commit a new Treason: For your having of counsel, this is the reason for allowing of counsel: When a man would plead any thing, because he would plead it in formality, counsel is allowed. But you must first say in what the matter shall be, and then you shall have the Court's answer. LORD FINCH--Though my lords here have been pleased to give you a great latitute, this must not be suffered, that you should run into these damnable excursions, to make God the author of this damnable Treason committed. _Harrison_ repeats his two points; that what was done was done by a 'Parliament of England, by the Commons of England assembled in Parliament'; and was therefore not to be questioned by the present Court; and that what any did in obedience to a power which they could not disobey, they ought not to be punished for. Upon these two points he asked to be allowed the assistance of counsel. To this the Lord Chief-Baron replies that the body Harrison refers to was not a Parliament, that Harrison had made himself 'a solicitor in the business,' when he said, 'Come let us blacken him as much as we can'; and that 'neither both Houses of Parliament, if they had been there, not any single person, community, not the people collectively, or representatively, had any colour to have any coercive power over their King.' Annesley--who had, as he says, been one of the 'corrupt majority,' put out of the house at the time of Pride's Purge--and Hollis repeat the same thing. An argument then ensues between Harrison and the other members of the Court on the authority of Parliaments generally; at last-- HARRISON--I would not willingly speak to offend any man, but I know God is no respecter of persons. His setting up his standard against the people---- COURT--Truly, Mr. Harrison, this must not be suffered; this doth not at all belong to you. HARRISON--Under favour, this doth belong to me. I would have abhorred to have brought him to account, had not the blood of Englishmen that had been shed---- COUNSEL--Methinks he should be sent to Bedlam, till he comes to the gallows to render an account of this. This must not be suffered. SOLICITOR-GENERAL--My Lords, I pray that the jury may go together upon the evidence. SIR EDWARD TURNER--My Lords, this man hath the plague all over him, it is a pity any should stand near him, for he will infect them. Let us say to him as they used to write over an house infected, 'The Lord have mercy upon him,' and so let the officer take him away. The argument then continues a little longer, chiefly between Harrison and the Lord Chief-Baron; till-- LORD CHIEF-BARON--Mr. Harrison, you have appealed to our consciences. We shall do that, which, by the blessing of God, shall be just; for which we shall answer before the Tribunal of God. Pray take heed of an obdurate, hard heart and seared conscience. HARRISON--My lords, I have been kept six months a close prisoner, and could not prepare myself for this trial by counsel. I have got here some acts of parliament, of that House of Commons, which your Lordship will not own; and the proceedings of that house, whose authority I did own. The Lord Chief-Baron then summed up shortly, and the jury brought in a verdict of Guilty, apparently without much hesitation. Sentence of dragging, hanging, and quartering was accordingly passed in the ordinary terms. HUGH PETERS[39] HUGH PETERS was called upon to plead on the 9th of October 1660. CLERK--Hugh Peters, hold up thy hand. How sayest thou? Art thou guilty of the treason whereof thou standest indicted; and for which thou standest arraigned? Or Not Guilty? HUGH PETERS--I would not for ten thousand worlds say I am Guilty. I am not Guilty. CLERK--How will you be tried? HUGH PETERS--By the word of God [here the people laughed]. COURT--You must say By God and the Country. Tell him, you that stand by him, what he should say, if he doth not know. CLERK--How will you be tried? HUGH PETERS--By God and the country. The trial took place on the 13th of October, and after the jury were sworn, without Peters making any challenges, the case was shortly opened by Sir Edward Young. He stated that he would prove that Peters was a chief conspirator with Cromwell at several times and several places compassing the King's death; that he preached many sermons to the soldiers urging the 'taking away the King,' comparing him to Barabbas; that he was instrumental in directing the making of the proclamation for the High Court of Justice; that when the King was executed, he was the person that urged the soldiers below the scaffold to cry for justice; and that on the day after the trial he commended it. _Dr. William Young_ was the first witness. He first made Peters' acquaintance about the time of the siege of Pembroke Castle, in 1648. Afterwards, in 1649, Peters went over to Ireland with Cromwell, and falling sick of the flux, returned to Milford and sent for the witness. There I found him, grovelling upon the deck, and sick he was indeed; with much difficulty we got him on shore; within a very few days, to the best of my remembrance five days, I perfected his cure; we became very familiar; I observed in him that he had some secret thoughts that I could not well discover, neither well understand; whereupon I thought it might tend to my security that I should so much sympathize with him, to get within him to know his intentions. After some weeks we grew so familiar, that at last I found he began to enlarge his heart to me. Many times I should hear him rail most insufferably against the blood royal, not only against our martyred king, but against his off-spring; still as we continued our acquaintance, he became more and more open to me; so we would sit up discoursing till about twelve or one of the clock at night very often, about these unhappy wars late in England. He said that he had been employed out of New England to stir up the civil war; that he had been sent by the Parliament to Ireland 'to receive further instructions to drive on the design to extirpate monarchy'; that he had spent a great deal of his money, but had never been repaid the £2000 or £3000 he had been promised for his journey; he used to vilify monarchy, 'jocundarily scoffing at it, and would ordinarily quibble in this manner, saying "this Commonwealth will never be at peace till 150 be put down." I asked him what this 150 was, he told me the three L's, and afterwards interpreted the meaning to be the Lords, the Levites, and the Lawyers; with that, said I, we shall be like the Switzers, Tinkers, and Traitors,' He had a commission from Cromwell to raise troops for Ireland, he issued two commissions to bring over two troops from Devon, and offered to make the witness a major or captain. Talking of the removal of the King from Holmby House, he said that the Parliament having then a design to secure himself and Cromwell, they escaped out of London, and rode hard for it, and as we rode to Ware we made a halt, and advised how we should settle this kingdom in peace, and dispose of the King; the result was this, They should bring him to justice, try him for his life, and cut off his head; whether this was the expression of Cromwell I cannot tell; but to the utmost of my remembrance, and I am mistaken if it was not the advice of Mr. Peters to Cromwell; and I believe it, because his former relations of his instructions out of Ireland did tend to that effect. PETERS--My lord, I desire to speak a word [his voice being low, he was brought to the second bar]. I am the bolder to speak to your lordships at this time a word, and it is high time to satisfy my conscience; if these things were true, there is enough said to destroy me; I desire leave to tell you what offence I take at the witness, thus, my lord. This gentlemen I do know---- COUNSEL--What say you to him? PETERS--That which I have to say is this, that in his story he hath told that which is not true; but I will not find fault with him, because he was my host, I will not reflect and recriminate: I shall give your lordships in simplicity as much satisfaction myself as any witness; this I say to the man that speaks, and this is certain, I did spend some time at this gentleman's house, he is called there Dr. Young; and my trouble at this discourse is this, I do not know, my lord, that I found a more violent man for the parliament than himself; so far he undertook to be a spy on one side; this I find to be so, he will not deny it; he was very fierce in that way; I think words of such a man ought to be little attended to. The second is this, this gentleman is not a competent witness, and that upon a two-fold ground. First, because I know he is under a very great temptation and trouble in this very thing, and it is upon this account he was put out of his living in the country, and here he came to me to help him in again, and was very highly offended because I did not do it. Secondly, it is not that I would invalidate his witness, but give me leave to tell you, it is his way to snap and catch at every man, which is the complaint of the people in his own country. I know that same which is spoken is false; I speak it in the presence of God, I profess, I never had any near converse with Oliver Cromwell about such things; I speak this to the Jury, that they would have a care of the witness; I was in sickness then; those that have known me do know likewise that I have much weakness in my head when I am sick, and to take words that are spoken in a sick condition, he ought not to do it; for the words themselves I do here profess against them, for the generality of them; and that he hath been freer in my judgment in any communication in this way than I have been; it is marvellous, here I profess the things untruths; I call God and angels to witness they are not true. I will give you an account of my whole condition by-and-by, if I may be heard. COURT--You shall be heard at large; that which you have been heard now is concerning the competency or incompetency of the witness: the incompetency against him is this, that when you came thither none more violent for the parliament than himself, and that he was a great spy, and you say it was usual with him to take such courses; these are but words; if you have any witnesses we will hear them; the man may be traduced and slandered, and so all witnesses may be taken away. Mr. Peters, if you take this course, God knows when this business will end; if you have a mind take pen, ink, and paper, and take notes of the witnesses, and make exceptions to them one after another; but interrupting one, and so another, we shall never have done. YOUNG--I do recollect myself of some other conferences between us; as to my being malicious, I know he never did me any wrong, and therefore I cannot be malicious; and as for my reputation, having resided two years in London I can have certificates both from my country, and some of this city, to vindicate me in that particular; But, my lord, that which I would inform your lordship is this, he told me he took duke Hamilton a prisoner himself in his own chamber, seized on his goods, and took his George and blue ribbon off his shoulder, and the George he shewed me. _William Gunter_ was a drawer at the Star in Coleman Street. Oliver Cromwell and several of his party used to meet there in consultation; there were several meetings; he remembered one in particular when Peters was there; he came about four in the afternoon and stayed till ten or eleven at night; they were talking about the King after he was a prisoner, for they called him by the name of Charles Stuart; they were writing something, but the witness could not say what. He could not say whether Peters was there oftener than once, 'but once I am certain of it; this is the gentleman; for then he wore a great sword.' PETERS--I never wore a great sword in my life. _Starkey_ deposed that in the December before the King's death, and up to the 12th of the following January, the headquarters of the army were at Windsor, and General Ireton was quartered at his father's house. The Council of War was held there, and Cromwell, Ireton, Peters, Col. Rich, and another gentleman, whose name he forgot, would meet and consult there, and sit up till two or three in the morning very privately together. The witness was often in Ireton's company, and Peters would often come in to meals in the evening. Mr. Ireton being civil in carriage, would usually entertain discourses with Mr. Peters, likewise would favor me sometimes with discourse; and in that discourse I did many times take occasion to assert the laws in point of the king; and discoursing about the king as being a capital instrument in the late inconveniences, as they called it, in the times of the war, Mr. Ireton would discourse this ordinarily; I was bold to tell them that the person of the king was _solutus legibus_; this gentleman the prisoner at the bar, told me it was an unequal law. I did observe Mr. Peters did bend his discourse, not by way of argument only, but in point of resolution of judgment, fully against the person and government of the king. I remember some of his expressions were these, That he was a tyrant, that he was a fool, that he was not fit to be a king, or bear that office; I have heard him say, that for the office itself (in those very words which shortly after came into print) that it was a dangerous, chargeable, and useless office. My lords, the constant discourse of this gentleman at that time was such as he did believe would never be called into question, so it was not a thing that a man was necessitated to observe by an accident, but it was their whole discourse. I will put you in mind of a particular passage. When the news came to Windsor that the king was in prison at the Isle of Wight, my father (whose house that was) was very much troubled at it; and being an ancient man, was not able to control his passions with reason, told my mother that they (meaning Mr. Ireton, etc.) should have no entertainment there, and took the key of the cellar and put it in his pocket; his passions being lessened, Mr. Ireton, his wife, and another officer being at supper, and afterwards my father said grace, and, as he usually did, though they were there, he said that usual and honest expression, praying for the king in these usual words, 'God save the king, prince, and realm'; sometimes they did laugh at it, but never did reflect upon him; but this night he made this expression, 'God save the king's most excellent majesty, and preserve him out of the hands of all his enemies.' Peters, who was then at the table, turns about to him, and said, 'Old gentleman, your idol will not stand long'; I do conceive he meant it of the king. For a matter of two months of the constant residence and being of the army there, I did observe that in the General Council there, and in this private cabal (after the business was broke out, and when the king was taken prisoner, and carried to Windsor), Mr. Peters was the constant man; and when the business broke out, I looked upon it in reason that Cromwell, Ireton, and this gentleman at the bar, and Rich, and that other gentleman, whose name I have forgot, that they were the persons that did the business. My lords, Mr. Peters he continued at Windsor: I remember very well that after the body of the army, the general, and the officers of the army, were gone to London, he continued at Windsor: I remember a passage of one Bacon, who was a sectary; Mr. Peters being in discourse of the king, Mr. Bacon took great distaste at Mr. Peters for some affront put upon the King; Mr. Peters falls upon him, and rails at him, and was ready to beat him; we understood it so, because he did tell him of his affronting the King. COUNSEL--Mr. Peters, if you have any thing to ask this witness, you may. PETERS--I have many things to ask him. Did I ever lie there? STARKEY--No. PETERS--Did you see me there at three o'clock in the morning? STARKEY--I have seen you go up at ten o'clock at night to Mr. Ireton's chamber, and sometimes I understood you did not go away till four o'clock in the morning: I went to bed it is true, but I understood it so. _Thomas Walkely_ saw Cromwell, Goodwin, Peters, and others in the Painted Chamber at Westminster on the day after the proclamation for the trial of the King was made. Goodwin sat in the middle of the table and made a long speech or prayer, and then it was ordered that strangers should leave the room, and Walkely went out, and afterwards saw Peters leave the room with the others. When the King was brought to London as a prisoner, Walkely 'saw his majesty in his coach with six horses and Peters, like a bishop almoner, riding before the king triumphing.' _Proctor_ also saw the King driving into London with the prisoner riding before him, the King sitting alone in his coach. 'My Lord, I did put off my hat, and he was graciously pleased to put off his hat; the troopers seeing this, they threw me into the ditch, horse and all, where I stayed till they pass by, and was glad I escaped so.' _Hardwick_ heard the proclamation for the High Court of Justice made in Westminster Hall, and afterwards Peters came into Palace Yard and told the officers there that the proclamation must also be made in Cheapside and at the Old Exchange. _Holland Simpson_ saw the sitting of the High Court; he saw Peters there, but not as a judge. There was one day in the hall colonel Stubbards, who was adjutant-general (he was a very busy man) and colonel Axtel; Mr. Peters going down the stairs, comes to him, and bids Stubbards to command the soldiers to cry out 'justice, justice, against the traitor at the bar.' COUNSEL--Who did he mean? SIMPSON--The King was at the bar at the same time; whereupon, my lord, the soldiers did cry out upon the same; and as the King was taken away to sir Robert Cotton's some of them spit in the King's face, but he took his handkerchief, wiped it off, and smiled. _Thomas Richardson_ and _Sir Jeremy Whichcot_ spoke to casual expressions of Peters which showed approval of the King's trial and deposition. _Richard Nunnelly, sworn._ COUNSEL--Was Peters upon the Scaffold at the time of execution or before? NUNNELLY--On that unhappy day, 30th of Jan. 1649, this Hugh Peters came an hour before the king came to Whitehall; I came with a warrant of a £40 or £50,000 to Oliver Cromwell, being door-keeper to the Committee of the Army; Nunnelly, says Oliver Cromwell, will you go to Whitehall? Surely you will see the beheading of the king; and he let me into Whitehall; coming into the boarded gallery I met Hugh Peters, and he was in the gallery; and then I got with Hugh Peters into the Banqueting-House; being there, Hugh Peters met one Tench of Hounsditch, that was a joiner meeting him; he speaks to him, and whispers in his ear, and told him somewhat, I do not know what it was; but Tench presently went and knocked four staples upon the scaffold; I meeting Tench again, What art thou doing? said I. What, will you turn hangman? Says he, This day will be a happy day. Said I, Pray God send it be not a bloody day; upon that Hugh Peters went upon the scaffold just an hour before the king came, and then he went off again. I watched at the window when the king's head was cut off, and afterwards I saw the vizards going into a chamber there; about an hour afterwards (I staying there at the door) there comes Hugh Peters in his black cloak and broad hat out of that chamber (as I take it) with the hangman; I am sure I did see him go along with the hangman to take water; this is all I can remember, it being many years since. PETERS--I humbly beg I may be heard in this case; I have here a witness, and I desire he may be examined; it is noised I was upon the scaffold, I here call God to witness I was not out of my chamber that day; I was sick that day; I speak in the presence of the Lord. COURT--If your witness will stay he shall be heard; there are more witnesses to the same thing, and so he may speak to all together. _Dr. Mortimer, sworn._ MORTIMER--Me lar, me ha serd de king, etc. COURT--We cannot understand a word. COUNSEL--He is a Frenchman, my lord. COURT--Pray let there be an interpreter. [One Mr. Young was sworn to interpret truly his evidence. But it being afterwards found difficult and troublesome, the Counsel waved his evidence, and prayed another witness might be called.] MORTIMER--Me Lar, me can peak Englis---- COUNSEL--No, no, pray sit down, we will examine other witnesses. Call Stephen Clough. _Stephen Clough_ heard there was to be a meeting of the Council of officers at Westminster, about three weeks or a month before the King's execution, and I being willing (my Lord) to hear what their consultations were, I went thither, and was there as one of them (but I was not one); amongst the rest Hugh Peters was one; when the room was pretty full the door was shut. Mr. Peters was desired to call for a blessing upon their business; in his prayer he uttered these words, 'O Lord (said he) what a mercy it is to see this great city fall down before us! And what a stir there is to bring this great man to trial, without whose blood he will turn us all into blood if he reign again!' _Beaver_, upon the day appointed for a fast for those that sat then as a parliament, went to Westminster to find out some company to dine with me, and having walked about an hour in Westminster Hall, and finding none of my friends to dine with me, I went to that place called Heaven, and dined there. After he had dined he went through St. Margaret's churchyard, and finding it all full of muskets and pikes, asked some soldiers what was their business there. They told him that Peters was preaching in the church, and 'I must needs have the curiosity to hear that man, having heard many stories of the manner of his preaching (God knows I did not do it out of any manner of devotion); I crowded near the pulpit, and came near to the speaker's pew.' He heard Peters preaching on the text about the Jews releasing Barabbas and crucifying Christ; interpreting Barabbas to mean the King, and Christ the Army. Says he, and because that you should think, my lords and gentlemen, that it is a question, I tell you it is a question; I have been in the city which may very well be compared to Hierusalem in this conjuncture of time, and I profess these foolish citizens for a little trading and profit, they will have Christ (pointing to the redcoats on the pulpit stairs) crucified, and the great Barabbas at Westminster released. He told the members that they were the Sanhedrim, and that it was they to whom the people looked for justice-- Do not prefer the great Barabbas, Murderer, Tyrant, and Traitor, before these poor hearts (pointing to the redcoats) and the army who are our saviours. It was proved by the journal of the House of Commons that a fast had been ordered for the 20th of December 1648. _Chace_ had heard Peters preaching on the 21st of January; his text was, 'Bind your kings with chains, and your nobles with fetters of iron.' He maintained that the King was not above the law. It was said they had no power to behead the King; 'Turn to your bibles,' he answered, 'and you shall find it there, Whosoever sheds man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed; and I see neither King Charles, Prince Charles, nor prince Rupert, nor prince Maurice, nor any of that rabble excepted out of it.' PETERS--Ask him if he took notes. CHACE--No sir, but it being so memorable a sermon I took special notice of it; I came to my brother's house in Shoe lane, and told him; said I, Brother, I have been at Whitehall and have heard the most execrable business that ever was in the world by a minister of the Gospel, and told him the words, and I observed that Oliver Cromwell did laugh at that time when you were preaching. _Tongue_, _Bowdler_, _Rider_, and _Walker_ all gave similar evidence as to Peters' preaching. _Cornelius Glover_ was called by Peters, but was not sworn. He was Peters' servant at the time of the King's execution; on the morning of that day Peters was ill in his chamber. I had a desire to go to see the meeting where they were at Whitehall; saith he, 'Thou seemest to have a great desire to go and look about thee, it is very sad, but if you will go you may.' I did go over the park. He went about noon, the soldiers and people filled the place, and he went back in a quarter of an hour's time. When he got back, Peters was still in his chamber. He was melancholy sick, as he used to be. LORD CHIEF-BARON--Did you desire to go, or did he send you? GLOVER--I did desire to go, being newly come to London. _Peters_ was then called on to make his defence. He began by pointing out that he had nothing to do with the beginning of the war. I lived fourteen years out of England, when I came over I found the wars begun; I began no war, my lord, nor have been the trumpeter; when I came out of the West Indies I fled from the war into Ireland, to the western parts there. I was neither at Edge-Hill nor Naseby; but my lord, after I came over there was war that the people were engaged in; I was not here in the beginning of it, but was a stranger to the carriage of it. When I came into the nation I looked after three things; One was that there might be sound Religion; the second was that Learning and Laws might be maintained; the third that the poor might be cared for; and I must confess I have spent most of my time in these things to this end and purpose. He explains how he acted for these ends in Ireland, and how, being sent over to England, 'that we might have a little help in point of Excise and Customs,' he saw the state of the country, and in some measure I did stir, but by strong importunities, the ministers of London deeper than I; I am very sorry to hear of my carriage towards the King; it is my great trouble; I beg pardon for my own folly and weakness; I thought God had a great controversy with the nation, and the Lord was displeased on all hands; that which some people took to, I did take unto; I went into the army; I saw at the beginning of it that corruptions grew among them.... I had neither malice nor mischief in my heart against the King; upon this I did engage so far, being invited; I went into the wars, and there I found very strange and several kinds of providences, as this day hath been seen; I do not deny but that I was active, but not to stir in a way that was not honourable. I had so much respect for his majesty, particularly at Windsor, that I propounded to his majesty my thoughts, three ways to preserve himself from danger, which were good as he was pleased to think though they did not succeed, and the work died; as for malice I had none in me; I have not persecuted with malice, I will only take off malice. The _Lord Chief-Baron_ reminded him that the business was a matter of fact, and shortly recapitulated the evidence against him. Consulting about the King's death; proposing or determining that he should die; making seditious speeches, in the pulpit or out of it, would all be overt acts proving treasonable intention. His conversations with Dr. Young at Milford, his meetings with Cromwell and others at the Star, his participation in the councils held at Starkey's house at Windsor, all proved the consulting and proposing. His presence at the meeting in the Painted Chamber; his riding in front of the King when he was brought to London (which Peters interrupted to explain that he did by the King's command that he might procure the Bishop of London to come to him); the part he took in ordering the reading the proclamation about the High Court, which Peters denied; his telling the soldiers to cry out Justice, Justice; his presence at the scaffold before the execution [_Peters_--'I do not profess to your lordship, before angels and men, that I did not stir out of my chamber that day.' _Lord Chief-Baron_--'Counsel doth not put reliance upon that because of what your witness saith, though his evidence is not satisfactory']; his prayers and his sermons all go to complete the case. When Peters objects that some of the witnesses to the sermons are but single witnesses, the judge expressly lays it down that the two witnesses required need not both speak to the same overt act. The Solicitor then notices the main facts of the case in a still more abbreviated form, concluding: The honour of the pulpit is to be vindicated; and the death of this man will preach much better than his life did; it may be a means to convert many a miserable person, whom the preaching of this person hath seduced; for many come here and say they did it 'in the fear of the Lord'; and now you see who taught them; and I hope you will make an example of this carnal prophet. The jury after a little consultation found the prisoner Guilty; and he was forthwith sentenced to death in the usual terms. WILLIAM HULET William Hulet was arraigned on the 15th of October, and tried on the same day. He challenged no jurors, and refused pen and ink because he could not write; but as he had not well understood the indictment he desired it to be read over again, which was done. Sir Edward Turner opened the case, alleging that Hulet was on the scaffold, in disguise, on the occasion of the execution, and suggesting that it was he who actually beheaded the King; a fact which he proposed to prove chiefly by Hulet's own admissions. _Gittens_ was the first witness. He stated that he and Hulet were both serjeants in the same regiment at the time of the execution. A day or two before the King came to the scaffold about thirty-eight of them were sworn to secrecy by Colonel Hewson, and they were all asked whether they would behead the King for a hundred pounds, and a promise of preferment in the army. They all refused. At the time of the execution it seems that part of the regiment was on guard in Scotland Yard, and part in the Banqueting Chamber and on the scaffold. The witness was with the former part, but managed to get near the scaffold before the execution actually happened. 'Hulet (as far as I can guess), when the King came on the scaffold for his execution, and said, Executioner, is the block fast? fell on his knees.' COUNSEL--Who did? GITTENS--Hulet, to ask him forgiveness; by his speech I thought it was he. Captain Atkins said, who would not undertake to do this fact? I told him I would not do it for all the city of London; no, nor I neither for all the world, saith Atkins; you shall see Hulet quickly come to preferment; and presently after he was made captain-lieutenant. COUNSEL--Was he with his regiment that day? GITTENS--We could not see him with the regiment all that day; he was never absent at any time before. COUNSEL--Did you know his voice? GITTENS--Yes, sir. He had a pair of freeze trunk breeches, and a vizor, with a grey beard; and after that time col. Hewson called him 'father grey beard' and most of the army besides, he cannot deny it. In cross-examination Gittens repeated that he knew Hulet by his voice, and that he was by Captain Webb at the door of the Banqueting House. _Stammers_ was afterwards in Hewson's troop when Hulet was captain-lieutenant, and marched at his orders to Luttrels-town; there Hulet questioned him as to his previous service, and asked whether he had ever served in the King's army: 'with that he walks about the room two or three turns; saith he, I was the man that beheaded King Charles, and for doing it I had an hundred pounds, saying I was a serjeant at that time.' Cross-examined, he said that he had been in the troop about a fortnight; and that when he first saw Hulet he pretended that he was brother to one Chambers. Hulet said that his evidence did not agree with that which he had given in his examination at Dublin, and desired that the latter might be read; which was done, and it agreed with the testimony he had just given. _Toogood_ was in Dublin in 1650, about September; he had some business with Hewson, where he saw Hulet, and observed that he was very familiar. I asked Hewson what he was, he told me he was his captain-lieutenant of horse; I desired to know where he had him? he told me he made him so from a serjeant, and a very mettled fellow he was; it was he that did the King's business for him upon the scaffold. In 1653 there was a disbanding of the army in Ireland; this gentleman was then continued captain-lieutenant in Pretty's regiment; I discoursed with Pretty concerning him, and one part of it, I remember, was about the King's death; and he did tell me that he was assured by col. Hewson that Hulet either cut off the King's head, or held it up, and said, 'Behold the head of a traitor.' Col. Pretty could not tell me which of the two it was; but I saw the person that did it, and methought he did resemble this person. Twelve months afterwards he came to live near the prisoner in Ireland, and meeting him at the White Horse in Carlow, asked whether he was the man that cut off the King's head or not. Saith he, Why do you ask me this question? I told him I had heard so by several, namely by Hewson and Pretty; upon that he said, 'Well, what I did, I will not be ashamed of; if it were to do again I would do it.' Once since that time, about half a year afterwards, I was in the same place, and there talking about the King's death, he was telling me it was true, he was one of the two persons that were disguised upon the scaffold. I desired to know what if the King had refused to submit to the block? saith he, there were staples placed about the scaffold, and I had that about me that would have compelled him, or words to that effect; other times I have heard him speak something to this ... I have observed in Ireland, that it hath been generally reported that he was either the man that cut off the King's head or he that held it up, as I said before, and I have heard them sometimes call him Grandsire Greybeard. _Walter Davis_ had two years before been drinking with Hulet in Dublin, and said I to Hulet, I pray resolve me this one question; it is reported that you took up the King's head, and said, Behold the head of a traitor; Sir, said he, it is a question I never yet resolved any man, though often demanded; yet, saith he, whosoever said it, it matters not, I say it now; it was the head of a traitor. _Lieut.-Colonel Nelson_ had asked Colonel Axtell (who had just been tried and condemned) who were the two disguised persons on the scaffold. He told me I knew the persons as well as himself; saith he, they have been on service with you many a time; pray, sir, said I, let me know their names? Truly, said he, we would not employ persons of low spirits that we did not know, and therefore we pitched upon two stout fellows. Who were those? said I. It was Walker and Hulet, they were both serjeants in Kent when you were there, and stout men. Who gave the blow? said I. Saith he, poor Walker, and Hulet took up the head; Pray, said I, what reward had they? I am not certain whether they had thirty pounds apiece or thirty pounds between them. _Col. Thompson_ and _Benjamin Francis_ both saw the execution, and said that it was a man disguised in a light wig that cut off the King's head. Hulet said he could bring thirty or forty witnesses to prove that some one else did the act, and others to prove that he was not there on that day; he also produced a paper of examinations taken before the Lord Mayor, being of Mary Brandon and others. He was reminded that he had been examined in the Tower, and admitted that he was then charged with cutting off the King's head. 'Then,' said the Chief-Baron, 'you had time to provide your witnesses,' to which Hulet replied that he had been a close prisoner since then. He further said that he had been a prisoner, together with six or eight others, on the day of the execution; they were imprisoned because they refused to be on the scaffold. Hulet wished to call Hacker, Huncks, and Phayre, but the Court pointed out that Hacker had already been tried for his life (and condemned), and that Phayre was a prisoner in the Tower. Huncks had been called as a witness against Axtell. Hulet then called a _Sheriff's Officer_, who said that he had been told by one of his fellow-officers that he was in Rosemary Lane a little while after the execution of the King, drinking with the hangman [_i.e._ George Brandon], that he did urge him whether he did this fact; God forgive me, saith he, the hangman, I did it, and I had forty half-crowns for my pains. ABRAHAM SMITH--My Lord, as soon as that fatal blow was given I was walking about Whitehall, down came a file of musketeers; the first word they said was, Where be the bargemen? Answer was made, Here are none; away they directed the hangman in my boat; going into the boat he gave one of the soldiers a half-crown. Said the soldiers--Waterman, away with him, be gone quickly; but I fearing this hangman had cut off the King's head, I trembled that he should come into my boat, but dared not examine him on shore for fear of the soldiers; so I launched out, and having got a little way in the water, said I, who the devil have I got in my boat? Says my fellow, says he, why? I directed my speech to him, saying, Are you the hangman that cut off the King's head? No, as I am a sinner to God, saith he, not I; he shook every joint of him; I knew not what to do; I rowed away a little further, and fell to a new examination of him, when I had got him a little further, Tell me true, said I, are you the hangman that cut off the King's head? I cannot carry you, said I; No, said he, I was fetched by a troop of horse, and I was kept a close prisoner at Whitehall, and truly I did not do it; I was kept a close prisoner all the while; but they had my instruments. I said I would sink the boat if he would not tell me true; but he denied it with several protestations. WILLIAM COX--When my lord Capel, duke of Hamilton, and the Earl of Holland were beheaded in Palace Yard in Westminster,[40] my lord Capel asked the common hangman, saith he, Did you cut off my master's head? Yes, saith he. Where is the instrument that did it? He then brought the ax. This is the same ax. Are you sure? saith my lord. Yes, my lord, saith the hangman, I am very sure it is the same. My lord Capel took the ax, and kissed it, and gave him five pieces of gold. I heard him say, Sirrah, wert thou not afraid? Saith the hangman, they made me cut it off, and I had thirty pounds for my pains. _Richard Abell_ heard one Gregory confess that he cut off the King's head. The Lord Chief-Baron then asked Hulet whether he wished for any further time to examine into the truth of the matter; but on his saying that he needed a fortnight for the purpose the trial was proceeded with at once. A STRANGER--My Lord, I was with my master in the company of Brandon the hangman, and my master asked Brandon whether he cut off the King's head or no? He confessed in my presence that he did cut off the King's head. The Lord Chief-Baron then summed up the case, briefly repeating the substance of the evidence. He pointed out that the evidence went two ways, meaning apparently that Hulet either cut off the King's head, or held it up after it was cut off, and whichever he did, the jury ought to find him Guilty. He concluded by telling them that they were not to consider what was said of the prisoner by another unless it was corroborated by what the prisoner said. After a more than ordinary time of consideration the jury returned to their places, and found the prisoner Guilty. Hulet was brought up for sentence on the 16th of October, and sentenced to death in the usual way, with other prisoners. At the same time he was informed that his execution would be delayed in order that the King's pleasure might be known. He was eventually reprieved.[41] FOOTNOTES: [26] Sir Orlando Bridgman (1606-1674) was the eldest son of the Bishop of Chester. He entered Queens College, Cambridge, in 1619; became a fellow of Magdalene in 1624, and was called to the bar in 1632. He became Chief-Justice of Chester in 1638, and Solicitor-General to the Prince of Wales in 1640. He sat in the Long Parliament as a Royalist, and in the Oxford Parliament in 1644. He was one of the King's Commissioners at the Uxbridge negotiations in 1644-45. He ceased appearing in court under the Commonwealth, but enjoyed a considerable practice as a conveyancer, at that period a very profitable branch of the profession. At the Restoration he was made a Serjeant, Chief-Baron of the Exchequer, and a Baronet. After this trial he became Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas. On the disgrace of Clarendon he became Lord Keeper in 1667, a position in which he did not add to his fame as a lawyer. According to North, he was both ignorant and weak; 'and what was worst of all, his family were very ill qualified for that place; his lady being a most violent intriguess in business, and his sons kept no good decorum whilst they practised under him.' He avoided the political intrigues of the time; he was kept in ignorance of the Treaty of Dover, and refused to let the Declaration of Indulgence pass the Great Seal in its original state in 1672. Finally, when Charles declared the Exchequer closed for twelve months he refused to grant an injunction to protect the bankers who were likely to be ruined. He was accordingly removed from office in November 1672, and was succeeded by Lord Shaftesbury. [27] Sir Robert Foster (1589-1663), the youngest son of a judge of the Common Pleas, was called to the bar in 1610. He supported Charles I.'s most tyrannical proceedings, and became a Justice of the Common Pleas in 1640. He followed Charles to Oxford, and attempted to hold his court there. He was removed from his office by the Parliament, and practised as a conveyancer during the Commonwealth. He was at once restored to his office at the Restoration. After this trial, he was, in the dearth of good lawyers who were also Royalists, made Lord Chief-Justice. He presided at the trial of Sir Harry Vane the younger, who was convicted of treason in compassing the death of Charles II., his real offence being the part he took against Strafford; and was instrumental in inducing the King to sign his death-warrant in breach of the Act of Indemnity. In other trials of political opponents he acquired the reputation of a partisan judge. [28] Sir Robert Hide (1595-1665) was cousin to Lord Clarendon. He was called to the bar in 1617, and became Recorder of Salisbury in 1638. He sat as a Royalist in the Long Parliament, and joined the King at Oxford. He was committed to the Tower in 1645 and 1646, and deprived of his recordership. He was made a Justice of the Common Pleas in 1660, and Lord Chief-Justice on Foster's death, through his cousin's influence. He was celebrated for his trials of seditious printers, and died in court as he was about to begin the trial of one of them. [29] Sir Thomas Mallet (1582-1665) came of a legal family, and was called to the bar in 1606. He sat in Charles I.'s first two parliaments, and was made a Justice of the King's Bench in 1641. He came into opposition to Parliament by opposing their measures in relation to the Book of Common Prayer and the Militia, and was twice imprisoned by them and fined. He was replaced on the Bench at the Restoration, at the age of seventy-eight, but retired in 1663. [30] Sir Geoffrey Palmer (1598-1670) was called to the bar in 1623, sat in the Long Parliament, was one of the managers of Strafford's impeachment, but rallied to the King's side on the passing of the Act perpetuating Parliament in 1641. He voted against Hampden's motion for printing the remonstrance in November 1641, and was committed to the Tower. He withdrew from the House after the passing of the Militia Ordinance, and sat in the Parliament at Oxford. He was one of the King's representatives at the Uxbridge negotiations, 1644-45, and was committed to the Tower in 1655. He became Attorney-General at the Restoration, and so remained till his death. [31] See vol. ii. p. 5. [32] Sir John Kelyng was the son of a barrister, and was called to the bar in 1631-32. He practised for a short time in the oppressive Forest Courts, attempted to present some persons at the Hertford Quarter Sessions in 1642, for what he held to be unlawful drilling under the Militia Ordinance, and was in consequence committed to Windsor Castle till 1660. He was released at the Restoration, and was called upon to supply the place of the King's Serjeant, Glanville, at this trial. He was afterwards knighted, and entered Parliament, where he was employed in drafting the Act of Uniformity. As to his connection with the trial of the Bury St. Edmunds witches, see _post_, pp. 226, 229. He took a prominent part in Vane's trial, and was made a puisne judge in 1663. He was appointed to succeed Hyde as Lord Chief-Justice in 1667, after the post had been vacant seven months. He was said to owe his place to corrupt dealings with Clarendon, or to the favour of Lady Castlemaine, but this is doubted by Campbell, who otherwise takes a most unfavourable view of his career. His subsequent conduct on the bench was such that, though he never presided at any trials of great importance, a petition against him was considered in the House of Commons, and a Committee reported most unfavourably on his behaviour. He made his peace with the House, but sank into insignificance, and died in 1671, still in office. [33] See vol. ii. pp. 35, 37. [34] It does not appear whether any difference was made in Hulet's case. [35] The Regicides actually tried were Sir Hardress Waller, Colonel Thomas Harrison, William Hevingham, Isaac Pennington, Henry Martin, Gilbert Millington, Robert Tichburne, Owen Roe, Robert Lilburne, Adrian Scroop, John Carew, John Jones, Thomas Scot, Gregory Clement, John Cook, George Fleetwood, Simon Meyn, James Temple, Peter Temple, Thomas Wait, Hugh Peters, Francis Hacker, Daniel Axtell, William Hulet, Henry Smith, Edmund Harvey, John Downes, Vincent Potter, and Augustin Garland. They were all convicted. Of these there were executed--Thomas Harrison, John Carew, John Cook, Thomas Scot, Hugh Peters, Gregory Clement, John Jones, Daniel Axtell, Francis Hacker, Adrian Scroop. [36] Thomas Harrison (1606-1660) was born in Staffordshire of lowly origin. He is said to have enlisted in Essex's Life Guard, which was the corps used for the purpose of training officers for the Parliamentary Army, in 1642. In 1644 he was serving in Fleetwood's regiment in Manchester's army. He was present at the battles of Marston Moor and Naseby, and at the captures of Winchester, Basing House, and Oxford. He entered Parliament in 1646, and represented the Army in their quarrels with Parliament. He served with distinction in the second civil war, and was zealous in bringing the King to trial and condemning him to death. He conducted the pursuit of the Royalists after the battle of Worcester, and, continuing to represent the extreme military party, was a party to Pride's Purge. He was a prominent member of the Barebones Parliament, but after its extinction ceased to exercise any political influence. He refused to recognise the government in 1653, and was deprived of his commission. He was afterwards imprisoned on various occasions on suspicion of a connection with Anabaptist and other plots; but at the Restoration refused to pledge himself not to disturb the government or to save himself by flight. The Fifth-Monarchy men professed to look forward to his resurrection to judge his judges and to restore the Kingdom of Saints. [37] Sir James Livingstone was descended from the Livingstones of Callendar. He became a Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Charles, and was made Viscount of Newburgh in 1647. The King was to have escaped from his house at Bagshot on the occasion referred to above, on one of his horses, reputed to be the fastest in England, but owing to the horse falling lame, and the strictness of the watch kept on the King, the scheme failed. After the King's execution he fled to the Hague, but returned to Scotland in 1650. He accompanied Charles II. to England in 1651, and after the battle of Worcester fled to France. At the Restoration he was made Captain of the Guard and an earl. In 1666 he, with others, received a licence to dig coal in Windsor Forest. He died in 1670. [38] The Court included Albemarle, Manchester, and Denzil Hollis. [39] Hugh Peters (1598-1660) graduated at Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1617-18. He was ordained in London, and at once made his mark as a preacher, but being suspected of heresy, went to Holland about 1629. There he inclined to Independency, and through the pressure put on the Dutch by the English government, found it advisable to sail for Boston, where he arrived in October 1635. There he took a prominent part in local affairs, upholding clerical influence against Vane. In 1641 Peters came to England to ask for assistance for the colony, and became Chaplain to the Forces in Ireland. Returning to England, he became famous as a military preacher, preaching exhortatory sermons before assaults on fortified places, and attracting adherents to the Parliamentary forces. He also acted as the confidential agent of Fairfax and Cromwell in dealing with their troops, and chronicled their victories. He was regarded with great aversion by the Presbyterians, and by the numerous persons of other sects to whom buffoonery in the pulpit was distasteful. He upheld the Army against the Parliament, and was credited with a share in drawing up the Army Remonstrance in 1648. He was in Ireland in 1649, and was present at the taking of Wexford. He afterwards continued to occupy an influential position in politics, and indulged in many unpolitical schemes, particularly the reformation of the law, of which he knew but little, and the improvement of religious teaching, both at home and in America. He maintained his influential position till the Restoration. [40] In 1648-49, after the taking of Colchester in 1648. [41] It seems now to be considered fairly certain that Richard Brandon was the man who actually cut off the King's head. He died the next June, after having executed Lord Capel and his companions in the rising which terminated in the siege of Colchester. It is the more curious that Hulet should have been tried for the offence, because Brandon certainly incurred the odium attaching to the act at the time of his death; and it seems that the fact was mentioned on an inscription on his grave. As far, however, as the evidence given at the trial is concerned, it seems possible that Hulet was the second masked figure on the scaffold. All that is known on the subject is set out in the _Dictionary of National Biography_, under the title 'Brandon.' See too a note by Mr. . G. Stephens in _Notes and Queries_, 5th series, vol. v. p. 177. COLONEL TURNER AND OTHERS The trial of Col. James Turner, John Turner, William Turner, Mary Turner, and Ely Turner, at the Old Bailey, for Burglary, 1664. The foregoing persons were all indicted together, the first three for committing burglary on the 7th of January 1664 at the house of Francis Tryon, and stealing a quantity of jewellery, some gold, and £1023 in cash; Mary, who was the wife of James, and Ely for receiving and comforting John the next day. They were tried before Lord Chief-Justice Hyde[42] of the King's Bench, and Lord Chief-Justice Bridgman[43] of the Common Pleas. All the prisoners pleaded Not Guilty. _Turner_ then complained that Sir Richard Ford, the sheriff, was in possession of his house and goods. Bridgman, Chief-Justice, explained that, though once it had been the sheriff's duty to take process against the goods of an indicted man, this was done no longer since the statute of Philip and Mary;[44] but as their responsibility continued unaltered, they ought to have good security. Eventually it was settled that the sheriff should let Turner have what he wanted for the night, and bring what papers he wanted into Court the next day. The next day a jury was sworn, and Sir Thomas Aleyn was called. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--Pray, Sir Thomas Aleyn, tell your knowledge to the jury. SIR T. ALEYN--May it please your lordships, and you gentlemen of the jury; Upon Friday morning last was sevennight, I heard of this robbery at Guild-Hall, and the person robbed being my acquaintance, I went to visit him in the afternoon; and coming there, not thinking but the business had been already examined, several persons with Mr. Francis Tryon put me upon the business to examine it. I went and examined the two servants, the man and the maid: upon their examination I found they had supped abroad at a dancing-school, and had been at cards, and came home afterwards; but before they came home, they heard that an ancient gentleman, one Mr. Tryon, was robbed, and then they hastened home. I examined them further, whether they used to go abroad after their master was in bed? The man confessed he had been abroad twenty or thirty times at col. Turner's house at supper, about a year since. The maid denied they had been there at all: but it is true the man's saying he supped there (although it was false) was the first occasion of suspicion of col. Turner. When I had examined these two, I went to the examination of Turner, Where he was all that day, where at night? he told me, at several places and taverns, and in bed at nine of the clock, and was called out of his bed: but having myself some suspicion of him, I wished him to withdraw. I told Mr. Tryon, that I believed if he was not the thief, he knew where the things were. The old gentleman said, He could not mistrust him, he had put a great confidence in him: but I desired him to give me leave to charge him with it; and thereupon I called him in, but he denied it; but not as a person of his spirit, which gave me some cause of further suspicion. I desired to search his house; nay told him I would, whether he would or no. He desired to go home; I told him, if he would go with them (some persons there) he should: but you shall not speak with your sons or daughters, or servants; they shall be examined by me. They searched his house, the marshal and constable, they said they could find nothing. The old gentleman was very unwilling to charge him with felony; some friends there were as well satisfied as I was, that he was guilty of it; and they brought me a paper that he would charge him: and thereupon I wished him to read that paper, told him I could do no less than send him to Newgate. Says he, you will not undo a family will you? Will you not take bail? No I cannot. What proof have you material against me? I will give you as good bail as any man; give me leave to speak with Mr. Tryon. I did give him leave: he had no sooner spoke with him, but Mr. Tryon would not charge him, he promising to endeavour to find the thief. I took Mr. Turner on one side, and told him, I did as verily believe if he was not the thief, he could find him out, as I believed I should go home to my wife and children; and I said, That if an angel from Heaven should come, and tell me otherwise, I could hardly believe it. This passed on this night: I could not sleep all the night, still it was in my thoughts that this man was the man that had done the robbery. The next morning Alderman Love told him that if he went presently to the Minories, he would meet with Love's maid, who would help him to discover the person who robbed Tryon; accordingly, taking Major Tasker, whom he met in Bishopsgate, with him, he went without Aldgate, where I met with two maids that were the persons to shew me the place: the maid told me these were the maids. I bid them come behind me. At the further end of all the Minories I went into the shop, and found col. Turner with his hands in a chest: I charged him to take nothing out, and not to stir himself. There were two wallets, one of £100 and the other £200. I took the keys from him, laid them upon the compter: I went with him into the next room, which was the kitchen, and in another chest was two wallets more: and now the gentleman was speechless. I told him it was just as I told him the last night, that your roguery would come out; what (said I) is become of the rest of the money? Says he, Your haste will spoil all. I called in the maid, to examine her: but she was fearful, and so trembled there was no examining her before col. Turner. But in conclusion, said I, Col. Turner, if you will tell me whether this be Mr. Tryon's money, I will do you all the favour I can. Says he, I cannot say it is his money. I called for a constable, and made a Mittimus to send him to Newgate, thinking he would discover the truth. Said I, Will you give me your examination? He did: It is in court. I asked him whence this money came? He told me it was removed by himself, his wife and children this morning. TURNER--My son and I, I told you. SIR T. ALEYN--I asked him where he had received it? He told me at a goldsmith's 14 days since: He did not remember his name. I asked why he should remove his own money? His answer was, He did remove it for two or three days, till this foolery was over. When I saw I could get nothing further from him, I discoursed with him touching the remainder of the money and the jewels. Says he, Sir Thomas, do not trouble yourself, you will lose the jewels and the rest of the money by this course; and, says he, I am now in pursuit of them. If you will give me leave to go to the old gentleman, I know all will be well. I was not content to let him go: But presently we called a hackney-coach, and myself and him, and major Tasker went, and carried that money to Mr. Tryon. When we came there, I told Mr. Tryon I thought we had brought £500 of his money; and I did not doubt but I had brought a person that could tell of the rest of the money and jewels. Col. Turner desired to speak with Mr. Tryon himself in private. I gave him leave. He calls me a little after: Sir, says he, Mr. Tryon and I am agreed; I must have this money delivered to me again; I have assured him he shall have all his money and jewels again by 3 this afternoon. I told him I could not agree that he should have the money back again, pressed him that he would stay there, and send for the rest of the money and jewels. But he [_i.e._ Mr. Tryon] would (if I did not) trust him: Mr. Tryon would have the rest of his money and all his jewels again. TURNER--I said, I would endeavour it. SIR T. ALEYN--If he had said he would have endeavoured it, I would not have parted with him; but he said he should have the money and jewels, etc.; I told him I would meet him at that time at Mr. Tryon's. Then I took Mr. Tryon, and said Whatever promise you have made in private, you must excuse my assenting to anything against the law: But do not tell him of it, lest you lose the jewels: I must commit him to Newgate, and I must bind you to prosecute him. He desired me if I would not come so early as 3, not till 4 or 5 of the clock, and all would be brought thither. I staid till about 4. In the interim, I heard some particulars, what these maids would testify; which testimony had I received before I had parted with him, I would not have parted with him for any consideration. But when I came thither in the afternoon, I heard col. Turner was arrested, and was then at the Hoop-tavern with the officers. I sent immediately the Marshal and his men to bring him to me. The officers and he came; and then col. Turner told me, I had brought all these things, but the officers prevented me; I was a very unfortunate man: Give me leave but till to-morrow morning at 9, and you shall have all. Said I, I have now heard more; and you must produce the money and jewels if you expect any favour from me, or I know what to do. He pressed very hard for an hour, or almost two, that he might be trusted to go for them; if he did not go Mr. Tryon would lose the rest of his money and jewels. I told him I had rather they should be all lost, than I should forfeit my discretion and reputation. And thus he kept us till 7 or 8 at night. At last he would have gone with one person. I told him, no: If there were enough to secure you, I might give leave. Saith he, the party will not see more than one; for his life would be in danger. Whither would you go? I would go, saith he (to my best remembrance) to Tower-Hill or Whitechapel. I should have met him at 5; and now I must meet him about 9. I will call in the officers: They will tell you, your being upon a Judgment, they will not part with you without the Liberties: Nor will I give leave, because the Sheriffs will blame me. The officers said they could not go without the Liberties, for it would be an escape in law. Pray give me leave to go near those places, and I will send. Nay, then you may as well send from hence. He begged leave to go to the Hoop-tavern, and send for his wife; which I did grant. And there he did send for his wife. They brought me word he had sent his wife for the jewels and the rest of the monies. He sent to me not to think the time too long, for he had notice his wife was coming. I directed the Marshal, when his wife came, he would secure her. About 11 they brought his wife; who told me also she had delivered the jewels: they thought they were in two bags. Then he came to me, and desired to speak with Mr. Tryon in private, and told me Mr. Tryon's soul was pawned to him, and his to the thief, that no discovery should be made. But when I examined his wife what money went from her house that morning, she said she knew of none. Where had you the jewels? She knew of none: But she had a couple of bags that she was sent for: Near Whitechapel or the Tower a person should meet her, and ask what she did there, and she should say she walked up and down for something that should be given her by a person; which, if he did, she was to bring it to him that sent her. He did deliver the two bags, which she delivered to her husband; but what was in them she knew not. There was sir Thomas Chamberlane, Mr. Millington, myself and col. Turner, with Mr. Tryon. The two bags was laid upon a dresser. He told us they were now come; and having performed his part, he hoped Mr. Tryon would perform his. Have you performed your part? Have you brought the jewels and the remainder of the money? He told us the money was not brought: For the £600 I shall give Mr. Tryon my bond, to pay him at six months. We pressed to see the jewels: We run them all over. But I should have told you one thing: She brought a cat's-head-eye-ring upon her finger. This the gentleman was like to forget: He delivered it to me, to deliver that with the rest. When we had told out the jewels we crossed them out upon the printed paper as they were called. She said all that was in the paper, except one carcanet of diamonds and jewels, valued at £200 that is fallen behind the chest or aside. You have £2000 worth of jewels over what is in the paper; but the carcanet shall be forthcoming. He now pressed that no prosecution might be, for two souls were pawned (as I said before) and desired an end of the business. I told him further and pressed him: Said I, I have staid a great while, and would stay longer, if he might have the £600 and the carcanet. But when I saw there was nothing more to be got from him, now (said I) what would you have this poor gentleman to do for you? What he hath promised you I know not; he is a stranger to the law: If there had been but you two had it, and it had not been published to the world, and the neighbours' public examination taken, somewhat might have been between ourselves. But would you have this gentleman bring himself into danger? He will lose all his goods again; for he will be indicted himself. What will he be the better for discovery, when he must lose his jewels and money, and be liable to a prosecution, as you will be, were he so ignorant? Do you think that I understand the law no better, being a justice of peace, to bring myself into danger? All the kindness I can do for you is (to be short), I must send you and your wife to Newgate. 'How say you, master Alderman?' Then I had better to have kept the jewels. Those were his words; to the best of my remembrance he said so. My lord, I asked him several questions: Why he should give a bond for £600, if he were not concerned in this business? But he knew not what to answer. Saith he, Will you not take bail? Said I, I can take no bail: I must send you to the common gaol, and then I am discharged. Pray send me to the Compter. No I cannot. Do you think I would make an escape? I cannot tell; but I would not bring myself into danger. He prayed me I would give him leave to go home. I must make my warrant: If the marshal and constable will do anything, I shall not direct them. He desired his wife might go and fetch some linen. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE BRIDGMAN--What day were the jewels delivered? SIR T. ALEYN--Saturday. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE BRIDGMAN--Thursday was the robbery, Friday he was examined, Saturday the money was removed, and that night the jewels were brought and he committed. SIR T. ALEYN--If I have said any thing that he is not satisfied wherein I have not true spoken, let him ask me; I shall not do him the least wrong. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--Do so, Mr. Turner. TURNER--Do your honours understand of Sir Thomas the time the robbery was committed? I shall ask him some questions. SIR T. ALEYN--I have only one more word to say to you: That before he went to the Hoop-tavern, Nay, said I, col. Turner, be ingenuous whether this was not Mr. Tryon's money that he removed? And he confessed it was. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--The money was removed from his own house. SIR T. ALEYN--Yes; but his wife, children, and maid denied it. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--Mr. Turner, will you ask him any questions? What are they? TURNER--I would ask all this back again: You are upon your oath, Mr. Alderman. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--You need not tell him that he is sworn; the court and jury understand it so. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE BRIDGMAN--Go on, Mr. Turner; ask your questions. TURNER--My Lord, I demand of sir Thomas Aleyn whether I did not tell him at the first there was a wicked young man had belied my house and family, saying, that he supped there that night, when he had not supped at my house these 12 months. SIR T. ALEYN--I think I have done him that right already. He desired me to examine that young man, who said he had supped at col. Turner's; but I found he had not been, nor was not there. TURNER--Upon Friday night, when the alderman pressed me concerning the thing, I told him I had some suspicion of some persons, who formerly should have robbed Mr. Tryon a year ago, and I employed Mosely the constable and Mr. Tryon's man to go to Ratcliff, and I went another way. Pray ask sir Thomas whether I did not promise to do all I could. SIR T. ALEYN--I pressed him hard; he said he would endeavour it TURNER--Whether did not I tell him that that money was carried there on purpose to gain the other fellows that had the jewels? Said I, If this money be taken away, he that hath the jewels will not bring them, and the remainder of the money; but that this money must bring him to it, that they might share it. SIR T. ALEYN--There was not one word of this: his Examination was contrary. He told me £400 was received of a goldsmith, he knew not his name, and £200 was in his own house; and that he removed it for two or three days, till this foolery was over. He said it was his own money. I said, an honest man need not thus remove his own money. One thing I have omitted: when I was examining of him in the Minories, word was brought me his son was fled away at the back door. I bid them run after him; but they said they saw him leap over a great ditch, he was not heard of till yesterday, though I sent out my warrants for him. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--Yourself (as sir T. Aleyn swears) said you knew not of whom you had part of the money, but the other was your own, and yet afterwards that the money was Tryon's; why did you say so? TURNER--I will tell you the reason; I would not have my business spoiled, and did feign those answers. My lord, I do demand of him whether Mr. Tryon and I had not made a bargain in the morning, whether or no if he might have his goods the person should be free, and that he agreed no blood should be spilt; that he had rather lose all his money and jewels, than to forfeit such an asseveration which the thief had bound me that I should swear to him, That by the blood of Jesus Christ that was shed for him and all sinners, his life should be free. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--You are beside the business. TURNER--My lord, I ask alderman Aleyn whether I did not tell him this? SIR T. ALEYN--I told your lordships two souls were pawned, as he said before. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--Do not spend your time thus; the question's short, Whether you are guilty of robbing, or breaking the house of Mr. Tryon or no? TURNER--I am as free as any man here. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--They will not believe your own words. Mr. Tryon, pray (as you are able) give an account of this business. TRYON--My Lord, about 11 of the clock, or something past, upon Thursday night last was a sevennight, two men came into my chamber when I was fast asleep, one on the one side, and another on the other side of the bed: one had a lanthorn that opened on one side, and waked me: when I saw him I was much astonished (as I might well be); but as I knew them not, I said, My masters, who are you? I was newly out of my sleep; being an ancient man, I apprehended another man for the party I spoke to, but he was not the man; and I named him by his name, What do you do here at this time of night? What is your business? Said nothing to me; one took both my hands, the other with a little cord bound me very hard, insomuch here yet is the dents of it; and bound my feet; gagged me, and used me barbarously, most inhumanly; I must suffer it, because I could not tell how to avoid it. When they had done, then told me this withal, You shall not lose a hair of your head. I knew not their intentions, I feared what it was, for when they had done this, they left me; I had nobody could come to me in my house, my servants, I knew not upon what grounds, they were forth at supper when I was a-bed, which was of ill consequence. After I had been an hour in this manner I rolled myself out of my bed, and fell down; and saving your lordships' presence, a chamber-pot fell, broke, and I fell upon it, and very much hurt myself upon the pieces of the pot: and so with much ado, it pleased God, I know not how myself, I got to the chamber-window which lay to the street; I called out, Murder! and Thieves! My neighbours said, I called with so strong a voice they wondered to hear me. Quickly after, many of my neighbours came in, and one Mr. Peter Vanden-Anchor, a Dutchman, that selleth Rhenish wine, he came in and unbound me; and so after I was unbound I went down to the warehouse as I was, without clothes about me, only my waistcoat and shirt, and saw that they had been there. I considered those that had done the thing, were very privy to my house; they knew where to fetch the key of my cash, in a drawing-box, taking the money there, which was about one thousand and odd pounds; some plate there was, they did not meddle with it. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--How came they by the jewels? TRYON--I forgot something concerning some jewels; these jewels were in a drawer under my table in the compting-house, he was privy to that, because he did frequent my house very long and was very familiar. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--Who was privy to all this? TRYON--James Turner. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--Mr. Turner, would you ask Mr. Tryon any questions? TURNER--By and by, when I come upon my proof. _William Hill_, Mr. Tryon's man, was sworn, and stated that he had locked up the house at eight o'clock, when the jewels were safe, and Mr. Tryon was in bed. When he came home he found the money and the most valuable of the jewels gone. On Saturday Turner was arrested and sent for the witness, who went to him with two friends, Gurney and Pilkington. Turner asked him to persuade his master to procure his discharge so that he might go about his business, or it would be ruined. 'Proceeding into some discourse, I was saying to him it was a great providence that I and the maid was not then at home, for if we had, we should have been killed. He answered, saith he, No, they would only have bound you and the maid. I asked him, how it was possible to get in? He answered, one went through the entry in the daytime, and there lay till night, went upstairs, found a candle, lit it, went up to his chamber, took the key and went down and let in the others.' Turner had talked to him about Tryon's will; he said it was a pity he did not make one; Tryon had told him he had made one, but he knew he had not done so. 'He told me of one that could counterfeit a hand.' BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Was it not Grainger? HILL--Yes, my Lord; that that man could counterfeit a will, and I and Mr. Garret and another good fellow should be the three executors and a third person overseer, and that would please the old man. I answered I would not have to do in such an unjust thing for all the world. He had been to supper that night at Starkey's, with the maid. He got to the house after the robbery had been discovered, and found the neighbours in the house when he arrived there. TURNER--This thing touching the will has another face; his uncle was an acquaintance of Mr. Grainger, his uncle that bound him an apprentice, that lived in Cripplegate, now in Cornhill. This Grainger had counterfeited a will touching my Lord Gerrard and some one else, about an estate. Said I to this young man, You have an uncle acquainted with a notable fellow, one Grainger, and your master making no will, speaking merrily, this fellow is able to make it for him. Ask him if I did not tell him his uncle was acquainted with such a person. HILL--You told me so indeed. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Hill, by your oath you have taken, did he not persuade you to endeavour that you and he and Grainger should counterfeit a will? HILL--He did, my lord, I answered that I would not meddle with it for all the world. TURNER--Go, go, go, this is malice; for it was mere jesting with him. _Elizabeth Fry_ proved that Mrs. Turner came to her house at six in the morning, and said that 'a friend of hers, a merchant, newly broke, had a wife, and seven or eight children; they desired to secure the money' (which Mrs. Turner brought) 'till they had taken their oaths the money was not in their house.' She said her husband and her son Ely were coming with it. The witness allowed her to put wallets containing money, she did not know how much, into her chest. Mrs. Turner said her husband was coming with more, and when he came he offered her twenty shillings for her kindness; they both asked her to conceal the money because the discovery of it would ruin the poor gentleman and his children. She did not see the bags sealed; there were three wallets, one was put into a chest in the shop, and two in the kitchen. There was a discourse of £1100. There were five wallets brought into the house; three in the shop, and two in the kitchen. SIR T. ALEYN--You hear what the wench says, she says there was five wallets, three in the shop, two in the kitchen; I took two in the shop, and only one in the kitchen. TURNER--Pray, my lord, ask her which is Ely. FRY--That is [pointing to Ely]. TURNER--It was false; this Ely carried none; both my sons are dear to me, and if either carried more than the other it must be my eldest; and yet I must say, it was John, my eldest son that carried the money, this boy was at home; she hath foresworn herself. _Gurnet_ met Turner on the Exchange the Saturday after the robbery; Turner told him that he was going to make a discovery and clear himself; he had brought £500 and was going to bring the rest of the money and jewels at three o'clock. _Major Ralph Tasker_ corroborated Sir T. Aleyn's account of seizing the money in the Minories: then I saw a fellow play bo-peep in a back-room, and presently was a noise, he was gone and fled; his son they said it was. Sir T. Aleyn pressed very hard to Mr. Turner, and desired to know whose money that was. Says Turner, By the eternal God, it is my own money, with many other protestations of his innocence. A constable was sent for, and we carried the money and Turner in a hackney coach to Mr. Tryon, and there left the money on a table with Mr. Tryon. They had some discourse; Turner came forth and said, The old gentleman and I are agreed, I will trust the money no longer with you, but with the old gentleman himself. Said I, let me be discharged of it, do what you will with it. BRIDGMAN--Did you see the bags out of the wallet? SIR T. ALEYN--We saw one which was sealed, I think, with the bishop of Chichester's seal. _Ann Ball_ proved that Mr. and Mrs. Turner had left some money at her house with the maid. The maid went to her sister and acquainted her with it. In this way the knowledge of the money came to Sir T. Aleyn. _Frederick Ixam_ was present when the bags were taken out of the wallets at Mr. Tryon's house: three of them had no seals; one had a seal very much defaced; one had a seal which was the same as that on a letter from the bishop of Chichester produced by Mr. Tryon. The bags were in court. _Hanson_ and _Mr. Tryon_ proved the agreement of the seals, and the bishop of Chichester's letter, which was produced. _Cole_, a serjeant, and his brother, a yeoman, proved that they arrested Turner in a civil suit about three o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Soon after the constable came and charged them to assist in taking him before Sir T. Aleyn. By and by I was saying, Col. Turner, how could this house be robbed, and none of the doors broke? O, said he, I took a man in the Minories, who has discovered it to me; he told me that one going into the cellar in the daytime lay there till night, then went upstairs, found a candle and lit it, took the key from his bedside, and went down and let all of the rest of the thieves in. The young man being there, said, It was well the maid and I was not at home, we should have been killed. No, says he, you would not have been killed, only bound. TURNER--As the fellow told me. HYDE, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Did he say nothing touching Mr. Tryon's tooth? COLE--He said, that the fellow putting his finger in his mouth to gag him, the old gentleman bit him; and in struggling to get out his finger, pulled out his tooth. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE HYDE--You are very perfect at it, Mr. Turner, every way. TURNER--Ay, my lord, I examined him every way. _Peter Vanden-Anchor_ and _Chaplain_ were the first people who entered the house after the robbery, and described the state in which they found it, and how they unbound Mr. Tryon. The latter examined the servants as to their movements; Hill, the manservant, said that he and the maid had been at supper with Turner; but the maid said she had been at the house of one Chamberlin, a goldsmith. _Christmas_ described how he had been arrested at two in the morning, but had been discharged the next day. _Millington_ was at Mr. Tryon's house on Saturday evening, and finding Turner in custody, there was asked by him to intercede, in order that he might have his liberty to go about the jewels. Afterwards Turner, at his own house, sent his wife to Whitechapel or Tower-hill, where she would meet a man who would give her something. The wife brought the jewels to the Hoop Tavern, and from there they were taken to Mr. Tryon's, where they were examined, and none were found missing except a carcanet jewel. _Mannock_ had been told by Turner in Newgate that he was to have £500 for recovering the jewels and the money; he had recovered £500 and most of the jewels; if Sir Thomas had not secured him, he would now have them all; 'but Newgate was not the place to find them out.' _Sir T. Chamberlain_ was sworn and said, that hearing on Friday morning that Mr. Tryon had been robbed, he went to his house about three in the afternoon. I found a great many people about him; sir T. Aleyn, lady Garret, and the countess of Carlisle was there. I told him, Mr. Tryon, I understand you have been robbed. Yes, says he, I have a great loss. I found him very staggering what he should do. I said, you must do like a man, or you will lose all: said I to sir T. Aleyn, if you do not help the poor man, being ancient, he will quite lose all. With that I went up above in the house, sir T. Aleyn was pleased to call me along with him, I was by at all the examinations; I did mistrust, and told Mr. Tryon in French, that no doubt but that gentleman was in the robbery: the reason was, that he being a frequent man in the house, knew everything: he was there continually, coming for jewels and things, and no man could do it but himself: that was my judgment, I told sir T. Aleyn assuredly he had a hand in it. My lord, the while we were examining the servants, word was brought in, that he was hearkening at the door, and in the yards, which made me more and more mistrust him. We heard that the maid had been gadding abroad several times: I desired sir T. Aleyn to examine the maid how often she had supped at Turner's, she denied any time. The young man was examined, who said, they had been thirty or forty times feasted at col. Turner's. My lord, sir T. Aleyn has given you a just account, but he omitted one thing; he had a note sent him, which he had in his pocket, touching Mr. Turner's going about removal of the money into the Minories; and before Turner came in, he examined Mrs. Turner upon that note: says he, you were there too, and carried the money. Says she, she [_i.e._ Mrs. Fry] is a liar and a whore for saying so. Col. Turner came in and said, why do you torment and vex my wife; and falling a cursing, and swearing and banning, said she was with child, you will make her miscarry, let her alone. Sir T. Aleyn examined him where he had been that day, and that night; he told me of many taverns, and going to see his horse, and I know not what, but we found him faltering. When the jewels were brought, there being two notes, sir T. Aleyn had one, and I another. The old gentleman was so joyful to see them again, that lying by him, and handling them, he pulled two or three down with his sleeve. Says Mr. Turner, come, I know what belongs to them better than any of you, and read them over, and I will shew them you. There wanting one jewel, says he, that rogue that has the other money hath this jewel, but I do not doubt but I shall find that out too. We put them all together, and sir T. Aleyn sealed them with his seal. For the bags of money, I saw them taken out, and one being sealed with a small seal, I put on both my spectacles, I found a lion rampant at top in one of the quarters; said I, this is a seal of some great person; and then a letter was brought down, and being compared, I was satisfied in my conscience they were alike. Sir T. Aleyn told me he must make a mittimus for him and his wife: said she, Do you send me of your errands? you shall send somebody else another time: I thought it would come to this. After much ranting and swearing (I thought the devil would have fetched him out of the room) he said, that he had better have kept the jewels, than to bring them forth, and to suffer for it himself, for he had pawned his soul, and would not reveal it; and said, that Mr. Tryon had likewise engaged the like to him. For the £600 he offered his bond. _Hill_ recalled, said that Turner had been employed by Tryon about some mortgages; but he knew of no particulars. SIR T. ALEYN--My lord, John Turner his son there, fled away from me when I came to the house in the Minories. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Why did you fly away? JOHN TURNER--I did not, sir. SIR T. ALEYN--You did not fly! You ran away as fast as you could. JOHN TURNER--My lord, a woman cried out 'Get away, and save your life!' and not knowing what the matter was, I went away. COL. TURNER--Poor boy! he thought thieves had been coming, and affrighted him. SIR T. ALEYN--As to Ely Turner, I examined him upon the Sunday, the day after his father was committed; he would not confess the carrying of any money, and the maid swearing it, I committed him also. COL. TURNER--What's that of Ely? upon my soul, the boy carried none. JOHN TURNER--I carried what was carried. COL. TURNER--My Lord, one son is as dear to me as the other, but if either be more, it must be my eldest; but yet I must say, it was John my eldest son that carried the money. SIR T. ALEYN--My Lord, W. Turner was brought before me on Tuesday or Wednesday: sir R. Brown sent out his warrant for him, being a person of evil name, and likely to do such a fact; being taken, he was brought before me. My Lord, when Mr. Tryon looked upon him, he suspected him: I examined him when he saw Col. Turner; he said not these three years, not to speak to him; and yet one at the Cock behind the Exchange said, this W. Turner staid for Col. Turner at his house two hours, that Col. Turner came in, paid for the pot of drink, and for ought he knew they both went together: thereupon I committed him. In the afternoon I ordered this person to send his servant; one came and made oath that he came in, and enquired for Col. Turner, asked for him, staid two hours for him; that they went both out of the house together: and this was on the Wednesday before the robbery. _William Dawes_ and _John Rouse_, his servant, corroborated what Sir T. Aleyn said as to William Turner. _Garret_, _Watcher_, and _Culley_ were called to prove that Turner had said that the money he took to Tryon's house was his own money, and that he was going to recover the jewels; 'if any man could say that he lost sixpence of his money, or six-penny worth of his jewels, he had two fellows in custody should answer for it.' _Pilkington_ corroborated what other witnesses had said as to the account Turner gave of the way in which the robbery was committed. _Tryon_ was recalled to identify William Turner as one of the two men whom he saw in his room, and as being the man who knocked out his tooth. The men were barefaced; one said to the other that it was only just past eleven o'clock. _Hyde, Lord Chief-Justice_, then called on the prisoners to make their defence. He shortly recapitulated the case against them. William Turner and his father Col. Turner had met on the day before the robbery; the robbery must have been committed by some one who knew where the money and jewels were locked up, and Col. Turner had this knowledge. Early on the morning after the robbery Col. Turner, his wife and his son, moved a quantity of money out of their house, and asked a neighbour to take charge of it, falsely alleging that it belonged to a merchant who wanted to hide it. Afterwards they admitted that it was their own, but it appears that one of the bags in which it was, was sealed with the seal of the bishop of Chichester; and at the time of the burglary there was £600 in bags left with Mr. Tryon sealed with the same seal. William Turner, on people coming to his father's house, 'takes footing and leaps over the ditch to escape, which is a good just ground of suspicion that he is guilty of somewhat that he would not abide to answer.' Col. Turner and his wife show an exact knowledge of the way in which the crime was committed; 'Lay all this together, unless you shall answer it, all the world must conclude that you are the one that did this robbery.' TURNER--I shall first prove that upon Thursday night, the time of that supposed burglary, that myself, my wife, and all my family, were in bed, fast asleep and innocent, not knowing anything of this business. This I shall prove, if not, let me hang and all my family. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--All this may be true, and yet this not to the purpose. TURNER--Then I cannot be guilty of the burglary. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--If you will lay and plot such a robbery, though you are not there, yet you are guilty of it; for it is ordinary that the main setter will not be present at such times, but will then be in bed, that people may take notice thereof. But satisfy the court by what means you came by this money and jewels, and then call your witnesses. _Turner_ in his defence said that his name was first mentioned by the man Hill, the manservant, who, when he came home late after the robbery, said that he and the maid had been at supper at his house, which was false. The fact was that the first he heard of the burglary was when the constable came to him and found him and all his family in bed. On being informed of what had taken place, he at once went to Tryon's house, and discussed the matter with him. Tryon suspected Christmas of being one of the men he had seen in his room, and he was fetched by a constable and afterwards sent to the Compter. Turner had prevented a robbery at the same place a year since, and he set to work to see if he could not recover the stolen property by the same means that he had used on that occasion. He remembered one John Wild, and he went to look for him 'beyond the little postern between the two Tower Hills, near the Tower ditch.' On Friday night when he got to the house where he had found the persons he wanted the year before, he 'passed a fellow in black, in a large coat, such another man as this (pointing at one that stood by); he was in a black loose coat, and he was trimmed with ribband at his knee.' Thinking he must be one of the men he was in search of, either Wild or White, he seized him, and charged him with the burglary. Said I, Mr. Tryon's house was robbed, and you are the person that I will lay flat felony to; you should have been one of them that were to rob him a year since, when Col. Ashton betrayed you all. He began with some hard oaths; be quiet, said I, I will call out; you are an undone man; I will lay this felony to you. I shifted my hold from his collar to the waistband of his breeches; I thought I had him more secure. Said I, Wild, do not deceive yourself, play not the fool; if you will save your life, let me see where those goods and monies are, else you will go to pot. We walked to the hill. I had fast hold of his breeches all this while; and yet I was afraid he might have some dagger, and stab me; Said I, be brief, you are alone, either resolve me or I will call out. Thereupon Wild, having bound Turner by an oath that his life should be safe if he discovered the thing, whistled thrice, and so called White, to whom he explained the situation, and sent him for the money. White went off and brought back £500 in two journeys, Turner holding Wild by his breeches all the time. This lasted four hours,[45] from midnight till four, during which time Wild gave Turner the account of how the burglary was committed, which he afterwards explained to the witnesses. When the £500 was all brought, Wild and White carried it to Turner's house, and threw it down on the floor of his parlour, promising to bring the rest of the money and the jewels the next day. White then objected that the men who had them would not come into the city, and it was arranged that they should bring them to Betty Fry's house in the Minories, an appointment being made to meet at the Blue Boar on the afternoon of the same day. Turner, his wife, and his son John (not Ely as Fry had sworn) took the five bags to Fry's house, and later on Turner went to Tryon's house, where he met Gurney ('Jesus! what a noise is here in the court. My Lord, I can hear but with one ear'), and told him that he would recover all his money except a few shillings. Tryon was delighted, promised him £500, and swore not to betray Wild and White. At eight o'clock on Saturday night,[46] he found Wild by the Blue Boar in Tower Hill, and told him where the money was, and Wild said it must be moved to St. Catherine's by the water-side. Some of the money was carried there,[47] and as the rest was being moved Sir T. Aleyn came up, and John Turner ran away. Col. Turner told Sir T. Aleyn that the money was his, because Tryon had promised it to him, and he wanted to conceal the transaction. They all took the money to Mr. Tryon's house, where Tryon acknowledged his promise, and Sir T. Aleyn agreed that if the goods were restored, the old man's word should be made good. More that that, he said he would make up the business, or he would smother it. My Lord, you have a great deal of patience, I am humbly bound to you, here is nothing but the naked truth, step by step, as I trod it. Afterwards[48] Wild came and said, All will be well. Said I, What have you done? Are you sure, saith he, the jewels nor nothing shall be stirred? Said I, You see all is spoiled; Sir Thomas Aleyn is come where we had lodged the money, the thing is known, do they not hear of it? Yes they hear as well as you, and know what is done, and some have eyes upon you. Said I they will run away with the jewels. No you shall meet about three o'clock either by the Blue-Pig at Tower-Hill, or at Nag's-Head over against White-Chapel church. Nobody knows me but you, your wife, and your son who saw me this morning. Coming home about Change time Stubbs told him it was said that he had been concerned in the robbery, and later he was arrested by Cole for his debt to Lyon and taken to the Hoop Tavern, where he was still in custody when a constable came with a warrant to take him before Sir. T. Aleyn. He asked Sir Thomas to allow him to go to fetch the jewels, but he was not allowed to go out of the liberties. He then remembered that Wild had said he could send his wife, whom he described as a full short woman about forty or fifty years old, she had a black scarf on; ... I told Sir Thomas this story. My wife came to me publicly, I did not whisper with her. MRS. TURNER--Nay, look you, husband---- TURNER--Pr'ythee Mall, sit down; you see my lord, my wife will interrupt me with nonsense. Pr'ythee sit thee down quickly, and do not put me out; I cannot hold women's tongues, nor your lordship neither. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--This is not a May-game. TURNER--My Lord, it is a serious business, and I hope God will bless it. 'Pray,' said I, 'Mall go.' His wife went as she was told. She found this Nag's Head, she sat down, being somewhat fat and weary, poor dear! I have had 27 children by her, 15 sons and 12 daughters. Seven or eight times did this fellow round her---- MRS. TURNER--Let me give that relation---- TURNER--You cannot, it is as well; pr'ythee sit down, dear Mall, sit thee down good child, all will be well. Mrs. Turner, in short, brought back the jewels which were given to Tryon, in Chamberlin's presence, and Turner offered to forego his £500, but was nevertheless committed by Sir T. Aleyn. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Have you any witnesses to prove all this discourse passed between you and Wild? TURNER--I have by, witnesses to prove I said this, that there was such discourses between us. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--No doubt of it; and so will many a man at Newgate frame such a story as this. HYDE, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You have told a long story about Wild, that you took him by the throat, and that you were alone: what weapons had you? TURNER--None, my Lord. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Had you a lanthorn with you? TURNER--No, my Lord. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--What time of the night was it? TURNER--Twelve o'clock, my lord. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You staid till four, so they were four hours a-bringing of the money. TURNER--Yes, my Lord. HYDE, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You took a man in the dark by the throat, that man that was guilty of such a thing, as when that you did let him go to call his companions to bring the money, brings fellows to you single; I would be glad to know, whether in this case they would not have knocked you on the head, and killed you? TURNER--My lord, Wild had engaged his soul, and I my soul to him, that if I would not discover him, I should go away free. BRIDGMAN--Great security indeed! TURNER--I desire my maid may be called; pray ask Sir T. Aleyn what he hath done with my maid; he took her up with Sir R. Brown, and two marshal's men (pray gentlemen, make not a laughing business of this), Sir Thomas pray, where is my maid? SIR T. ALEYN--I had this maid upon examination, I found cause of further examination, thereupon directed an officer to take her, and she is now in the garden. _Mosely_ the constable, the Marquis of Dorchester's servant, and Turner's maid were called to prove that Turner and his family were in bed at the time that the burglary took place; but proved nothing material, the maid in particular becoming confused and contradicting herself several times. Various witnesses were called to character, and _Sir T. Aleyn_, _Chamberlin_, _Millington_, and others were recalled, and all agreed that Turner, when he was in custody, asked to be allowed to go to fetch the jewels, but did not offer to arrest the thief. BRIDGMAN, LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--This is a notable piece of cunning; when he was moved by Alderman Smith and others, all this while he names no man; but now he was under an action, he would have them go with himself out of the Liberties, and yet saith never a word to take the man; he knew very well it was out of the Liberties. Truly, I think if Sir T. Aleyn had done it, I should not have taken him to be Sir T. Aleyn. _William Turner_ denied all knowledge of the charge. _John Turner_, questioned by the judges, said that he had carried two bags of money from Fry's house to Wild on the Saturday morning; he made two journeys with one bag each time; he delivered them to Wild in the street at Tower-Ditch. _Hyde, Lord Chief-Justice_, then summed up. He began by pointing out that as to Mrs. Turner, though it appears all along that she had a hand in this business, yet nothing appears at all, but doing only that which her husband had directed; then by law she cannot be accessory for committing of felony. As to Ely, there was nothing against him. Then the matter is to James, John, and William Turner; I hope, and I am sure you are nearer, and you take note of what hath been delivered; I have not your memories; you are young and no persons better; you are men of understanding, I need not repeat particulars to you. He points out, very shortly, that John and William Turner had not proved that they were in bed at home all that night, and that even if they were in bed when the constable came to the house, that proved nothing, because the crime had then already been committed. As to Col. Turner, you see when he comes the next day, he undertakes to find out the thieves, and that only upon a suspicion; that there being a purpose to rob Mr. Tryon a year before, he goes to the same place now, he found Wild out then. He had very good luck; that because he lodged there a year before, he must have the same lodging now: It is a likely matter that thieves, as Wild is, should keep their lodgings thus constantly. There he finds him, takes him by the throat, and there they were playing a while: There one comes, goes, and brings some part of the money. After all this, the next day he must take his word to come again and bring the jewels. Observe but this; after which time as the money was received yet by a token, though he never saw the woman before, describing her a short fat woman, with a long black scarf, he must meet her, asked her what she wanted, and must give her jewels of that value: 'Tis one of the finest framed stories that I have heard, that this man should come to be thus privy after himself stood charged and the jewels brought for all this; and yet he must know nothing of it. You observe the evidences, and their circumstances themselves: The witnesses he called in point of reputation, that I must leave to you. I have been here many a fair time: Few men that come to be questioned, but shall have some come and say, he is a very honest man; I never knew any hurt by him: But is this anything against the evidence of the fact? But you have here the whole; I shall leave it to you. _Bridgman, Lord Chief-Justice_, summed up even more shortly, mentioning a few of the absurdities of Turner's story. The jury withdrew for an hour, and then returned with a verdict of Guilty against Col. Turner, and Not Guilty against all the others. On the 19th of January Col. Turner and William Turner made a confession as to their share in the crime. From this it appears that the burglary was planned entirely by Col. Turner, and was committed by him, his son William, one White, a solicitor, and an unnamed friend of White's. Col. Turner procured an impression of Tryon's door-key in wax, and had another key made to the pattern. By means of this all four men entered Tryon's house about nine o'clock, and having bound and gagged Tryon, stole his keys, opened the doors of the counting-house and the warehouse, found the keys of his iron chest, and took the money and jewels out of it. How much money or how many bags they took does not appear, but everything was taken to a house in Duke's Place, from which Col. Turner fetched away the money and the jewels to his own house the next morning. The money was still in his house when it was searched by the constable and the marshal on Friday night. William Turner was to have £100, and White and his friend £20 a-piece for their pains. Neither Mrs. Turner, John Turner, or Ely Turner knew of the robbery, but they helped to move the money on Saturday morning. On being asked on Saturday morning where the jewels were, Col. Turner said he had given them to White at six o'clock that morning. Col. Turner afterwards restored the carcanet, the only jewel which he had not restored before. On the same day in the evening he was condemned to be hung. On the occasion of his execution, two days afterwards, he made a dying speech of some length. After admitting the justice of his fate, and declaring that he died in peace with all the world, he said-- Truly it is my sins, and the greatness of my sins hath brought me hither, and the greatest sin that troubles me, and lies on me, is that sin which I was much addicted to, and that was the sin of profaneness, of blaspheming God, of taking his name in vain. I never heard any man or woman, or whatever they were, swear in my life but I did tremble for them, to hear them; for keeping company with men of honour (they were men of quality, though that was an ill quality in them) was the occasion of it I never kept company with any poor, base, inferior people, with any thief, or any suchlike base person in all my life, but fled from them and avoided them till this accident. As I was telling you, for that great sin of swearing; keeping company with persons that did swear, I did get a habit of swearing, though I hated it and loathed it, when I observed it in myself, and yet, may be, did it again, forgetting presently, and not observing, being of a hasty nature. He then goes on to say that his sons were innocent of the present matter, and asks the sheriff to procure their liberation from prison, which he promises to do if he can. He laments the present state of the world. I must deal really with you, this nation is very full of sins, of crying sins, of sins that the land will suddenly mourn by God's hand; I have every year expected the sweeping plague to come and take away two-thirds of the nation for the sins that lie upon us. It is expected of him that he should clear himself from accusations that have been made against him. He knows nothing of having received £20 from Dr. Hewyt's wife to procure him a pardon, his wife will soon receive a certificate from her to show that this is true. He did not cheat the king out of money when he was beyond the seas with him; for he was never out of the country. He relates various sufferings that he endured on the royalist side during the civil war, but being reminded by the sheriff that this is not a proper subject for a dying man to discourse about, he points out that Tryon got back all his property, and then goes on rather inconsistently:-- But, Mr. Sheriffs, assure yourselves, so sure I am going to heaven, I shall be there in glory, so sure had Mr. Tryon (if I had not met with those two foolish timorous officers) have had his goods and money again; there had never had one word of this business been known. It was a sad fate, that these two fellows out of a little fear should be the occasion of my coming here; but God forgive them, Stubs and Lyon I mean, these two villains, I have nobody to thank for my blood but them; and yet I do free them, and freely forgive them. Mr. Sheriffs, are you satisfied in this? Would you have me say any more touching the fact? MR. SHERIFF--It is satisfaction to us if you are satisfied yourself. Turner then goes on to deny other charges that have been made against him; particularly he asserts that a man of the same name who died in his house was not poisoned by him, and that he knows nothing of a 'glass jewel' which the ordinary suggests that he delivered to the Countess of Devonshire in place of another. He expresses his faith in the Protestant church, and his belief in the chief tenets of the Christian religion, and denies that he had been drunk and abused the ordinary, swearing, and boasting that he had £5000, and could have a pardon when he pleased. On the contrary, he had acted as clerk in the prison chapel. About eight or nine o'clock Justice Stringer came to me in Chancery-Lane, and two or three knights and persons of quality, eight or nine in all; they had one bottle of sack among them, of which I drank one little cup ... and God forgive them that raised the scandal. He then complains of the Hole where he was confined the night after the Sessions-- It is a most sad deplorable place; Hell itself, in comparison cannot be such a place; there is neither bench, stool nor stick for any person there; they lie like swine upon the ground, one upon another, howling and roaring ... I would humbly beg that the Hole may be provided with some kind of boards like a court of guard, that men may lie down upon them in ease. JACKSON (the gaoler)--Seventeen out of nineteen made their escapes out of that Hole, they having only a form there. SIR R. FORD--If I did think there were a reprieve to come for you I would be contented to spin out the time thus; but in good earnest I expect none; unless you had an apprehension you were not to die you would not spin out the time thus, not thus run to many impertinences. Turner then finished his speech, and after he had prayed a little the executioner fitted the rope round his neck-- TURNER--What, dost thou mean to choke me? pray fellow, give me more rope; what a simple fellow is this! How long have you been executioner that you know not yet how to put the knot? In the midst of his private ejaculations, offering to pull down the cap, he espied a gentlewoman at a window nigh, kissed his hand, said 'Your servant, Mistress.'... His cap being pulled down he gave the sign and the executioner turned him off. The confluence of people from the gaol to the place of execution was very great, beyond the memory of any upon the like occasion. During his imprisonment, and to the last breath of life, his carriage was very undaunted. FOOTNOTES: [42] See _ante_, p. 126. [43] See _ante_, p. 125. [44] 1 and 2 Philip and Mary, regulating bail so as to prevent justices admitting prisoners to bail collusively. This statute 'was, in fact, the origin of the preliminary inquiry, which has come to be in practice one of the most important and characteristic parts of our whole system of procedure, but it was originally intended to guard against collusion between the justices and the prisoners brought before them.'--Stephen's _History_, vol. i. p. 237. [45] These statements were probably made as answers to questions; but the fact does not appear in the report. [46] At this point either Turner got into a wild confusion as to time, and nobody noticed it, or the report is wrong. Turner's story as it now stands is quite irreconcilable with the obviously true part of the evidence. [47] Turner must have said, or intended to say, that he had agreed to pay Wild the £500 that White had given him the night before, as black-mail for the rest of the money and the jewels; but nothing of this appears in the report. It does not appear from the report how much money Tryon lost in all, nor how much was found at Fry's. It does not follow that evidence on the subject was not given at the trial. [48] Turner was arrested by Cole about 3 P.M. Sir T. Aleyn does not say when he parted from him in the morning. THE SUFFOLK WITCHES[49] At the Assizes held at Bury St. Edmunds, for the county of Suffolk, on the 10th of March 1665, before Sir Matthew Hale,[50] Lord Chief-Baron of Exchequer, Rose Cullender and Amy Duny, widows, both of Leystoff, were indicted for bewitching Elizabeth and Ann Durent, Jane Bocking, Susan Chandler, William Durent, Elizabeth and Deborah Pacy; and being arraigned they pleaded Not Guilty. Three of the persons above-named, viz. Anne Durent, Susan Chandler, and Elizabeth Pacy were brought to Bury to the Assizes, and were in a reasonable good condition; but that morning they came into the hall to give instructions for the drawing of their bills of indictments, the three persons fell into strange and violent fits, shrieking out in a most sad manner, so that they could not in any wise give any instructions in the court who were the cause of their distemper. And although they did after some certain space recover out of their fits, yet they were every one of them struck dumb, so that none of them could speak, neither at the time, nor during the Assizes, until the conviction of the supposed witches. _Dorothy Durent_ was the mother of William Durent, an infant. She swore that on the 10th of March 1669, she left her son William, who was then sucking, in charge of Amy Durent while she was away from home, giving her a penny for her trouble. She laid a great charge on Amy not to suckle the child, and on being asked why she did this, she explained that Amy had long gone under the reputation of a witch. Nevertheless, when she came back Amy told her that she had given the child suck;-- whereupon the deponent was very angry with the said Amy for the same; at which the said Amy was much discontented, and used many high expressions and threatening speeches towards her; telling her, That she had as good to have done otherwise than to have found fault with her, and so departed out of her house; and that very night her son fell into strange fits of swooning and was held in such terrible manner, that she was much affrighted therewith, and so continued for divers weeks. And the said examinant farther said, that she being exceedingly troubled at her child's distemper, did go to a certain person named Dr. Jacob, who lived at Yarmouth, who had the reputation in the country, to help children that were bewitched; who advised her to hang up the child's blanket in the chimney-corner all day, and at night when she put the child to bed, to put it into the said blanket, and if she found anything in it, she should not be afraid, but throw it into the fire. And this deponent did according to his direction, and at night when she took down the blanket with an intent to put her child therein, there fell out of the same a great toad, which ran up and down the hearth, and she having a young youth only with her in the house desired him to catch the toad and throw it into the fire, which the youth did accordingly and held it there with the tongs; and as soon as it was in the fire it made a great and horrible noise, and after a space there was a flashing in the fire like gunpowder, making a noise like the discharge of a pistol, and thereupon the toad was no more seen or heard. It was asked by the court, if that after the noise and flashing, there was not the substance of the toad to be seen to consume in the fire? And it was answered by the said Dorothy Durent, that after the flashing and noise, there was no more seen than if there had been none there. The next day there came a young woman, a kinswoman of the said Amy, and a neighbour of this deponent, and told this deponent, that her aunt (meaning the said Amy) was in a most lamentable condition, having her face all scorched with fire, and that she was sitting alone in her house in her smock without any fire. And thereupon this deponent went into the house of the said Amy Duny to see her, and found her in the same condition as was related to her; for her face, her legs, and thighs, which this deponent saw, seemed very much scorched and burnt with fire, at which this deponent seemed much to wonder, and asked the said Amy how she came into that sad condition? and the said Amy replied, she might thank her for it, for that she this deponent was the cause of it, but that she should live to see some of her children dead, and she upon crutches. And this deponent farther saith, that after the burning of the said toad, her child recovered, and was well again, and was living at the time of the assizes. And this deponent farther saith, That about the 6th of March, 11 Car. II., her daughter Elizabeth Durent, being about the age of ten years, was taken in like manner as her first child was, and in her fits complained much of Amy Duny, and said, that she did appear to her, and afflict her in such manner as the former. And she this deponent going to the apothecary's for something for her said child, when she did return to her own house, she found the said Amy Duny there, and asked her what she did do there, and her answer was, That she came to see her child, and to give it some water. But she this deponent was very angry with her, and thrust her forth of her doors, and when she was out of doors, she said, You need not be so angry, for your child will not live long: and this was on a Saturday, and the child died on the Monday following. The cause of whose death, this deponent verily believeth was occasioned by the witchcraft of the said Amy Duny: for that the said Amy hath been long reputed to be a witch and a person of very evil behaviour, whose kindred and relations have been many of them accused of witchcraft, and some of them have been condemned. The said deponent further saith, that not long after the death of her daughter Elizabeth Durent, she this deponent was taken with a lameness in both legs, from the knees down-ward, that she was fain to go upon crutches, and that she had no other use of them but only to bear a little upon them till she did remove her crutches, and so continued till the time of the Assizes that the Witch came to be tried, and was there upon her crutches; the Court asked her, That at the time she was taken with this lameness, if it were with her according to the custom of women? Her answer was, that it was so, and that she never had any stoppages of those things, but when she was with child. This is the substance of her Evidence to this Indictment. There was one thing very remarkable, that after she had gone upon crutches for upwards of 3 years, and went upon them at the time of the Assizes in the Court when she gave her Evidence, and upon the jury's bringing in their verdict, by which the said Amy Duny was found Guilty, to the great admiration of all persons, the said Dorothy Durent was restored to the use of her limbs, and went home without making use of her crutches. As concerning Elizabeth and Deborah Pacy, the first of the age of 11 years, the other of the age of 9 years or thereabouts: as to the elder, she was brought into the Court at the time of the instructions given to draw up the Indictments, and afterwards at the time of trial of the said prisoners, but could not speak one word all the time, and for the most part she remained as one wholly senseless, as one in a deep sleep, and could move no part of her body, and all the motion of life that appeared in her was, that as she lay upon cushions in the court upon her back, her stomach and belly, by the drawing of her breath, would arise to a great height: and after the said Elizabeth had lain a long time on the table in the court, she came a little to herself and sat up, but could neither see nor speak, but was sensible of what was said to her, and after a while she laid her head on the bar of the court with a cushion under it, and her hand and her apron upon that, and there she lay a good space of time: and by the direction of the judge, Amy Duny was privately brought to Elizabeth Pacy, and she touched her hand: whereupon the child without so much as seeing her, for her eyes were closed all the while, suddenly leaped up, and catched Amy Duny by the hand, and afterwards by the face; and with her nails scratched her till blood came, and would by no means leave her till she was taken from her, and afterwards the child would still be pressing towards her, and making signs of anger conceived against her. Deborah the younger daughter was held in such extreme manner, that her parents wholly despaired of her life, and therefore could not bring her to the Assizes. _The Evidence which was given concerning these two children was to this effect._ SAMUEL PACY, a merchant of Leystoff aforesaid (a man who carried himself with much soberness during the trial, from whom proceeded no words either of passion or malice though his children were so greatly afflicted), sworn and examined, deposeth. That his younger daughter Deborah, upon Thursday the 10th of October last, was suddenly taken with a lameness in her legs, so that she could not stand, neither had she any strength in her limbs to support her, and so she continued until the 17th day of the same month, which day being fair and sunshiny, the child desired to be carried on the east part of the house to be set upon the bank which looketh upon the sea; and whilst she was sitting there, Amy Duny came to this deponent's house to buy some herrings, but being denied she went away discontented, and presently returned again, and was denied, and likewise the third time and was denied as at first; and at her last going away, she went away grumbling; but what she said was not perfectly understood. But at the very same instant of time, the child was taken with most violent fits, feeling most extreme pains in her stomach, like the pricking of pins, and shrieking out in a most dreadful manner like unto a whelp; and not like unto a sensible creature. And in this extremity the child continued to the great grief of the parents until the 30th of the same month. During this time this deponent sent for one Dr. Feavor, a doctor of physic, to take his advice concerning his child's distemper; the Doctor being come, he saw the child in those fits but could not conjecture, as he then told this deponent, and afterwards affirmed in open court, at this trial, what might be the cause of the child's affliction. And this deponent farther saith, That by reason of the circumstances aforesaid, and in regard Amy Duny is a woman of ill-fame, and commonly reported to be a witch and sorceress, and for that the said child in her fits would cry out of Amy Duny as the cause of her malady, and that she did affright her with apparitions of her person (as the child in the intervals of her fits related) he this deponent did suspect the said Amy Duny for a witch, and charged her with the injury and wrong to his child, and caused her to be set in the stocks on the 28th of the same October: and during the time of her continuance there, one Alice Letteridge and Jane Buxton demanding of her, as they also affirmed in court upon their oaths, what should be the reason of Mr. Pacy's child's distemper? telling her, That she was suspected to be the cause thereof; she replied, 'Mr. Pacy keeps a great stir about his child, but let him stay until he hath done as much by his children, as I have done by mine.' And being further examined, what she had done to her children? She answered, 'That she had been fain to open her child's mouth with a tap to give it victuals.' And the said deponent further deposeth, that within two days after speaking of the said words, being the 30th of October, the eldest daughter Elizabeth, fell into extreme fits, insomuch, that they could not open her mouth to give her breath, to preserve her life, without the help of a tap which they were enforced to use; and the younger child was in the like manner afflicted, so that they used the same also for her relief. And further the said children being grievously afflicted would severally complain in their extremity, and also in the intervals, that Amy Duny (together with one other woman whose person and clothes they described) did thus afflict them, their apparitions appearing before them, to their great terror and affrightment: and sometimes they would cry out, saying, There stands Amy Duny, and there Rose Cullender, the other person troubling them. Their fits were various, sometimes they would be lame on one side of their bodies, sometimes on the other: sometimes a soreness over their whole bodies, so as they could endure none to touch them: at other times they would be restored to the perfect use of their limbs, and deprived of their hearing; at other times of their sight, at other times of their speech; sometimes by the space of one day, sometimes for two; and once they were wholly deprived of their speech for eight days together and then restored to their speech again. At other times they would fall into swoonings, and upon the recovery to their speech they would cough extremely, and bring up much phlegm, and with the same crooked pins, and one time a two-penny nail with a very broad head, which pins (amounting to forty or more) together with the two-penny nail, were produced in court, with the affirmation of the said deponent, that he was present when the said nail was vomited up, and also most of the pins. Commonly at the end of every fit they would cast up a pin, and sometimes they would have four or five fits in one day. In this manner the said children continued with this deponent for the space of two months, during which time in their intervals this deponent would cause them to read some chapters in the New Testament. Whereupon this deponent several times observed, that they would read till they came to the name of Lord, or Jesus, or Christ; and then before they could pronounce either of the said words they would suddenly fall into their fits. But when they came to the name of Satan, or devil, they would clap their fingers upon the book, crying out, This bites, but makes me speak right well. At such time as they be recovered out of their fits (occasioned as this deponent conceives upon their naming of Lord, Jesus, or Christ), this deponent hath demanded of them, what is the cause they cannot pronounce those words: they reply and say, that Amy Duny saith, I must not use that name. And further, the said children after their fits were past, would tell, how that Amy Duny and Rose Cullender would appear before them holding their fists at them, threatening, that if they related either what they saw or heard, that they would torment them ten times more than ever they did before. In their fits they would cry out, There stands Amy Duny or Rose Cullender; and sometimes in one place and sometimes in another running with great violence to the place where they fancied them to stand, striking at them as if they were present; they would appear to them sometimes spinning, and sometimes reeling, or in other postures, deriding or threatening them. Afterwards the witness sent the children to the house of Margaret Arnold, his sister, at Yarmouth, to make trial whether the change of air might do them any good. _Margaret Arnold_ gave no credit to what was related to her when the children were committed to her care, 'conceiving that possibly the children might use some deceit in putting pins in their mouths themselves'; she therefore 'took all the pins out of their clothes, and sewed them all instead'; but 'notwithstanding all this care and circumspection of hers,' they raised at least thirty pins in her presence, and had most violent fits. They would cry out in their fits, against Rose Cullender and Amy Duny, alleging that they saw them. At some times the children (only) would see things run up and down the house in the appearance of mice; and one of them suddenly snapt one with the tongs, and threw it in the fire, and it screeched out like a rat. At another time a little thing like a bee flew into the face of the younger child when she was out of doors, and would have gone into her mouth; the child ran screaming into the house and had a fit, and vomited up a two-penny nail with a broad head, which she said the bee had tried to put in her mouth. The elder child said she saw a mouse, and crept under the table to look for it, and she found something, the witness did not see what it was, which she threw into the fire, when it flashed like gunpowder. At a time when she was speechless, but otherwise in good health, she appeared to chase something round the house, catch it, put it in her apron, and made as if she threw it in the fire, but the witness saw nothing. The child afterwards being restored to her speech said it was a duck. The younger child said that in her fits Amy Duny tempted her to drown herself, and to cut her throat, or otherwise destroy herself. For these reasons the witness believed that the children were bewitched, though she had not believed it at first. _Edmund Durent_, the father of Ann Durent, swore that Rose Cullender came to his house in the previous November to buy some herrings of his wife, but being denied by her, returned in a discontented manner. On the first of December his daughter felt a great pain in her stomach, fell into swooning fits, and on her recovery declared that she had seen the apparition of Rose Cullender, who threatened to torment her. She had also vomited up pins, which were produced in court. The maid was present in court, but could not speak to declare her knowledge, but fell into the most violent fit when she was brought before Rose Cullender. _Ann Baldwin_ corroborated the last witness, and added that Jane Bocking was so weak that she could not be brought to the Assizes. _Diana Bocking_, the mother of Jane Bocking, swore that her daughter had formerly suffered from fits, but had recovered from them. On the first of February last, however, she had been attacked with fits which lasted till the witnesses came to the Assizes, vomiting pins daily, seven last Sunday. In her fits she would frequently complain of Rose Cullender and Amy Duny, saying that she saw them standing about the bed. At last she was stricken dumb for some days, and said when she recovered that Amy Duny would not suffer her to speak. _Mary Chandler_, the mother of Susan Chandler, swore that she had examined the prisoners after they had been examined before Sir Edmund Bacon, on a charge of having bewitched Mr. Pacy's daughters, and that she had found certain monstrous growths on the body of Rose Cullender. She also said that Rose Cullender had appeared to her daughter, who was in service, one morning while she was washing, whereupon she was frightened and came at once and told her mother; and soon afterwards was attacked by fits, vomiting pins, like the others. She was at times dumb, and at times blind, and when she was brought into court, she was attacked anew, although she recovered her speech outside. This was the sum and substance of the evidence which was given against the prisoners concerning the bewitching of the children before mentioned. At the hearing this evidence there were divers known persons as Mr. Serjeant Keeling,[51] Mr. Serjeant Earl, and Mr. Serjeant Barnard present. Mr. Serjeant Keeling seemed much unsatisfied with it, and thought it not sufficient to convict the prisoners: for admitting that the children were in truth bewitched, yet said he, it can never be applied to the prisoners, upon the imagination only of the parties afflicted; for if that might be allowed no person whatsoever can be in safety, for perhaps they might fancy another person, who might altogether be innocent in such matters. There was also _Dr. Brown_[52] of Norwich, a person of great knowledge; who after this evidence given, and upon view of three persons in Court, was desired to give his opinion, what he did conceive of them: and he was clearly of opinion, that the persons were bewitched; and said, That in Denmark there had been lately a great discovery of witches, who used the very same way of afflicting persons, by conveying pins into them, and crooked as these pins were, with needles and nails. And his opinion was, That the devil in such cases did work upon the bodies of men and women, upon a natural foundation (that is), to stir up, and excite such humours super-abounding in their bodies to a great excess, whereby he did in an extraordinary manner afflict them with such distempers as their bodies were most subject to, as particularly appeared in these children; for he conceived, that these swooning fits were natural, and nothing else, but only heightened to a great excess by the subtilty of the devil, co-operating with the malice of these which we term witches, at whose instance he doth these villanies. Besides the particulars above mentioned touching the said persons bewitched, there were many other things objected against them for a further proof and manifestation that the said children were bewitched. As first, during the time of the trial, there were some experiments made with the persons afflicted, by bringing the persons to touch them; and it was observed, that when they were in the midst of their fits to all men's apprehension wholly deprived of all sense and understanding, closing their fists in such manner, as that the strongest man in court could not force them open; yet by the least touch of one of these supposed witches, Rose Cullender by name, they would suddenly shriek out opening their hands, which accident would not happen by the touch of any other person. And lest they might privately see when they were touched by the said Rose Cullender, they were blinded with their own aprons, and the touching took the same effect as before. There was an ingenious person that objected, there might be a great fallacy in this experiment, and there ought not to be any stress put upon this to convict the parties, for the children might counterfeit this their distemper, and perceiving what was done to them they might in such manner suddenly alter the motion and gesture of their bodies, on purpose to induce persons to believe that they were not natural, but wrought strangely by the touch of the prisoners. Wherefore to avoid this scruple it was privately desired by the Judge, that the Lord Cornwallis, Sir Edmund Bacon, and Mr. Serjeant Keeling, and some other gentlemen there in court, would attend one of the distempered persons in the farther part of the Hall, whilst she was in her fits, and then to send for one of the witches, to try what would then happen, which they did accordingly: and Amy Duny was conveyed from the bar and brought to the maid: they put an apron before her eyes, and then one other person touched her hand, which produced the same effect as the touch of the witch did in the Court. Whereupon the gentlemen returned, openly protesting, that they did believe the whole transaction of this business was a mere imposture. This put the Court and all persons into a stand. But at length Mr. Pacy did declare, That possibly the maid might be deceived by a suspicion that the witch touched her when she did not. For he had observed divers times, that although they could not speak, but were deprived of the use of their tongues and limbs, that their understandings were perfect, for that they had related divers things which have been when they were in their fits, after they had recovered out of them. This saying of Mr. Pacy was found to be true afterwards when his daughter was fully recovered (as she afterwards was) as shall in due time be related: For she was asked, whether she did hear and understand anything that was done and acted in the Court, during the time that she lay as one deprived of her understanding? and she said, She did: and by the opinions of some, this experiment (which others would have a fallacy) was rather a confirmation that the parties were really bewitched, than otherwise: for say they, it is not possible that any should counterfeit such distempers, being acquainted with such various circumstances, much less children; and for so long time, and yet undiscovered by their parents and relations: For no man can suppose that they should all conspire together (being out of several families, and as they affirm, no way related one to the other, and scarce of familiar acquaintance) to do an act of this nature whereby no benefit or advantage could redound to any of the parties, but a guilty conscience for perjuring themselves in taking the lives of two poor simple women away, and there appears no malice in the case. For the prisoners themselves did scarce so much as object it. Wherefore, said they, it is very evident that the parties were bewitched, and that when they apprehend or understand by any means, that the persons who have done them this wrong are near, or touch them; then their spirits being more than ordinarily moved with rage and anger at them being present, they do use more violent gestures of their bodies, and extend forth their hands, as desirous to lay hold upon them; which at other times not having the same occasion, the instance there falls not out the same. Additional witnesses were afterwards called to prove other acts of witchcraft by the prisoners. _John Soam_,'a yeoman, and a sufficient person,' deposed that one harvest he had three carts, and that as they were going into the field to load, one of them wrenched the window of Rose Cullender's house, whereupon she came out in a great rage, and threatened him. Afterwards the two carts that had not touched the house twice made the journey home loaded and back again, safely. But the cart that had touched the house was overturned twice or thrice that day after it was loaded; and as they brought it through the gate out of the field it stuck so fast that they had to cut down the gate-post, 'although they could not perceive that the cart did of either side touch the gate-posts.' And further, after they had got it through the gate-way, they did with much difficulty get it home into the yard; but for all that they could do, they could not get the cart near unto the place where they should unload the corn, but were fain to unload it at a great distance from the place, and when they began to unload they found a great difficulty therein, it being so hard a labour that they were tired that first came; and when others came to assist them, their noses burst forth a bleeding; so they were fain to desist and leave it until the next morning, and then they unloaded it without any difficulty at all. _Robert Sherringham_ swore that about two years before, as he was passing along the street with his cart and horse, the axle-tree of his cart touched Rose Cullender's house, and broke down some part of it, at which she was very much displeased, threatening him that his horses should suffer for it; and it so happened that all those horses, being four in number, died within a short time after; since that time he hath had great losses by the sudden dying of his other cattle; so soon as his sows pigged, the pigs would leap and caper, and immediately fall down and die. Also not long after he was taken with a lameness in his limbs that he could neither go nor stand for some days. After all this, he was very much vexed with great number of lice of an extraordinary bigness, and although he many times shifted himself, yet he was not anything the better, but would swarm again with them; so that in the conclusion he was forced to burn all his clothes, being two suits of apparel, and then was clean from them. _Richard Spencer_, about the first of September last, heard Amy Duny say that the devil would not let her rest until she was revenged on the wife of one Cornelius Sandeswell. _Ann Sandeswell_ says that seven or eight years since, she having bought a certain number of geese, meeting with Amy Duny, she told her, if she did not fetch her geese home they would all be destroyed; which in a few days after it came to pass. Afterwards the said Amy became tenant to the witness's husband for a house, and Amy told the witness that if she did not look well to such a chimney in the house it would fall, whereupon the witness told her that it was a new one, and they parted without the witness attaching much importance to the matter; but in a short time the chimney fell down according as the said Amy had said. Also the witness once asked her brother, who was a fisherman, to send her a firkin of fish, which he did; and she hearing that the firkin was brought into Lowestofft Road, asked a boatman to bring it ashore with other goods which they had to bring; and as she was going down to meet the boat-man to receive her fish, she desired the said Amy to go along with her to help her home with it; Amy replied she would go when she had it. And thereupon this deponent went to the shore without her, and demanded of the boat-man the firkin; they told they could not keep it in the boat from falling into the sea, and they thought it was gone to the devil, for they never saw the like before. And being demanded whether any other goods in the boat were likewise lost as well as hers? they answered not any. This was the substance of the whole evidence given against the prisoners at the bar; who being demanded, what they had to say for themselves? they replied, nothing material to anything that was proved against them. Whereupon the judge, in giving his direction to the jury, told them, that he would not repeat the evidence unto them, lest by so doing he should wrong the evidence on the one side or on the other. Only this acquainted them, that they had two things to enquire after. First, Whether or no these children were bewitched? Secondly, Whether the prisoners at the bar were guilty of it? That there were such creatures as witches he made no doubt at all; For first, the scriptures had affirmed so much. Secondly the wisdom of all nations had provided laws against such persons, which is an argument of their confidence of such a crime. And such hath been the judgment of this kingdom, as appears by that act of parliament which hath provided punishments proportionable to the quality of the offence. And desired them, strictly to observe their evidence; and desired the great God of heaven to direct their hearts in this weighty thing they had in hand: For to condemn the innocent, and to let the guilty go free, were both an abomination to the Lord. With this short direction the jury departed from the bar, and within the space of half an hour returned, and brought them in both Guilty upon the several indictments, which were thirteen in number, whereupon they stood indicted. This was upon Thursday in the afternoon, March 13, 1665. The next morning, the three children with their parents came to the Lord Chief-Baron Hales's lodging, who all of them spake perfectly, and were in as good health as ever they were; only Susan Chandler by reason of her very much affliction did look very thin and wan. And their friends were asked at what time they were restored thus to their speech and health? And Mr. Pacy did affirm, That within less than half an hour after the witches were convicted they were all of them restored, and slept well that night, feeling no pain; only Susan Chandler felt a pain like pricking of pins in her stomach. After, they were all of them brought down to the court, but Ann Durent was so fearful to behold them, that she desired she might not see them. The other two continued in the court, and they affirmed in the face of the country, and before the witches themselves, what before hath been deposed by their friends and relations; the prisoners not much contradicting them. In conclusion, the judge and all the court were fully satisfied with the verdict, and thereupon gave judgment against the witches that they should be hanged. They were much urged to confess, but would not. That morning we departed for Cambridge, but no reprieve was granted; And they were executed on Monday the 17th of March following, but they confessed nothing. FOOTNOTES: [49] Witchcraft, always an ecclesiastical offence, was first made a statutory crime by 33 Hen. VIII. (1541), which Hutchinson suggests was intended as 'a hank upon the reformers,' by reason of the part which mentioned the pulling down of crosses. This act was repealed on the accession of Edward VI., but was revived by 5 Eliz. c. 16 in a slightly different form. Hutchinson mentions five convictions under this statute between 1560 and 1597. A new act was passed in 1603, the first year of the reign of James I. Under it seventeen persons were condemned to death in Lancashire in 1634 on the evidence of one witness, who afterwards admitted his imposture. Their lives were saved by the judge who tried the case. In the eastern counties about fifty persons were executed in 1644 and 1645. Various other cases were tried throughout the seventeenth century, of which a list is given by Hutchinson, and the last conviction took place in 1712, at Hertford, but the prisoner was pardoned. The act of James was repealed in 1736, when it was enacted that no more prosecutions for witchcraft should take place, but that pretending to exercise witchcraft, and so forth, should be offences punishable on the same scale as other acts of petty cheating. Further information on the subject may be found in Hutchinson's _Essay on Witchcraft_; and an account of the very curious outburst of prosecutions for witchcraft in New England about the time of this trial, and, it is said, partly in consequence of it, may be found in Howell's _State Trials_, vol vi. pp. 647-686. In those parts of the British Empire where there is a large population of negroes, it has been found necessary to make stringent laws against witchcraft, which are regarded by the persons most affected by them as something much more than a protection against mere cheats. [50] Sir Matthew Hale (1609-1676) was the grandson of a Gloucestershire weaver. He was educated as a Puritan and entered Magdalen Hall, Oxford, in 1626. He here suddenly dropped his Puritan habits, and would have become a soldier in the Low Countries, but that, having to consult the learned Glanville as to legal proceedings taken against him which endangered his patrimony, he was persuaded to become a law student. He again resumed a quiet method of life, and owing to the slovenliness of his dress narrowly escaped being shipped to the West Indies by a press-gang. He was called in 1637, and already enjoying a considerable reputation at once acquired a lucrative practice. He devilled for Noy, but according to Campbell refused to follow him when he joined the Court party. He kept clear of politics at the beginning of the Long Parliament, though courted by both sides. He is said to have taken part in Strafford's defence; he certainly defended Laud. He took the Covenant in 1644, and sat in the Westminster Assembly of Divines. He procured honourable terms for the garrison of Oxford on the capture of that town. He took the engagement to be true to the Commonwealth in 1649, and continued to practise, often appearing for the defence in State prosecutions; particularly for the Duke of Hamilton after the battle of Worcester. He took a prominent part in the Commission appointed to reform the laws, which abolished feudal tenures and caused all legal proceedings to be conducted in English. He became a Justice of the Common Pleas in 1654, when he was occasionally brought into opposition to the government. At last he refused to try criminal causes; particularly that of Colonel Penruddock (see _post_, p. 59). He supported Cromwell against the sectaries. He was summoned to act as assessor to Cromwell's House of Lords; but refused to act as a judge under Richard Cromwell, though he sat in his Parliament. He sat for Gloucestershire in the Convention Parliament, and took an active part in the Restoration. He sat at the trial of the Regicides, though not at Vane's. On Bridgman becoming Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas in 1660, Hale succeeded him as Chief-Baron, his appointment being due, it is said, to Clarendon's scheme for having the Comprehension Bill, which he had drafted, defeated. He became Lord Chief-Justice in 1671, in succession to Kelyng. He has the reputation of being one of the greatest judges in English history. He settled satisfactorily all claims arising out of the rebuilding of London after the great fire; he found himself unable to help Bunyan, whom he considered to have been unjustly imprisoned, thereby, according to Campbell, being entitled to some of the credit attaching to the production of _The Pilgrim's Progress_. On the failure of his health he retired from the bench in 1676. It may be of interest to quote Campbell's opinion of his conduct of the present trial. 'I wish to God,' says that author, 'I could as successfully' (as he has done in Bunyan's case) 'defend the conduct of Sir Matthew Hale in a case to which I most reluctantly refer, but which I dare not, like Bishop Burnet, pass over unnoticed--I mean the famous trial before him, at Bury St. Edmunds, for witchcraft. I fostered a hope that I should have been able, by strict inquiry, to contradict, or mitigate, the hallucination under which he is generally supposed to have then laboured, and which has clouded his fame--even in some degree impairing the usefulness of that bright example of Christian piety which he has left for the edification of mankind. But I am much concerned to say, that a careful perusal of the proceedings and of the evidence shows that upon this occasion he was not only under the influence of the most vulgar credulity, but that he violated the plainest rules of justice, and that he really was the murderer of two innocent women.... Had the miserable wretches, indicted for witchcraft before Sir Matthew Hale, pleaded guilty, or specifically confessed the acts of supernatural agency imputed to them, or if there had been witnesses who had given evidence, however improbable it might be, to substantiate the offence, I should hardly have regarded the Judge with less reverence because he pronounced sentence of death upon the unhappy victims of superstition, and sent them to the stake, or the gibbet. But they resolutely persisted in asserting their innocence, and there was not only no evidence against them which ought to have weighed in the mind of any reasonable man who believed in witchcraft, but during the trial the imposture practised by the prosecutors was detected and exposed.' 'Hale's motives were most laudable; but he furnishes a memorable instance of the mischiefs originating from superstition. He was afraid of an acquittal or of a pardon, lest countenance should be given to a disbelief in witchcraft, which he considered tantamount to a disbelief in Christianity. The following Sunday he wrote a "Meditation concerning the mercy of God in preserving us from the malice and power of Evil Angels," in which he refers, with extreme complacency, to the trial over which he had presided at Bury St. Edmunds.' [51] See _ante_, p. 127. [52] Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682) was the well-known author of _Religio Medici_, published in 1642; _Vulgar Errors_, published in 1646; and numerous other mystic, pseudo-scientific and philosophical works. Mr. Leslie Stephen (_Hours in a Library_, vol. ii. p. 11) writes of him: 'Obviously we shall find in Sir Thomas Browne no inexorably severe guide to truth; he will not too sternly reject the amusing because it happens to be slightly improbable, or doubt an authority because he sometimes sanctions a mass of absurd fables.' So he more or less believed in the griffin, the phoenix, and the dragon: he knew that the elephant had no joints, and was caught by cutting down the tree against which he leant in sleep; that the pelican pierced its breast for the good of its young; that storks refused to live except in republics or free states; and that men were struck dumb, literally dumb, by the sight of a wolf: he discusses what would have happened had Adam eaten the apple of the Tree of Life before that of the Tree of Knowledge; he discovers error in every recorded speech but one delivered before the Flood; he admits that the phoenix is mentioned in holy writers, and alluded to in Job and the Psalms, but nevertheless adduces eight reasons for not believing in his existence, of which one is that no one has seen one, another that in the Scriptures the word translated phoenix also means a palm-tree, another that he could neither enter the ark in a pair, nor increase and multiply. At the same time, he probably possessed a considerable knowledge of physical science, and holds a high, though peculiar, position in English literature. Evidently he was not a suitable witness in the present case, and his appearance as recorded above is far the most unamiable thing known of him; but it is possible that his neighbours did not take him more seriously as a trustworthy authority than do his modern critics. ALICE LISLE Alice Lisle was the daughter and heiress of Sir White Bechenshaw of Moyles Court, Ellingham, Hants, the scene of the principal facts referred to in this trial. The house is still standing. In 1630 she became the second wife of John Lisle; he was called to the bar, and became a bencher of the Middle Temple. He sat in the Long Parliament for Winchester, was one of the managers of Charles I.'s trial, and is said to have drawn up the form of the sentence. He became President of the High Court of Justice in 1654, sat in the Parliament of that year, and was appointed one of the Commissioners of the Exchequer. He appears to have been a consistent follower of Cromwell, and became a member of his House of Lords in 1657. He left England on the Restoration and fled to Lausanne, where he was murdered by an Irish Royalist in 1664. He sentenced John Penruddock, the father of the Colonel Penruddock of this trial, to death in 1655 for his participation in an unsuccessful rising against the Commonwealth in Wiltshire. Alice Lisle, commonly called Lady Lisle, was tried for high treason at Winchester on 27th August 1685, before Lord Chief-Justice Jeffreys,[53] during his notorious 'Bloody Assize.' The charge against her was that knowing one George Hicks, a popular dissenting minister, to have been in Monmouth's army at Sedgemoor she entertained and concealed him in her house at Moyles Court. To convict her it was necessary to prove that Hicks had been in Monmouth's army, that she knew it, and that she entertained and concealed him. The prosecution was conducted by Pollexfen,[54] Mundy, and Corriton, as far at least as it was not conducted by Jeffreys. Lady Lisle, according to the custom of the time, was not allowed counsel, though no doubt she had opportunities for receiving legal advice during the course of the trial. Hicks was afterwards tried, and hanged at Glastonbury.[55] The first three witnesses were Pope, Fitzherbert, and Taylor, who were visited by Hicks and Monmouth's chaplain, apparently for more or less charitable purposes, when they were prisoners to Monmouth's Army in Sir Thomas Bridge's stables at Keynsham. Two of them also spoke to having seen him actually in Monmouth's Army. _James Dunne_ was then sworn. POLLEXFEN--If your lordship please to observe, the times will fall out to be very material in this case: the battle at Kings-Edgemore was the sixth of July; three or four days afterwards was the taking of Monmouth, and my lord Grey at Ringwood; upon the 26th of July, ten or twelve days after the taking of Monmouth, was this message sent by Dunne to Mrs. Lisle: so we call Dunne to prove what message he carried upon the 26th, and what answer was returned; he will tell you that Tuesday was the time appointed for them to come, in the night, and all the other circumstances. But withal, I must acquaint your lordship, that this fellow, Dunne, is a very unwilling witness; and therefore with submission to your lordship, we do humbly desire your lordship would please to examine him a little the more strictly. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You say well: Hark you, friend, I would take notice of something to you, by the way, and you would do well to mind what I say to you. According as the counsel that are here for the King seem to insinuate, you were employed as a messenger between these persons, one whereof has already been proved a notorious rebel, and the other is the prisoner at the bar, and your errand was to procure a reception at her house for him. DUNNE--My lord, I did so. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Very well. Now mark what I say to you, friend: I would not by any means in the world endeavour to fright you into anything, or any ways tempt you to tell an untruth, but provoke you to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, that is the business we come about here. Know, friend, there is no religion that any man can pretend to, can give a countenance to lying, or can dispense with telling the truth: Thou hast a precious immortal soul, and there is nothing in the world equal to it in value: There is no relation to thy mistress, if she be so; no relation to thy friend; nay, to thy father or thy child; nay, not all the temporal relations in the world can be equal to thy precious immortal soul. Consider that the Great God of Heaven and Earth, before whose tribunal thou, and we, and all persons are to stand at the last day, will call thee to an account for the rescinding his truth, and take vengeance of thee for every falshood thou tellest. I charge thee therefore, as thou wilt answer it to the Great God, the judge of all the earth, that thou do not dare to waver one tittle from the truth, upon any account or pretence whatsoever: For though it were to save thy life, yet the value of thy precious and immortal soul is much greater, than that thou shouldst forfeit it for the saving of any the most precious outward blessing thou dost enjoy; for that God of Heaven may justly strike thee into eternal flames, and make thee drop into the bottomless lake of fire and brimstone, if thou offer to deviate the least from the truth, and nothing but the truth. According to the command of that oath that thou hast taken, tell us who employed you, when you were employed, and where? Who caused you to go on this message, and what the message was? For I tell thee God is not to be mocked, and thou canst not deceive him, though thou mayst us. But I assure you if I catch you prevaricating in any the least tittle (and perhaps I know more than you think I do; no, none of your saints can save your soul, nor shall they save your body neither) I will be sure to punish every variation from the truth that you are guilty of. Now come and tell us, how you came to be employed upon such a message, what your errand was, and what was the issue and result of it? Dunne then proceeds to depose that a man came to his house to desire him to go with a message to Lady Lisle; he came on a Friday, after the battle; he was a short black man, and promised a good reward. On Saturday Dunne went to Moyles Court, and Lady Lisle agreed to receive Hicks on Tuesday evening. He was pressed as to whether she asked if he knew Hicks-- LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Why dost thou think that she would entertain any one she had no knowledge of merely upon thy message? Mr. Dunne! Mr. Dunne! have a care, it may be more is known of this matter than you think for.[56] DUNNE--My Lord, I tell you the truth. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Ay, to be sure you do, do not let me take you prevaricating! DUNNE--My Lord, I speak nothing but the truth. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Well, I only bid you have a care, truth never wants a subterfuge, it always loves to appear naked, it needs no enamel, nor any covering; but lying and snivelling, and canting, and Hicksing, always appear in masquerade. Come, go on with your evidence. Dunne then proceeds--he went home, arriving on Sunday, and gave his message to the man he first saw, and on Tuesday morning he, and a 'full fat black man,' and a 'thin black man,' came to his house at seven in the morning. Starting with two of them whom he had not seen before, but identified as Hicks and Nelthorp, at eleven, he took them by way of Deverel, Chilmark and Sutton to Salisbury Plain, where one Barter met them to guide them on, by Chalk, Rochesborne and Fordingbridge. This way he alleged, apparently falsely, was a shorter way than he had taken on Saturday. Near Barton, however, they lost their way, and Dunne was sent down to the village to a man to tell him that one Hicks desired to speak to him. Who the man was, he hesitated to say. DUNNE--His name, my Lord, I cannot rightly tell for the present. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Prithee recollect thyself: indeed thou canst tell us if thou wilt. DUNNE--My Lord, I can go to the house again if I were at liberty. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I believe it, and so could I; but really neither you nor I can be spared at present; therefore prithee do us the kindness now to tell us his name. DUNNE--My Lord, I think his name was Fane. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Thou sayest right, his name was Fane truly, thou seest I know something of the matter.[57] Dunne brought Fane to Hicks, who asked him the way to Mrs. Lisle's. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Now tell us what kind of man that was, that desired this of Mr. Fane? DUNNE--My Lord, it was the full fat black man. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Now we have got him out, now we know which was Hicks, now go on. On arriving at Mrs. Lisle's, Hicks and Nelthorp entered first in the dark; Dunne did not see them again till they were taken. Dunne was received by a young girl he did not know. He had 'a bit of cake and cheese from my own house, and that I eat': he did not see Mrs. Lisle. So far, Jeffreys had been conducting an examination-in-chief, or what served the same purpose. Now the cross-examination begins--Dunne was forced to take the word of the first man who came to him that he would be paid. He was a baker, and would not bake on Sundays. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Alack-a-day! thou art precise in that, but thou canst travel on Sundays to lead rogues into lurking holes ... but I assure thee thy bread is very light weight, it will scarce pass the balance here. He left his horse in the stable, the other two left theirs outside the gate. He knew there were fugitives about the country; he did not ask the little man with the black beard who Hicks was. Hicks told him he was in debt. Did not the man who first came tell him Hicks was in debt and wanted to be concealed? He did. How came Dunne to be so impudent then as to tell such a lie? DUNNE--I beg your pardon, my Lord. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You beg my pardon! That is not because you told me a lye, but because I found you in a lye. Come Sirrah, tell me the truth. Where did Dunne sleep? in a chamber to which the girl showed him, he saw no one else; he put up his horse himself and fed him on hay which was in the rack; the stable-door was latched; he pulled up the latch. He knew his way to the stable, because he had been there before--even though it was dark. Carpenter the bailiff gave his horse hay and brought a light to the stable after he had gone there. Besides Carpenter and the girl he saw no one. He did not drink in the house; he had last drunk at Barton. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Now prithee tell me truly, where came Carpenter unto you? I must know the truth of that; I would not terrify thee to make thee say anything but the truth, but assure thyself I never met with a lying, sneaking, canting fellow, but I always treasured up vengeance for him; and therefore look to it, that thou dost not prevaricate with me, for be sure thou wilt come by the worst of it in the end. DUNNE--My Lord, I will tell the truth as near as I can. Carpenter met him in the court when he was with Hicks and Nelthorp; no one else was there; Carpenter opened the stable-door. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Why thou vile wretch, didst thou not tell me just now that thou pluckedst up the latch? Dost thou take the God of Heaven not to be a God of truth, and that He is not a witness of all thou sayest? Dost thou think because thou prevaricatest with the court here thou canst do so with the God above who knows thy thoughts? And it is infinite mercy, that, for these falsehoods of thine, he does not immediately strike thee into hell! Jesus God!... Did you not tell me that you opened the latch yourself and that you saw nobody else but a girl? How durst you offer to tell such horrid lies in the presence of God and of a court of Justice? Answer me one question more. Did he pull down the hay or you? Dunne did not pull down any hay; Carpenter took him into the house and to his room; but no one asked him to eat or drink; he did not know what became of the others' horses. JEFFREYS--Did you tell Carpenter that the horses were there? DUNNE--I did not tell him any such thing. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Thou art a strange, prevaricating, shuffling, sniveling lying rascal. _Barter_ was then called and sworn. Having been duly threatened he deposed that Dunne came to his house on Saturday; he guided Dunne to Moyles Court; Dunne gave Carpenter a letter. Carpenter would not meddle with it; Dunne went in to my lady. He went into the kitchen where my lady came in, and she asked if he could make bricks; she went up to Dunne 'laughing with him and looked at me.' He asked Dunne what she laughed at. Dunne said she asked if he knew anything of 'the concern,' and he, Dunne, answered no, and that this was what she laughed at. He was thereupon disturbed, and consulted Colonel Penruddock. It was agreed between them that he should guide Dunne and his friends across Salisbury Plain and that the Colonel should intercept them there; this plan, however, failed, and he left them when they insisted on going 'a private way over the fording bridge towards Moyles Court,' sending word, however, to Colonel Penruddock that they were at the house. Dunne told him that the men he was to guide had 'half a score of thousands of pounds a year a piece.' 'He' (Dunne) 'told me he had a very fine booty for his part, and that he should never want money again, that I should be very well paid, and he gave me half-a-crown.' Dunne is recalled, and denies that he gave Carpenter a letter or spoke to Barter of the wealth of the men he was to guide. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Then one thing more, Did you not tell him that you told my lady when she asked whether he was acquainted with this concern, that he knew nothing of the business? DUNNE--My lord, I did tell him so. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Did you so? Then you and I must have a little further discourse: Come now and tell us what business was that? and tell it us so, that a man may understand and believe that thou dost speak truth. DUNNE--Does your lordship ask what that business was? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Yes, it is a plain question; what was that business that my lady asked thee, whether the other man knew; and then you answered her, that he did know nothing of it? (Then he paused awhile.) LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Remember, friend, thou art upon thy oath; and remember, withall that it is not thy life, but thy soul that is now in danger; therefore I require from thee a plain answer to a very plain question: what was that business my lady enquired after, whether the other fellow knew, and thou toldest her, he did not? [Dunne made no answer, but stood musing awhile.] LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--He is studying and musing how he shall prevaricate; but thou hadst better tell the truth, friend; remember what thou hast said already; thou hast said that thou didst tell that man, that the lady asked you, whether he knew anything of the business, and thou toldest her, he did not? Now I would know what that business was. [Still he made no answer, but seemed to muse.] LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Look thee, if thou canst not comprehend what I mean, I will repeat it to thee again; for thou shalt see what countryman I am,[58] by my telling my story over twice; therefore I ask thee once again. Thou sayedst thy lady asked thee, whether he knew of the business: and thou toldest her he did not. Now let us know what that business was? DUNNE--I cannot mind it, my lord, what it was. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--But mind me, prithee: Thou didst tell that honest man there, that my lady Lisle asked thee, whether he knew anything of the business, and thou saidest no. What was that business? DUNNE--That business that Barter did not know of? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Yes, that is the business; be ingenuous, tell the truth: Oh! how hard the truth is to come out of a lying Presbyterian knave. Prithee, friend, consider the oath that thou hast taken, and that thou art in the presence of a God that cannot endure a lie, nor whose holiness will not admit him to dispense with a lie; consider that that God is an infinite being of purity, holiness and truth; and it would be inconsistent with his being to dispense with the least untruth; and thou hast called him to witness, that thou wouldest testify the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I charge thee, therefore, as thou wilt answer it to that God of truth, and that thou mayest be called to do, for aught I know, the very next minute, and there thou wilt not be able to palliate the truth; what was that business you and my lady spoke of?--[Then he paused for half a quarter of an hour, and at last said--] DUNNE--I cannot give an account of it, my lord. Jeffreys continued for a long time to use and repeat every possible kind of threat without being able to draw anything from Dunne; at last LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Why, prithee, dost thou think thou dost thy lady a kindness by this way of proceeding? Sure thou canst not think so; for such a sort of carriage were enough to convict her, if there were nothing else. DUNNE--Truly, my lord, I do think not to do her any kindness at all. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Then prithee, let me persuade thee to have some kindness for thyself; look to thy own soul that is in great peril of everlasting ruin and destruction by these means; dost thou call this religion? It is a prodigious piece of religion! Come pray tell me what business it was that you talked of? You should not have asked me a question so often, but I would have given you a plain answer, though I were under the obligation of an oath as you are. DUNNE--My lord, pray ask the question again once more and I will tell you. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I will so, and I will ask it you with all the calmness, and seriousness, and candour, that I can; if I know my own heart, it is not in my nature to desire the hurt of anybody, much less to delight in their eternal perdition; no, it is out of tender compassion to you, that I use all these words: I would have thee to have some regard to thy precious and immortal soul, which is more valuable than the whole world; reflect upon that scripture again which I mentioned before, which must be true because it is the words of him that is truth itself: what shall it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? If that soul of thine be taken away, what is the body fit for, but, like a putrid carcase, to be thrust into and covered with the dust with which it was made: therefore I ask you, with a great desire that thou mayest free thyself from so great a load of falshood and perjury, tell me what the business was you told the prisoner the other man Barter did not know. DUNNE--My lord, I told her, he knew nothing of our coming there. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Nay, nay, that can never be it, for he came along with thee. DUNNE--He did not know anything of my coming there till I met him on the way. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Prithee, mind my question; sure enough thou hadst told him whither thou wert going, or else he could not have been thy guide; so he must needs know of thy coming there: but what was the business thou told'st her, he did not know? DUNNE--She asked me whether I did not know that Hicks was a Nonconformist? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Did my lady Lisle ask you that question? DUNNE--Yes, my lord, I told her I did not. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--But that is not my question; what was that business that he did not know? DUNNE--It was the same thing; whether Mr. Hicks was a nonconformist. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--That cannot be all; there must be something more in it. DUNNE--Yes, my lord, it is all; I know nothing more. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--What did she say to you when you told her, he did not know it? DUNNE--She did not say anything, my lord. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Why, dost thou think, that after all this pains, that I have been at to get an answer to my question, that thou canst banter me with such sham stuff as this? Hold the candle to his face that we may see his brazen face. DUNNE--My lord, I tell you the truth. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Did she ask thee whether that man knew anything of a question she had asked thee, and that was only of being a nonconformist? DUNNE--Yes my lord, that was all. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--That is all nonsense; dost thou imagine that any man hereabouts is so weak as to believe thee? DUNNE--My lord, I am so baulked, I do not know what I say myself. Pollexfen here recalled Barter, who said that Dunne had told him that he had concealed the two men in his house for ten days, that it was the best job he had ever had in his life, and that he should never lack money again. All this Dunne denied having said; Barter, however, swore that he repeated it to Colonel Penruddock. _Colonel Penruddock_, being called and sworn, deposed that Barter came to his house on Monday morning and said he had been with Dunne upon a journey to Lady Lisle's house to get entertainment for some people. They were going to meet him on Tuesday between nine and eleven on Salisbury Plain, and Colonel Penruddock could take them there. He sent a servant to take them there, who missed them; and accordingly went with soldiers to Lady Lisle's house the next day, searched it, found Hicks and Dunne in the Malt House, the latter having 'covered himself up with some sort of stuff there,' and Nelthorp 'in a hole by the chimney.' LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Dunne, how came you to hide yourself in the malt-house? DUNNE--When I heard the stir and bustle, I went through the chamber where I lay, and came into that room where I was taken. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--When thou heardst a stir and a bustle, why wert thou afraid of anything? DUNNE--My lord, I was frightened at the noise. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Prithee, what needst thou be afraid for, thou didst not know Hicks nor Nelthorp? and my lady only asked thee whether Hicks were a Nonconformist parson. Thou art a very innocent soul, and surely need'st no occasion to be afraid. Colonel Penruddock did not remember Barter telling him what he said he did, but Barter said he apprehended the two men to be rebels, and 'that Dunne told him as much.' LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--What do you say to that, Dunne? It seems you told Barter that you apprehended them to be rebels? DUNNE--I apprehend them for rebels, my Lord? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--No, no, you did not apprehend them for rebels, but you hid them for rebels. But did you say to Barter that you took them to be rebels? DUNNE--I take them to be rebels! LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You blockhead, I ask you, did you tell him so? DUNNE--I tell Barter so? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Ay, is not that a plain question? DUNNE--I am quite cluttered out of my senses; I do not know that I say (A candle being still held nearer his nose). LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--But to tell the truth would rob thee of none of thy senses, if ever thou hadst any; but it should seem that neither thou, nor thy mistress the prisoner had any, for she knew nothing of it neither, though she had sent for them thither. Colonel Penruddock continuing, said he had some difficulty in getting admittance to Lady Lisle's house; he did not see her till after he had brought out Hicks and Dunne; she denied that anybody else was there, but he searched and found Nelthorp. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--But she denied it [Nelthorp's being there] first it seems? LISLE--My lord, I hope I shall not be condemned without being heard. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--No, God forbid, Mrs. Lisle. That was a sort of practice in your husband's time, you know very well what I mean; but God be thanked it is not so now; the king's courts of law never condemn without hearing. _Downing_ being called and sworn, deposed to finding Dunne and Hicks in the Malt-house, the former in a little hole 'where he had taken some stuff or other to cover him.' _Mrs. Carpenter_, the bailiff's wife, spoke to serving the men who came on Tuesday with supper in the chamber where they lay, and to Mrs. Lisle's presence there. _Carpenter_ spoke to Dunne's first arrival, when he asked for entertainment for Hicks and another whom he did not know. After the Carpenters had finished it appeared that Dunne had given way. MR. RUMSEY--Now, my lord, Dunne says he will tell all, whether it makes for him or against him. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Let him but tell the truth, and I shall be satisfied. DUNNE--Sure my lord, I never entertained these men a night in my house in my life; but this Hicks sent that man to me to go to my lady Lisle's, to know whether she would please to entertain him; and when I came my lady asked me whether he had been in the army or no? I told her I could not tell, I did not know that he was. She then asked me if he had nobody else with him? I told her I believed there was. This is the very truth of it, my lord. I asked her might the men be entertained? She said they might. So when we came to my lady Lisle's on the Tuesday night, somebody took the two horses, I cannot tell who if I were to die; the two went in; and after I had set up my horse, I went in along with Carpenter up into the chamber to my lady, and to this Hicks and Nelthorp; and when I came there, I heard my lady bid them welcome to her house; and Mr. Carpenter or the maid, I cannot tell which, brought in the supper, and set it on the table. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--And didst thou eat or drink with them in the room or not? DUNNE--My lord, I will tell everything that I know; I confess I did both eat and drink there in the room. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I pity thee with all my soul and pray to God Almighty for thee, to forgive thee, and to the Blessed Jesus to mediate for thee; and I pray for thee with as much earnestness, as I would for my own soul; and I beg of thee once more, as thou regardest thy own eternal welfare, to tell all the truth. DUNNE--My lord, I did never know these men were in the army when I carried the message to my lady Lisle's, nor never did entertain them in my house in my life time, so much as one night. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Prithee, I do not ask thee what thou didst not, but what thou didst? DUNNE--My lord, I will tell all I know. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--What discourse had you that night at the table in the room? DUNNE--I cannot tell what discourse truly, my lord, there was. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Was there nothing of coming beyond seas, who came from thence, and how they came? Come I would have it rather the effect of thy own ingenuity, than lead thee by any questions I can propound; come tell us what was the discourse? DUNNE--I do not remember all the discourse. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Prithee let me ask thee one question, and answer me it fairly; didst thou hear Nelthorp's name named in the room? DUNNE--My lord, I cannot tell whether he were called Nelthorp, but it was either Crofts or Nelthorp, I am sure one of them. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Prithee, be ingenious, and let us have the truth on it. DUNNE--My lord, I am ingenious and will be so. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I will assure you Nelthorp told me all the story before I came out of town.[59] DUNNE--I think, my lord, he was called Nelthorp in the room, and there was some discourse about him. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Ay, there was unquestionably, and I know thou wert by, and that made me the more concerned to press upon thee the danger of forswearing thyself. DUNNE--My lady asked Hicks who that gentleman was, and he said it was Nelthorp, as I remember. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Very well, and upon that discourse with Nelthorp, which I had in town, did I give particular direction, that the outlawry of Nelthorp should be brought down hither, for he told me particularly of all the passages and discourses of his being beyond sea: I would not mention any such thing as any piece of evidence to influence this case, but I could not but tremble to think, after what I knew, that any one should dare so much to prevaricate with God and man, as to tell such horrid lyes in the face of a Court. DUNNE--What does your lordship ask me? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Come I will ask thee a plain question; was there no discourse there about the battle, and of their being in the army? DUNNE--There was some such discourse, my lord. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Ay, prithee now tell us what that discourse was. DUNNE--My lord, I will tell you, when I have recollected it, if you will give me time till to-morrow morning. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Nay, but we cannot stay so long, our business must be dispatched now; but I would have all people consider, what a reason there is, that they should be pressed to join with me in hearty prayers to Almighty God, that this sin of lying and perjury may never be laid at thy door. What say'st thou? Prithee, tell us what the discourse was? DUNNE--My lord, they did talk of fighting, but I cannot exactly tell what the discourse was. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--And thou saidst thou didst eat and drink with them in the same room? DUNNE--I did so, my lord, I confess it. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--And it was not a little girl that lighted thee to bed, or conducted thee in? DUNNE--It was not a little girl. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Who was it then? DUNNE--It was Mr. Carpenter, my lord. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--And why didst thou tell us so many lyes then? Jesu God! that we should live to see any such creatures among mankind, nay, and among us too, to the shame and reproach be it spoken of our nation and religion: is this that that is called the Protestant religion, a thing so much boasted of, and pretended to? we have heard a great deal of clamour against Popery and dispensations; what dispensations, pray, does the Protestant religion give for such practices as these? I pity thee with all my soul, and pray for thee, but it cannot but make all mankind to tremble, and be filled with horror, that such a wretched creature should live upon the earth: Prithee be free, and tell us what discourse there was. DUNNE--My lord, they did talk of fighting but I cannot remember what it was. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Did you lie with them? DUNNE--No, my lord, I did not. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Well I see thou wilt answer nothing ingenuously, therefore I will trouble myself no more with thee: go on with your evidence, gentlemen. MR. JENNINGS--My lord, we have done, we have no more witnesses. _Mrs. Lisle_ is then called upon for her defence, and proceeds to say that had she been tried in London Lady Abergavenny and other persons of quality could have testified with what detestation she had spoken of the rebellion, and that she had been in London till Monmouth was beheaded. She had denied Nelthorp's being in the house because of her fear of the soldiers, who were very rude and violent and could not be restrained by their officers from robbery and plundering my house. And I beseech your lordship to make that construction of it; and I humbly beg of your lordship not to harbour an ill opinion of me, because of those false reports that go about of me relating to my carriage towards the old king, that I was any ways consenting to the death of King Charles I., for, my lord, that is as false as God is true; my lord, I was not out of my chambers all the day in which that king was beheaded, and I believe I shed more tears for him than any woman then living did; and this the late Countess of Monmouth, and my lady Marlborough, and my lord chancellor Hyde, if they were alive, and twenty persons of the most eminent quality could hear witness for me. She did not know Nelthorp, and only took Hicks because he was a nonconformist minister, and there being warrants out against all such, she was willing to shelter him from them. She then called _Creed_, who said that he heard Nelthorp say that Lady Lisle did not know of his coming, and did not know his name, and that he did not tell his name till he was taken. Lady Lisle then concluded her defence by fresh protestations of her loyalty to the King. But though I could not fight for him myself, my son did, he was actually in arms on the King's side in this business. I instructed him always in loyalty, and sent him thither; it was I that bred him up to fight for the King. _Jeffreys_ begins his summing up by reminding the jury of the terms of their oath and reminding them of their duty-- That not any thing can move you either to compassion of the prisoner on the one hand, or her allegations and protestations of innocence; nor, on the other hand, to be influenced by anything that comes from the court, or is insinuated by the learned counsel at the bar, but that you will entirely consider what evidence has been given to you, and being guided by that evidence alone, you that are judges of the fact will let us know the truth of that fact, by a sincere and upright verdict. He goes on to dwell on the wickedness of Monmouth's rebellion, and the mercy of God as shown in the restoration of Charles II. and the best of religions, the true Protestant reformed religion, the religion established by law, which now is, and I hope will ever remain established among us, as now professed and practised in the Church of England. After dwelling on this and on the blessing of having asked so steadfast a supporter of the Church of England as James II., he proceeds to discuss the actual facts of the case. This person, Mrs. Lisle, the prisoner at the bar, she is accused for receiving and harbouring this person: and gentlemen, I must tell you for law, of which we are the judges, and not you, That if any person be in actual rebellion against the King and another person (who really and actually was not in rebellion) does receive, harbour, comfort and conceal him that was such, a receiver is as much a traitor as he who indeed bore arms: We are bound by our oaths and consciences, to deliver and declare to you what is law; and you are bound by your oaths and consciences to deliver and declare to us, by your verdict, the truth of the fact. Gentlemen, that he [Hicks] was there in rebellion, is undeniably and unquestionably proved: That there are sufficient testimonies to satisfy you that this woman did receive and harbour him, is that which is left to your consideration; and, for that the proofs lie thus: And truly I am sorry to have occasion for repeating the circumstances of the proof; I mean the great art that has been used to conceal it; how difficult a thing it was to come at it; what time has been spent in endeavouring to find out truth in a fellow, that in defiance of all admonition, threats and persuasion, would prevaricate and shuffle to conceal that truth; nay lie, and forswear himself to contradict it. But out of pure Christian charity, as I told him, so I tell you I do heartily pray, and all good Christians I hope will join with me in it, to the God of infinite mercy that He would have mercy upon his soul, upon which he hath contracted so great a guilt by the impudence of his behaviour and pertinacious obstinacy in those falsehoods which he hath made use of in this case. Gentlemen, I would willingly forget all his prevarications, but I must take notice of them in short, to come to the truth. First he says, he came upon an errand from a man, he knows not whom, to my Lady Lisle's house; and thither he is brought by one Barter; and when he comes there he tells her, he comes in the name of one Hicks, who desired to be entertained there. Then she asks the question, whether Hicks had been in the army; and he told her he did not know; and he swears now he did not: But at last it came out that it was to entertain Hicks and another person; but it should seem that other persons were not named; and Barter tells you that Hicks and another person (who afterwards proved to be Nelthorp) are promised to be entertained, and ordered to come in the evening. But not to go backward and forward, as he has done in his evidence, denying what he afterwards acknowledged that he saw anybody besides a little girl; that he pulled down the hay out of the rack for his horse; that he eat anything but cake and cheese that he brought with him from home; that he was ever made to drink, or to eat or drink in the house, or ever meddled or made with any body in the house. At last we are told that Carpenter met with him; and came out with a lanthorn and candle, took care of his horse, carried him into the room where Hicks and Nelthorp were, and the prisoner at the bar, Mrs. Lisle; there they all supped together; there they fell into discourse; there Nelthorp's name was named, and they talked of being in the army, and of the fight; and so it is all come out, and makes a full and positive evidence. But then suppose there was no more than the other evidence, and that the fellow remain in an hardhearted obstinacy, then you are to consider the circumstances even from his first evidence, that this was after the rebellion was all over; for it seems during the rebellion she was in London, and it was notoriously known that the King's forces were in pursuit of the rebels, and this without any positive proof would be in itself a sufficient testimony to convice any considerate person, that she was to conceal those she ought not to conceal; because she directed the particular time wherein they should come, and that was at night; and no prudent person would receive strangers in the night, and give such directions in such a season without some extraordinary ground for it. When they came there, she provided a supper for them; and you see what care is taken, that the woman only is permitted to bring that supper to the door, and the husband must set it on the table; nobody is permitted to attend there but he. Works of darkness always desire to be in the dark; works of rebellion and such like, are never done in the light. But then comes that honest fellow Barter (I call him so because he appears so to be, and he ought to be remembered with a great remark for his honesty), he tells you, he conducted him to the house, and what discourse passed there in his hearing. The prisoner asked him what countryman he was, and whether he was a brick-maker, and promised him so many acres of land in Carolina. The fellow upon observation and consideration, found himself under a great load, could not eat or sleep quietly, as men that have honest minds are uneasy under such things; falshood and treason, and hypocrisy are a heavy load; and blessed be God, things were by this means discovered: for he goes and tells Col. Penruddock; and withal Dunne swears to Barter, it was the bravest job he had ever had in his life; whereas in the beginning of his story, he would have told you a strange story of a black beard and I do not know what, and that he got not one groat by it; that he gave the man 2s. 6d. out of his own pocket, and was so industrious as when he knew the way no farther, that he would hire one himself to shew him the way, and all for nothing but only for the kindness he had for a black beard. Besides, gentlemen, I am sorry to remember something that dropped even from the gentlewoman herself; she pretends to religion and loyalty very much, how greatly she wept at the death of King Charles the Martyr, and owns her great obligations to the late King, and his royal brother; that she had not had a being, nor any thing to maintain it for twenty years last past but from their bounty, and yet no sooner is one in the grave, but she forgets all gratitude and entertains those that were rebels against his royal successor; I will not say what hand her husband had in the death of that blessed martyr, she has enough to answer for of her own guilt; and I must confess it ought not one way or other to make any ingredient into this case what she was in former times, and I told a relation of hers, a Mr. Tipping by name, that came to me, last night, to desire that she might not lie under some imputations that were gone abroad of her that she rejoiced at the death of King Charles I., nor that any false report of that nature might influence the Court or jury against her, that it should not;--be the thing true or false, it is of no weight one way or other in the trial of this case, nor is she to be accountable for it. But I must remember you of one particular, that is plain upon this evidence, and is of very great moment in this case; that after all these private messages and directions given to come by night, and the kind reception they met with when they came, and after all this care to lodge them and feed them, when Col. Penruddock, after the discovery made by Barter, came to search her house, then she had nobody in it truly, which is an aggravation of the offence testified by col. Penruddock himself, whose father likewise was a martyr, and died for his fidelity to the crown; and who was the judge of that father we all very well know.[60] God Almighty is a just God, and it may be worth considering (especially by her) how God has been pleased to make use of him as the instrument in this business; and she would do likewise well to consider the finger of God in working upon the heart of that man Barter, who was employed in all this affair, and that all the truth has been told by Nelthorp,[61] that blackest of villains Nelthorp, that would have murdered the King and his royal brother; that he was one of those barbarous, malicious assassinates in that black conspiracy, and outlawed, should be harboured, by one that pretends a love for the royal family, and entertained and discoursed with at night about being in the army; yet that he and that other villain Hicks, who pretends to religion, and to be a preacher of the gospel, but is found in rebellion, and in the company of traitors, should be denied the next morning. I hope they themselves are all by this time satisfied truth will come out, and I hope you will not be deceived by any specious pretences. Our forefathers have been deluded, but the deception I hope is now at an end. And I must needs say if all these witnesses that have freely discovered their knowledge, joined to that truth which is at length drawn from that Dunne, be worthy of any credit, it is as plain a proof as can be given, and as evident as the sun at noon day. Gentlemen, upon your consciences be it; the preservation of the government, the life of the King, the safety and honour of our religion, and the discharge of our consciences as loyal men, good Christians, and faithful subjects, are at stake; neither her age or her sex are to move you who have nothing else to consider but the evidence of the fact you are to try. I charge you therefore, as you will answer it at the bar of the last judgment, where you and we must all appear, deliver your verdict according to conscience and truth. With that Great God the impartial judge there is no such thing as respect of persons, and in our discharge of our duty in courts of justice, he has enjoined us his creatures, that we must have no such thing as a friend in the administration of justice, all our friendship must be to truth, and our care to preserve that inviolate. LISLE--My lord, if your lordship please---- LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Mistress, you have had your turn, you cannot now be heard any more after the jury is charged. MRS. LISLE--My lord, I did not know Nelthorp, I declare it, before he was taken. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You are not indicted for Nelthorp, but we are not to enter into dialogues now, the jury must consider of it. JURY-MAN--Pray my lord, some of us desire to know of your lordship in point of law, whether it be the same thing, and equally treason, in receiving him before he was convicted of treason, as if it had been after. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--It is all the same, of that certainly can be no doubt; for if in case this Hicks had been wounded in the rebels' army, and had come to her house and there been entertained but had died there of his wounds, and so could never have been convicted, she had been nevertheless a traitor.[62] Then the jury withdrew, and staying out a while the Lord Jeffreys expressed a great deal of impatience, and said that he wondered in so plain a case they would go from the bar, and would have sent for them with an intimation, that if they did not come quickly, he would adjourn, and let them lie by it all night; but about after half-an-hour's stay, the Jury returned, and the foreman addressed himself to the Court thus: FOREMAN--My lord, we have one thing to beg of your lordship some directions in, before we can give our verdict in this case; We have some doubt upon us whether there be sufficient proof that she knew Hicks to have been in the army. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--There is as full proof as proof can be; but you are judges of the proof, for my part I thought there was no difficulty in it. FOREMAN--My lord, we are in some doubt of it. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I cannot help your doubts, was there not proved a discourse of the battle and of the army at supper time? FOREMAN--But my lord, we are not satisfied that she had notice that Hicks was in the army. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I cannot tell what would satisfy you; Did she not enquire of Dunne, whether Hicks had been in the army? and when he told her he did not know, she did not say she would refuse him if he had been there, but ordered him to come by night, by which it is evident she suspected it, and when he and Nelthorp came, discoursed with them about the battle and the army. Come, come, gentlemen, it is a plain proof. FOREMAN--My lord, we do not remember it was proved that she did ask any such question when they were there. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Sure you do not remember anything that has passed! Did not Dunne tell you there was such discourse, and she was by, and Nelthorp's name was named. But if there were no such proof the circumstances and management of the thing is as full of proof as can be; I wonder what it is you doubt of. MRS. LISLE--My lord, I hope---- LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--You must not speak now. Then the jury laid their heads together for near a quarter of an hour, and at length agreed, and being called over, delivered in this verdict by the foreman. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--Alice Lisle, hold up thy hand. Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner, how say ye? Is she guilty of the treason whereof she stands indicted, or not guilty. FOREMAN--Guilty. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--What goods or chattels, lands or tenements had she? FOREMAN--None that we know of. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--Look to her, jailor, she is found guilty of high treason; and prepare yourself to die. Then the verdict was recorded. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Gentlemen, I did not think I should have any occasion to speak after your verdict, but finding some hesitancy and doubt among you, I cannot but say I wonder it should come about; for I think in my conscience the evidence was as full, and plain as could be, and if I had been among you, and she had been my own mother, I should have found her guilty. Then the Court adjourned till the next morning. The next day Lady Lisle and other prisoners were brought up to receive sentence. Jeffreys, after lamenting the condition of 'you Mrs. Lisle, a gentlewoman of quality and of fortune, so far stricken in years, one who all your life-time have been a great pretender to, and professor of, religion, and of that religion which bears a very good name, the Protestant religion,' goes on to point out that 'there is no religion whatsoever (except that hypocritical profession of theirs which deserves not the name of religion, I mean the canting, whining Presbyterian, phanatical profession) that gives the least countenance to rebellion or faction.' He cannot but deplore 'that in this little case so many perjuries should be added to the crime of treason, such as for my part I cannot but tremble to remember.' She should repent of her own false asseverations and protestations that you upon your salvation should pretend ignorance in the business, when since that time, ever since last night, there has been but too much discovered how far you were concerned: no it is not unknown who were sent for upon the Monday night, in order to have that rebellious seditious fellow to preach to them, what directions were given to come through the orchard the back and private way, what orders were given for provision and how the horses were appointed to be disposed of. After exhortations to all the prisoners to repent, the Court awards that you Mrs. Lisle be conveyed from hence to the place from whence you came, and from thence you are to be drawn on a hurdle to the place of execution, where your body is to be burnt alive till you be dead. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul. The rest of the prisoners then had the usual judgment as in cases of felony. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Look you, Mrs. Lisle, when I left his majesty he was pleased to remit the time of all executions to me; that whenever I found any obstinacy or impenitence I might order the executions with what speed I should think best; therefore Mr. Sheriff, take notice you are to prepare for this execution of this gentlewoman this afternoon. But on that, I give you, the prisoner, this intimation; we that are the judges shall stay in town an hour or two; you shall have pen, ink and paper, brought you, and if in the mean time you employ that pen, ink and paper, and this hour or two well (you understand what I mean) it may be you may hear further from us, in a deferring the execution. On the intercession of 'some divines of the church of Winchester' execution was respited till 2nd of September; and her sentence was afterwards commuted to beheading. She was accordingly beheaded on the afternoon of the 2nd of September 1685 in the market-place of Winchester. In 1689, on the petition of her daughters Mrs. Lloyd and Mrs. Askew, her attainder was annulled by Act of Parliament on the ground that the verdict was 'injuriously extorted and procured by the menaces and violences and other illegal practices of George Lord Jeffreys, baron of Wem, then Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench.'[63] FOOTNOTES: [53] George Jeffreys, Baron Jeffreys of Wem (1648-1689), was born, of good family, near Wrexham in Denbighshire. He was educated at Shrewsbury, St. Paul's, Westminster, and Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was admitted in 1662. He first practised at the Old Bailey and the Middlesex Sessions, then held at Hicks's Hall. His learning in law was never extensive; but his natural abilities were very great, and, as far as one can judge from the reports, he practised cross-examination with much more real skill than most of his contemporaries. In fact, his cross-examinations from the bench, though scandalous and brutal to the last degree, seem to be the earliest instances we have of the art as now understood. He was appointed Common Serjeant in 1671, left the popular party and was made Solicitor-General to the Duke of York in 1677, and became Recorder of London in 1678. He did what he could to aid in the persecutions connected with the Popish Plot, and was made Chief-Justice of Chester in 1680. The House of Commons petitioned the King for his removal from office in the same year, for the part he had taken in opposing petitions for a Parliament; and he was reprimanded by the House and resigned his Recordership the same year, but was made Chairman of the Middlesex Sessions soon afterwards. He was the chief promoter of the _Quo Warranto_ proceedings by which the City was deprived of its charter, and was engaged in the prosecution of Lord Russell. He was made Lord Chief-Justice in 1683. He presided at the trials of Algernon Sidney and Titus Oates. He was called to the House of Lords in 1685, and tried Richard Banks in the same year. On his return from the 'Bloody Assize' he was made Lord Chancellor. He suggested the revival of the Court of High Commission, and presided in it at the proceedings against Magdalen College. He advised the trial of the Seven Bishops, and narrowly missed being made Chancellor of the University of Oxford. On the flight of James II. he attempted to escape disguised as a sailor, but was seized in the Red Cow in Anchor and Hope Alley. He was removed to the Tower, where he died, and was buried in the next grave to Monmouth. The well-deserved detestation with which he was regarded makes it difficult to form any just estimate of his character. Where he had no temptation to do injustice he seems to have been a very good judge; but he had no hesitation in doing gross injustice by detestable methods, for wholly discreditable reasons. He is not seen quite at his worst in Alice Lisle's trial, because she was probably guilty and Dunne was a liar; nor is he seen at his best as a cross-examiner, because he had very good material to go on. He has been unfortunate in attracting the notice of popular writers such as Burnet, Campbell, and Macaulay, who have all found him a convenient subject for picturesque abuse; and a tendency to not too ingenious paradox diminishes the value of the work of a more recent biographer written from the opposite point of view. [54] Appointed Attorney-General in 1689, and Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas in the same year. He was a prominent Whig, and at the time of this trial had appeared for the defence in several previous State Trials, among others that of Lord Russell, vol. ii. p. 6. He afterwards appeared for the defence in the case of the Seven Bishops, and was well known as an adherent of the Prince of Orange at the Revolution. He died in 1691. [55] See his dying speech, _State Trials_, xi. 312, in which he makes no reference to Lady Lisle. [56] This passage with several others proves that Jeffreys had got up the case beforehand pretty much as counsel would to-day. Cf. pp. 246, 259, 268, 273. [57] Cf. p. 245. [58] He was born in Denbighshire. [59] Cf. p. 245. [60] _Ante_, p. 239. [61] Cf. _ante_, p. 245. [62] Lady Lisle's attainder was afterwards reversed on the ground that this ruling is wrong; it does not represent the present law (see Stephen's _Digest_, art. 62), which, however, rests on a subsequent dictum of Hale's followed by Foster, due probably to his recollection of this case. Sir James Stephen suggests that as a matter of mere law Jeffreys may have been right (_Hist. Crim. Law_, vol. ii. p. 234); he also says: 'I think that this is another of the numerous instances in which there really was no definite law at all, and in which the fact that a particular course was taken by a cruel man for a bad purpose has been regarded as a proof that the course taken was illegal.'--(_Ibid._, vol. i. p. 413). [63] Cf. with note, p. 270. Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press * * * * * TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES Pages 11, 37: Inconsistent spelling of Gawdie/Gawdy as in original. Pages 12, 25: Inconsistent hyphenation of Durham House/Durham-House as in original. Pages 16, 153: Inconsistent spelling of musquets/muskets as in original. Page 21: machiavelian standardised to Machiavelian (second occurrence). Pages 30, 41: Inconsistent hyphenation of hearsay/hear-say as in original. Page 42, footnote 17: Inconsistent spelling of Amias/Amyas as in original. Pages 55, 97, 99, footnote 56: Inconsistent hyphenation of beforehand/ before-hand as in original. Page 91: your's as in original. Page 103: Repeated 'the' removed in 'Answer must be the the same'. Page 127, footnote 30: Inconsistent spelling of Geoffry/Geoffrey as in original. Pages 129, 159: Inconsistent spelling of visor/vizor as in original. Page 135: Lord-Chief Baron standardised to Lord Chief-Baron. Page 137: latitute as in original. Page 142: Commonweath corrected to Commonwealth. Page 152: waved as in original. Pages 162, 204: Inconsistent hyphenation of apiece/a-piece as in original. Page 164: Capell standardised to Capel (third occurrence). Page 166: Reference to Mr. . G. Stephens as in original. It is unclear whether there should be another initial or the full-stop (period) should be removed. Footnote 37: Livingtone standardised to Livingstone. Various sources give the name as Livingstone, Livingston or Levingston. Page 197: 'More that that' as in original. Page 206: Inconsistency between Sheriffs and Sheriff as in original. It is unclear whether this is an error on Col. Turner's part or in the printed text. Page 215: Amy Durent as printed. It should perhaps read Amy Duny. Page 227, footnote 52: Inconsistent spelling of Brown/Browne in footnote as in original. Page 233: Inconsistent hyphenation of boat-man/boatman as in original. Pages 243, 253: falshood as in original. Pages 245, 249: Inconsistent spelling of sniveling/snivelling as in original. Page 254: 'after all this pains' as in original. Pages 255, 257: Inconsistent hyphenation of Malt House/malt-house/ Malt-house as in original. Page 266: convice as in original. Page 271: Jeffries standardised to Jeffreys. 
43714	----	Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. [Illustration: Sandy looked around quickly and saw Sidney standing with his rifle aimed and resting on the branch of the tree.--Page 22. _With the Regulators._] The Boy Spies With the Regulators The Story of how the Boys assisted the Carolina Patriots to drive the British from that State. BY JAMES OTIS A. L. BURT COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Copyright 1901 BY A. L. BURT Under the Title of With the Regulators THE BOY SPIES WITH THE REGULATORS CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. OURSELVES 1 II. A TREASONABLE ACT 20 III. PROMISES 41 IV. THE RESCUE 62 V. AT BRUNSWICK 83 VI. BESIEGED 104 VII. TIMELY AID 125 VIII. SANDY WELLS 146 IX. TRYON'S DEMONSTRATION 167 X. THE LONG NIGHT 188 XI. THE TRIAL 209 XII. THE PROCLAMATION 231 XIII. WAR DECLARED 249 XIV. THE CONVOY 269 XV. THE BATTLE 289 The Boy Spies With the Regulators CHAPTER I. OURSELVES. It is not for one like me to make any pretense at trying to fashion a scholar's story out of the poor efforts of Sidney Hubbard, and myself, Clare Butler, to second the brave work of those noble men who, by enduring countless hardships and sparing not their own blood, finally rid the Carolinas of those leeches who claimed to be the king's servants--Governor William Tryon, Edmund Fanning and others of like brood. I count to set down on these pages such an account as I may be able to give concerning what we of the Carolinas did in those dark days eight years before the first patriot blood was shed at Lexington, and this task is to be performed simply that my descendants may, by reading our story, use their utmost efforts to preserve the fair country which has cost their forefathers so much of blood, anguish and bodily suffering. To begin, Sidney Hubbard is my first cousin, his mother and mine being sisters. We lived, in 1768, on the Alamance, near where, later, was fought what may rightly be termed the first battle in the struggle of the colonies for independence. Our fathers were humble farmers, with a scanty store of this world's goods, and continually ground down by those whom the king had set in authority over us, chief among which may be reckoned the Irishman Tryon, and Fanning, who was born on Long Island, if I remember rightly. I cannot set down in my own words a picture of the Carolinas at the time when Sidney Hubbard and I were come sixteen years of age, therefore, in order that all the conditions of public affairs may be fully understood, I shall copy here what was written many years later by one who may justly style himself a historian:[1] "The passage of the Stamp Act produced great uneasiness in the public mind in North Carolina, as well as in the other provinces. Already the extortions of public officers in the exactions of fees for legal services had greatly irritated the people, and they regarded the requirements of the Stamp Act as a more gigantic scheme for legal plunder.... William Tryon had been acting governor and commander-in-chief of the province from the death of Governor Dobbs, April 1st, 1765, and now began his career of misrule in America. He was appointed governor toward the close of the year. This was the same Tryon, afterward governor of New York, haughty, innately cruel, fond of show, obsequious when wishing favors, and tyrannical when independent; he was entirely incompetent to govern a people like the free, outspoken colonists of the Upper Carolinas. "For several years previous to the Stamp Act excitement, rebellion had been ripening among the people in the western counties. The rapacity of public officers, and the corrupt character of ministers of justice, weighed heavily upon the property and spirits of the people. The most prominent evils complained of were the exorbitant charges of the clerks of the Superior Courts, whereby these courts had become instruments of oppression; and oppressive taxes exacted by the sheriffs, and the outrages committed by those officers when their authority was questioned in the least. These evils everywhere existed, and every petition of the people for redress appeared to be answered by increased extortions." It was William Husband, a Quaker from Pennsylvania, who banded our people together in what was called "A Regulation," and each member signed an agreement to pay no more taxes "until satisfied they were legal; to pay officers no more fees than the strict letter of the law required, unless forced to, and then to show open resentment; to be cautious in the selection of representatives, and to petition the governor, council, king and parliament for a redress of grievances; to keep up a continual correspondence with each other; to defray all necessary expenses, all differences in judgment to be submitted to the whole Regulation, the judgment of the majority to be final." Each member was bound by a solemn oath to stand faithful to the cause until matters had been brought to a true and just regulation. Meetings were held regularly in the vicinity of Hillsborough, and in a few weeks the Regulation was a permanent and a powerful body. About this time "the pride and folly of Governor Tryon led him to demand" from the Assembly an appropriation of twenty-five thousand dollars that he might build a palace, and this burden, together with the many which had been laid upon us, was most oppressive. "The inhabitants of North Carolina were now thoroughly awakened to the conviction that both the local and imperial government were practically hostile to the best interests of the colonists. The taxes hitherto were very burdensome; now the cost of the palace, and the appropriation to defray the expenses of running the dividing line between their province and the hunting-grounds of the Cherokees, made them insupportable. A poll tax of one dollar and fifty cents was levied on every male, white or black, between the ages of sixteen and sixty years of age. "The rapacity of public officers appeared to increase, and the people saw no prospect of relief. Among the most obnoxious men who had grown rich by extortionate fees, was Edmund Fanning, a lawyer of ability. He was regarded as a co-worker with the government. The people detested him, and avoided no occasion to express their displeasure. His first open rupture with the Regulators was in the spring of 1768. Tryon issued a proclamation, half menacing and half persuasive, evidently intended to awe the Regulation and persuade the other inhabitants to avoid that association. He sent his secretary, David Edwards, to cooperate with Fanning in giving force to the proclamation among the people. "They directed the sheriff to appoint a meeting of the vestry-men of the parishes and the leading Regulators, to consult upon the public good and settle all differences. Fair promises dispelled the suspicions of the Regulators, and their vigilance slumbered while awaiting the day of meeting. They were not yet fully acquainted with the falsity of their governor, or they would never have heeded the fair words of his proclamation. They were soon assured of the hollowness of his professions, for, while they were preparing, in good faith, to meet government officers in friendly convention, the sheriff, at the instigation of Fanning, proceeded, with thirty horsemen, to arrest Herman Husband and William Hunter on a charge of riotous conduct. "These, the most prominent men among the Regulators, were seized and cast into Hillsborough jail. The whole country was aroused by this treachery, and a large body of the people, led by Ninian Bell Hamilton, a brave old Scotchman of threescore-and-ten-years, marched toward Hillsborough to rescue the prisoners." Some idea may be had of our unhappy province, by aid of the above account, written in all fairness, and yet not stating our grievances as thoroughly as they should be set down, and now I feel warranted in saying that from the day of Masters Husband's and Hunter's arrest Sidney Hubbard and I began to prove ourselves _men_ of the Carolinas. We were both just turned sixteen, Sidney being but two days older than I, and already had the sheriff warned us that we must pay the taxes which had been assessed, or be sent to jail where many a poor wretch was confined, simply because he had not the money with which to satisfy the governor's unjust demands. It was on the day after the arrest of our neighbors that we two lads met old Jacob Peyster, a God-fearing man, and one who was ready and willing to lay down his life for the good of the Carolinas. "Why are ye abroad this morning?" he asked, reining in a mettlesome horse which he had raised from a colt, and we were forced to bring our steeds to a halt, or give fair proof that we lacked good breeding. "We came out to learn if there was any news concerning those honest men whom the king's knaves took into custody yesterday," Sidney made answer before I, who was ever slow of speech, could do so much as open my mouth. "Masters Husband and Hunter have been clapped in prison at Hillsborough," the old man said sorrowfully, "and unless the true men of the Carolinas take the matter in hand, they are like to be held by the brute Tryon till the little property they own has passed into the hands of his majesty's gluttons." "You speak as if there was some hope the men of the Carolinas would resist this outrage," Sidney cried excitedly. "Aye, lad, and so they will. Hamilton, the Scotchman, is in arms and enlisting under his flag those who love the colony better than they do the king. Have you youngsters paid the tax which is levied on all who have lived sixteen years or more?" "It is not likely that I shall be able to do so," I hastened to make answer. "My father cannot give me the money, and the little I had hoarded up from the sale of my furs, went toward paying the last levy made against our poor home." "It looks much as though both Clare and I might soon join Masters Husband and Hunter at Hillsborough, for I have heard it said that but a short time will be allowed us of the Carolinas in which to gather the money to pay the tax, so eager is Governor Tryon to build his palace," and as he spoke Sidney tried in vain to appear unconcerned, but I, who knew that which was in his mind, had good proof that he was in deadly fear of the arrest concerning which he spoke so glibly. "Aye, lads, the time will be made short indeed. I hear that Lawyer Fanning is issuing warrants for those who are not down on the governor's books as having paid the unjust assessment. You are like to be deprived of liberty soon, unless----" "Unless what?" Sidney asked eagerly as Master Peyster hesitated. "Perhaps it is wrong for me to speak further without knowing of what minds are your parents." "That can be easily learned; our fathers have not the money with which to pay their own tax, after giving up all they owned to aid in satisfying the thirst for gold with which the king's officers in this colony are afflicted," Sidney said with a laugh which had in it nothing of mirth. "Then how will you answer the collectors?" old Jacob asked, eying us sharply. "If it so be I can find a hiding-place, there will be no answer given," I made haste to reply. "Sidney and I were discussing the matter even as we met you." "By joining the force which Ninian Hamilton is gathering you may be free from the sheriffs for a time; but it is possible that by so doing you will be charged with treason." "Do you count on serving with him, Master Peyster?" Sidney asked, and the old man replied quickly, "I have already set down my name as one who will serve the colonies to the best of my poor powers, for I am of the Regulation, as are your fathers. I am but now summoning all of the association to the rescue of those who are so unjustly imprisoned--those who were taken because they put faith in Tryon's sworn word." "Where may Master Hamilton's force be found?" I asked eagerly, for now my mind was made up to join those who would measure strength against the king. My plight could not well be worse in case I should be charged with treason, for of a verity the inability to raise such an amount of money as the hungry officeholders demanded was, in the Carolinas, a greater crime than that of conspiring against the king himself. "The rendezvous is near Chapel Hill, where the highway crosses the New Hope River. You will not be welcomed, however, unless you go armed, for the association can provide neither weapons nor money." Having said this much old Jacob spurred his horse on, as if afraid of saying anything which might influence us in our decision; but he need not have been so particular, because even before he ceased speaking both Sidney and I were resolved. The dear lad turned to me with a question in his eyes when Master Peyster rode away, and I answered it by saying: "There is naught else left for us to do. From what the old man said we know that the sheriff's officers will soon be at our heels, and anything is better than rotting in Hillsborough jail." "Then we have only to turn back for our weapons, and the treason is complete," he said with a laugh, wheeling his horse around as he spoke. I could see nothing of mirthfulness in the act we were about to commit, although I was none the less determined to join Master Hamilton's forces. This hurried visit to our homes would be the last, perhaps, forever, and even under the most favorable circumstances, hiding as we should be from the sheriff's officers, neither Sidney nor I would be able to visit our loved ones, save by stealth, until many months had passed. I say again, it was a desperate act for two lads hardly more than sixteen years of age, and yet there appeared to be no alternative. We rode to our homes swiftly, and without indulging in conversation; each of us had so much food for thought that he could not speak of ordinary matters. The Hubbard plantation was no more than two miles from my home, and it came first on our road. I remained outside, not dismounting, while Sidney entered, and when perhaps half an hour had passed he joined me, turning his head ever so little lest I should see traces of tears on his cheeks. He had with him his rifle, a brace of pistols which had been his father's, a new hunting knife, and a package which I fancied was made up of provisions. "Did your father make any protest?" I asked while he was mounting. "He set off for the rendezvous an hour ago," Sidney replied, doing his best to suppress a sob. "Mother believed it was best for me to join him rather than go to Hillsborough jail, and did what she might to hasten my departure." When he was mounted we rode on to my home, and he remained outside while I broke the news to my mother. She, dear soul, was not surprised. Old Jacob had stopped there to summon father, who was one of the Regulators, and almost before I could speak she clasped me to her bosom, saying gently and lovingly: "Yes, you must go, my boy, and my share of the heavy burden which the Lord has laid upon the colony will be to remain here alone, trembling at every sound lest it betokens the coming of some one who brings tidings that my son or my husband has been killed. If perchance such a blow is dealt me, I shall know that you died like brave men in the performance of duty--for it is your duty to aid the oppressed. Do not delay, gather up such articles as will be needed, and then kiss me farewell; I cannot linger on the parting." In less than half an hour I joined Sidney, giving no heed as to whether he could see the tears in my eyes, and during a full hour we rode at a gentle pace towards the rendezvous without speaking. In that time it seemed to me that I had passed the age of boyhood and was become a man, for of a verity I had set my face towards a man's work whether I might accomplish it or no. Then we both struggled to throw off the grief which enveloped us until the day was like unto the night, and spoke of what might be done if all who had joined the Regulation came forward in response to duty, little dreaming of that dreadful day when so many of our friends and neighbors would lie stark and cold upon the field of battle. It was but natural that we should speak of the possible glory to be won, and not to be wondered at that each of us believed he could perform all which might be required. We had yet to learn how great was the task set the men of the Carolinas before the yoke of the oppressors was finally thrown off. From our homes to New Hope River was but little more than twelve miles, and when we judged that half the distance had been traversed we drew rein to give the horses a breathing spell, for they had traveled ten miles or more before we came upon old Jacob. We drew from our store of provisions sufficient for the noonday meal, picketed the horses where they might feast on the rich grass, and gave ourselves up to a brief time of repose. The meal had no more than been eaten, however, when hoof-beats in the distance told that a horseman was approaching, and I seized my rifle, for the sorrows which had been mine during the day made me apprehensive of danger from every point. "Don't be foolish," Sidney said sharply. "It will be said that we are afraid of our own shadows, if some friend finds us ready for an attack. There are others beside ourselves who will ride to New Hope River this day, and he who comes is most likely one of Master Hamilton's party." "If so he is headed in the wrong direction," I replied; but I drew back from my weapon nevertheless, and an instant later regretted having done so when Sandy Wells, one of the sheriff's officers, rode up beside us. "We are well met, young sirs," he said in a mocking tone as he drew from his pocket two folded papers. "I was but this moment counting the miles 'twixt me and your homes, for if I mistake not you are Clare Butler," he said looking at me, and, turning toward my comrade, added, "You are Sidney Hubbard." It was useless to deny the fact, since Sandy knew our faces full well, and I asked, steadying my voice till it sounded reasonably firm: "What have we two lads to do with so gallant an officer as you, sir?" "Nothing whatsoever, if it so be you have paid the poll tax which his worshipful excellency has levied on all males, white or black, between the ages of sixteen and sixty." "You must know we have not paid that extortion to provide the governor with a palace, for it is hardly more than six weeks since a levy was made of two shillings to the acre of all tilled lands, and we, who owned not a single rod, were forced to help our fathers pay that," I said stoutly, noting the fact that Sidney was drawing his rifle toward him. "Then must I serve these warrants to the end that I may legally take you to Hillsborough until such time as you shall pay the just and lawful demands of his worshipful excellency, Governor Tryon." "And how may we come by the money while we are shut up in jail?" I asked, beginning to have an inkling of what Sidney would do. "That is not for me to say, my pert gentleman. If you cannot pay the tax, here is my authority for taking you to Hillsborough," and the conceited rascal proceeded to read in a loud voice the documents he had drawn from his pocket. I could understand but little of their purport, so filled were they with attorney's words and phrases, nor did I cudgel my brains overmuch, because of what I could see out of the tail of my eye. Sidney had his rifle in hand, and the expression on his face told me that he had no intention of going to Hillsborough as Sandy Wells' prisoner. FOOTNOTE: [1] Benson J. Lossing, "Field Book of the Revolution." CHAPTER II. A TREASONABLE ACT. So great was my excitement, knowing Sidney meditated an attack upon the king's officer, which could be called neither more nor less than rank treason and would put us beyond the pale of ordinary offenders, that I could not understand one word Sandy Wells was reading. His voice came to me like the droning of bees in the summer, and it sounded far off. I could neither hear nor think; but all my faculties were centered in my eyes as I watched Sidney's stealthy movements. Without really having the power of connected thought, I realized that to resist the sheriff's officer was an offense which Governor Tryon would never pardon, particularly since that officer was engaged in the effort to collect taxes. From the moment we made forcible resistance we would be the same as outlawed, and shut off from the possibility of returning again to our homes until the king's rule had been set aside in the Carolinas. Desperate indeed would be our position once an overt act against the recognized authority of the colony had been committed, and yet I would not have checked Sidney by so much as a hair's breadth had it been possible. Sandy Wells continued to read as if delighting in the sound of his own voice, and my comrade made his preparations leisurely, being slightly in the rear of the sheriff's officer where he could not well be seen, while the latter's eyes were fixed upon the paper. When Sidney cautiously drew himself up to his feet by aid of an overhanging bough, clutching his rifle firmly, I knew the struggle was about to begin, and during an instant there was a film before my eyes, red like blood. Then everything came plain within my line of vision; the tremor of fear passed away, and I was on the alert to second anything Sidney should attempt, even though our lives might be the forfeit. Sandy Wells had nearly come to an end of the warrants which had been filled out that two lads who could not pay the sum of three dollars might be thrust into jail, when Sidney, his rifle leveled at the officer's head, said sharply and sternly: "Do not so much as move, Master Wells, else I will send a bullet into your brain. Be careful not to take your hands from that piece of stamped paper, or I shall believe that you mean mischief!" Sandy looked around quickly; only his eyes moved, for he must have understood that my comrade meant every word which had been spoken, and he saw Sidney standing with his rifle aimed and resting on the branch of the tree. At such short range there could be no mistake as to the course of the bullet, and, realizing this, the officer's face grew white with fear, for of a verity he was standing very near to death at that moment. "Would you resist me in the performance of my sworn duty?" he asked, his voice trembling and his teeth literally chattering with fear. "That is what I count on doing. Neither Clare nor I will be taken to Hillsborough jail simply because we cannot pay the poll tax." "Do you know that this is treason, now the warrants have been read?" "I can well fancy that Lawyer Fanning will twist it in that way." "Not only is it treason against the king, but you are laying yourself open to the penalties made and provided for resisting an officer of the colony." "You cannot serve Tryon and the colony at the same time, Master Wells, and that you know right well. Does it so chance that you have any weapons about you?" "I am armed, as you may well see." "I am more concerned to know if you have other weapons which cannot be seen. Keep your hands on that paper, Master Wells, while Clare lays violent hands upon your sacred person in order to learn to what extent you are fitted out for taking into custody two lads whose only crime is their lack of money." "You might have been forgiven the tax; but that which you are about to do will bring you close to the gallows," Sandy cried in impotent rage. "Even while standing there we shall be no nearer death than you are at this instant if it so be you so much as raise a finger. Clare, take away his rifle, and search him for other weapons." I lost no time in doing his bidding, for now was Sidney Hubbard the leader and commander. Sandy, the livid hue of fear yet on his cheek, offered no resistance as I made thorough search, bringing to light two pistols and a long knife which would have served at a pinch as sword, and Sidney cried derisively as I laid the weapons at his feet: "You were bravely armed, Master Wells, for the arrest of two boys who are worth in the eyes of Governor Tryon's law but one dollar and a half per head, and in fact, not the value of a penny." "I shall live to see you hanged!" Sandy snarled. "In which case, as I figure it, you will live to a green old age, and it may be, suffer not a few discomforts before you die." "Now that you two villains have robbed me, I suppose I may go my way," Master Wells cried as Sidney lowered his rifle. "Not unless your way is the same as ours, for I am not minded to set you loose until after learning what Captain Hamilton has to say on the subject." "What?" Sandy cried in mingled rage and surprise. "Would you also take me prisoner?" "It is no more than you would have done by us, and surely turn about is fair play." Now it was that I lost courage. The crime of resisting one of the sheriff's officers was as great as I felt willing to commit; but to actually take him prisoner seemed the height of folly. Sidney seemed to read my thoughts in my eyes, for he said quietly, thus showing himself to be the brave soldier he afterward proved: "We can make matters no worse by taking him to Master Hamilton, and it seems to me wise that we get that gentleman's opinion before setting this worthy officer loose to spread the tiding of our misdeeds. Fanning and Tryon can never overlook the fact that we have refused to pay the tax; but I'm thinking it won't trouble them greatly if Master Wells suffers a little discomfort." Sandy began to bluster, threatening us with the direst vengeance of his master and himself; but Sidney soon cut the flow of words short by saying sternly: "You will mount your horse, Master Wells, and also do well to remember that a silent tongue oftentimes stands a man as friend." Our prisoner ceased his threats, probably understanding that Sidney's temper was none of the best once it had been aroused, and clambered into the saddle obediently, my comrade holding his rifle ready for immediate use in case the fellow made any attempt at leaving us. Once Sandy had mounted, Sidney fastened his legs beneath the animal's belly, as a precaution against escape, and, bringing up his own steed, seated himself in the saddle as he slipped the bridle of the prisoner's horse over his arm. If it had been possible to do so without being overheard by Master Wells, I would have tried to dissuade my comrade from this last portion of the business, for it seemed to me that by carrying him to the rendezvous we were but bringing additional trouble upon our own heads without due justification. I was unwilling, however, to let Sandy suspect that there was any difference of opinion between us, therefore held my tongue, meekly climbing into the saddle when Sidney showed himself impatient to continue the journey. The one fear in my mind as we set out, Sidney leading the way with our prisoner and I bringing up the rear, was that Master Hamilton and his associates would reprove us severely for having brought the officer to the rendezvous, for it seemed certain that Sandy would hamper the Regulators to considerable extent. However, the deed was done, and I question whether I could have changed the situation in the slightest, however good an argument I might have brought to bear. Therefore it was that I resolved to give Sidney the leadership, obeying his orders scrupulously, and standing by him as a comrade should in case our actions were condemned by the Regulation. Sandy Wells evidently had no desire for conversation, and we two lads could not speak one with another save he heard every word, therefore the three of us rode forward in silence, keeping a sharp lookout both ahead and behind lest we might inadvertently come upon one of the officer's friends. There is little need for me to set down all the thoughts and fears which came into my mind as we rode forward, for there is more of importance than my timorousness to be written before I shall come to an end of the sufferings endured by the people of the Carolinas in that struggle which, God be praised, finally resulted in the freedom of this fair country. It is enough if I pass over the remainder of our journey in silence, and describe our reception when we were in the midst of the men of Carolina who, having chosen Master Hamilton as their leader, were in the act of what Governor Tryon was pleased to term "open rebellion." The people were gathered in a thick bit of woods near-by the highway, and we were forced to give an account of ourselves to the sentinels before being allowed to ride into the midst of the large assembly, which was little less than a veritable army. The first person we saw was my father, and toward him Sidney rode, telling our story in few words, after which he asked: "Does it please you that Master Wells be kept a prisoner, sir?" "I am at a loss to give you an answer, lad," my father replied in evident perplexity. "It has only been decided that we would release those who are confined in Hillsborough jail, and I cannot guess how the gentleman will view your bold act. Give him into my charge, and we will soon have the case before the Regulation." He laid hold of Sandy's bridle, leading the horse further into the woods, while we lads were forced to remain where we had halted, because of the crowd which suddenly gathered to learn how we had chanced to come in company with a sheriff's officer. Once our story was told it could plainly be seen that we had won the good opinion of those who listened, for without exception each man bestowed praise upon us, until my cheeks were flushed a deep red from hearing myself spoken of as a brave lad who would one day do his full share toward freeing the Carolinas from the money-gluttons who were impoverishing the people. Well, we were made much of, and all with whom we spoke agreed that we should be allowed to become members of the Regulation, as if we were indeed men grown; but I observed with sorrow that every one treated it as a matter of course that we could not return to our homes until great changes had taken place in the colony. The idea that years might elapse before I could see my mother again had in it sufficient to prevent me from being puffed up with pride because of what was said concerning me, and when the gentlemen were come to an end of questioning us I unsaddled my horse, taking up quarters at the foot of a huge gum tree. In this army which had gathered responsive to the call of Master Hamilton, there were no tents or camp equipage of any kind. Each man brought everything he might need, including provisions, and the place where the Regulators encamped had more the appearance of being used for religious or social purposes, than as a military rendezvous. Here and there, wherever it best pleased them, were the recruits which had been so hastily brought together. Horses were picketed where the best feeding places could be found, and their owners lay under the shade of the trees, walked as fancy dictated, or gathered in little squads, having no care save to keep within the lines marked out as the bounds of the encampment. Twenty or more sentinels paced to and fro, rather for the purpose of marking the limits of the camp than because any attack was to be apprehended, and these were not so strict in their duty as to prevent those from straying outside the lines who felt the inclination to do so. Sidney found a friend with whom he went away hoping to gain speech with our general, Master Hamilton, and I remained alone a good hour or more, when my father came up in search of me. "The prisoner will be held until after we have marched to Hillsborough," he said by way of explaining what had been decided upon, and added with a sigh: "It is to be regretted that your evil fortune brought you in Sandy Wells' path, my son." "It was he who crossed our path, sir," I said, trying to speak in a cheery tone, although my heart was like lead in my bosom. "It recks little which way it was. What affects us is, that you and Sidney will be forced to remain in hiding, no one knows how long--certainly until some arrangement can be made to obtain pardon for what has been done." "I thought the Regulators had assembled for the purpose of taking into their own hands the government of the colony, in which case there can be no question but that our sins against the person of Sandy Wells will be forgiven." "It is not probable that the Regulation will be able to effect any very radical change in the condition of affairs. We shall march to Hillsborough to demand the release of the prisoners, and if they are given liberty, there is no longer any pressing need for us to remain under arms." "Might the Regulators not also demand that we be pardoned?" I asked, growing cold with fear. "I question if the gentlemen would be willing, after this display of force in order to demand justice, to ask that an offender against the laws of the colony be forgiven." "Then what is to become of us?" I cried in fear. "Surely these gentlemen will not deliver us up to the king's officers!" "Certainly not; your deliverance must come about without the aid of the Regulation, however. If it becomes necessary for you to remain in hiding, go with all speed to your uncle's home in Virginia, on the bank of the Dan River, and there remain until word comes from me that you may safely return." There was no longer an opportunity for him to give me the advice which I needed. Word was passed from one to another that the order had been given to begin the march toward Hillsborough, and in a few moments all was bustle and confusion as each member of the party made his preparations for the journey. Half an hour later the Regulators were in line, awaiting the final word, and a goodly array they presented. There were upwards of four hundred horsemen, all fully armed, and at their head Master Hamilton, a patriarch of seventy years. The word was given, and we set off at a gentle pace, Sidney and I riding side by side, and a short distance in advance of us, Sandy Wells, guarded by two men. The rebellion against the king's authority was begun, and from that day we might be counted by those in office as traitors to his majesty; but it could never be said that there was any treachery in our hearts against the colony of the Carolinas which we were ever ready to defend with our heart's blood. The march had been begun near nightfall in order that we might arrive at Hillsborough early in the morning, and since the distance was but twenty miles, we were put to it to keep the animals back, instead of trying to urge them forward. Some of the men fell asleep in their saddles; but neither Sidney nor I had any desire for slumber because of the disquiet in our hearts. With the exception of Master Hamilton, who would likely be charged with having stirred up the people to sedition, we were in a worse plight than the others, and whichever way the matter turned, it was probable we must hide ourselves in Virginia for a time. With the rising of the sun our party halted on the bank of the Eno, opposite Hillsborough, and there discovered that the king's officers had received news of our coming, being greatly disturbed thereat. Twenty or more men were standing near the edge of the river on the Hillsborough side, and foremost among them was Attorney Fanning, he who was equally guilty with Governor Tryon in burdening us with taxes which were beyond our power to pay. To have seen him then, when he was in fear of his life, one would have said that the Regulators of the Carolinas had no warmer friend than he. When we were drawn up in line, waiting for the word to ford the river, Fanning shouted, holding up a bottle of rum in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other: "We have been waiting for you, my brave Hamilton, knowing that you will not willingly do that which will cause blood to flow. Let's you and I have a glass together, and decide this troublesome business without such a warlike parade." "You may keep your liquor for those who do not know you as well as do I," Master Hamilton cried scornfully, and our people set up a shout of satisfaction. Master Fanning waved his hands as if asking for silence, and after a time, when those on our side of the river were inclined to hear what kind of a proposition Tryon's tool had to make, he called out as if addressing his best friend: "Send a horse over that I may cross, my worthy Master Hamilton. I fain would give your people some refreshments," and here he held up the bottles again, "in addition to having a friendly chat with you." Some of our men would have made a contemptuous reply, but the others motioned for silence in order that Master Hamilton might act as spokesman, which was his right. "I'll send no horse," our brave leader cried. "You're none too good to wade, and wade you shall if you come over!" I supposed Attorney Fanning would go back to his home in anger after receiving such a reply, and said as much to Sidney; but no sooner had I spoken than the lawyer waded into the stream, and over he came, holding out his bottles as if believing that Master Hamilton would be rejoiced at having an opportunity of drinking with him. Our leader waved him away in short order, and then the scheming rascal went from man to man of the front rank, asking each to have a glass of liquor in token of friendship; but none would accept, and more than one gave him such insults as a truckling knave like himself deserved. Before he had come to an end of the line, and when it must have been made plain that not one of the Regulators cared to bestow the commonest civility upon him, he espied Sandy Wells. "What, have you resigned your office?" the attorney asked sharply, and our prisoner replied whiningly: "I'm held here by force, good Master Fanning, having been taken prisoner by two lads." Our people burst into laughter at this mournful reply, and hoping, most likely, to curry favor with the Regulators, the lawyer said with a grin: "If two lads took you prisoner, I'd advise you to hold your tongue about it. Not many hours since you declared yourself to be a match for any three men in the Carolinas, providing you were not come upon in ambush." "I was taken by surprise, even while reading the warrants for their arrest, and it's by no means to my shame, since I never dreamed they would be bold enough to make an attack upon the representative of our worthy sheriff." "You'd best give over reading warrants, Sandy," some person shouted, and Fanning laughed at the gibe as he continued on along the line of horsemen, trying in vain to find one who would drink with him. I must set down here, at risk of interfering somewhat with the thread of the story, two verses which were afterward written about this effort of the attorney's to curry favor with those who had come in the name of justice to rescue innocent men from prison: "At length their head man they sent out To save their town from fire; To see Ned Fanning wade Eno, Brave boys, you'll all admire. "With hat in hand, at our command, To salute us every one, sir, And after that, kept off his hat, To salute old Hamilton, sir." I must admit that the poetry is not what might be called exceedingly fine; but it was made next night in camp by one of our Regulators, and because of such fact I think it well to set it down in this story. Well, bow and cringe as he might, our people would not listen to Fanning, and Master Hamilton told him sharply to get to the rear lest he be trampled under the feet of the horses. "We'll have neither you nor your liquor," he cried angrily, "and unless you get out of sight I'll not be answerable for the temper of these good friends who have come in search of Masters Husband and Hunter." CHAPTER III. PROMISES. "The sooner we march into Hillsborough and make an attack on the jail, the better for the Cause," Sidney Hubbard whispered to me when Fanning had come to understand that not one in all our company was willing to hob-nob with him. "To sit idly here is much like admitting we are afraid to do that which we have threatened, or as if we doubted the righteousness of our mission." It was not for one like me, who knew nothing whatsoever of warfare, to criticize what Master Hamilton might see fit to do, and yet I held much the same opinion as did Sidney. It would have been more to my liking had we crossed the river at full speed, surrounded the jail, and forced the keepers to deliver up the keys without parley. I would have had the matter settled in one way or another, within ten minutes, and surely there would be no more treason in the act if done quickly, than if we dawdled around half a day listening to the vaporings of those who claimed to be loyal servants of the king. We were yet drawn up in line, gazing at the town as if trying to decide whether we would go forward or back, when Master David Edwards, Governor Tryon's secretary, rode up opposite us, halted an instant to view the scene properly, and then began fording the stream. "Whether yonder royalist will try to frighten or cajole us, he is setting about the business in proper fashion," Sidney whispered approvingly. "He can't be accused of wasting time." "Hush!" I said, laying my hand on his to still him. "I would hear his speech with Master Hamilton, for if I mistake not he will settle the matter in short order, one way or another." The secretary had by this time crossed the river and was spurring his horse toward where Master Hamilton was posted, and as Sidney and I watched he saluted our commander courteously, not in lick-spittle fashion as had Fanning. "Why this war-like array, sir?" he asked, and Master Hamilton replied: "We have come for our friends who were made prisoners even while depending upon the governor's assurance that he wished simply to hold a parley. It was a breach of faith not seemly in one who represents his majesty, and we will never brook such high-handed proceedings." "In that you are to be commended, sir," the secretary replied, speaking fair and softly; "but I warrant you have not fully considered what may be the result of such show of force. Your friends have been taken into custody in what appeared to his excellency like a lawful manner, and it is meet they should be released with due form, else may you plunge this fair colony into all the horrors of civil war. For the sake of the people, Master Hamilton, I beg of you to withdraw, at least until his majesty's judges have time to deliberate upon the matter." "We are here, and can work our will, therefore it would be little less than folly to abandon the advantage." "You need not do so. I pledge my word as a gentleman that all the grievances of the people shall be redressed, if you allow this unhappy business to be settled in lawful fashion. Retire, and the matter will speedily be arranged as you desire. By so doing you may avoid bloodshed and the charges of treason." "And we have your sacred word, Master Edwards, that all this shall be done without loss of time?" one of the party who sat near our commander asked. "Aye, sir," the secretary cried, raising his voice that all might hear, "the affair shall be inquired into as soon as may be." "There are other matters that need attention, sir," Master Hamilton said stoutly. "Money has been extorted by Edward Fanning, from very many here, and without color of lawfulness." "Master Fanning shall answer to the judges of this colony, and, if found guilty of illegal proceedings, will be punished as should be the lowest of our citizens," Master Edwards cried, holding up his right hand as if taking a solemn oath. "And will you also pledge yourself that whatsoever has been done by those who belong to the Regulation, in the effort to gain redress, remains in abeyance until the first question has been settled?" our commander asked, and the secretary replied in the affirmative. "Here is one of your tax-collectors who, while attempting to arrest two lads, was himself made prisoner," and Master Hamilton pointed toward Sandy Wells. "Such resistance might be given the name of treason, if you were inclined to play us false." "The act shall pass as if it had never been committed, provided that you release your prisoner. Go to your homes, and at the earliest possible moment Governor Tryon will take the necessary steps to have all this unhappy business disposed of to your satisfaction." Master Hamilton wheeled his horse around, and, addressing our party, cried: "You hear, gentlemen all, what the representative of the governor has promised in the name of his master. Are you agreed to do as he proposes to the end that bloodshed may be averted?" "We are agreed," our people cried as if with one voice, and an instant later Sandy Wells was allowed to ride out from among the party, when he forded the river hurriedly as if fearing some one might try to hold him back. "We yet have his weapons as spoils of war," Sidney said gleefully to me, "and I warrant you he will not venture near Alamance for many days to come." "Think you we shall go free after having raised our hands against him?" I asked, hardly able to believe that such good fortune might be ours. "We have the secretary's solemn word for it," Sidney replied, and he had no more than spoken when the command was given for our people to wheel about in the direction of Maddock's Mill. The return was made at a rapid pace, and when we were arrived at this place a general halt was called, the assembly being told that the Regulation would be in session at George Sally's house next day "to consult upon the public good." Sidney and I thought just then more about our own bodies than the burning questions of the hour, and after taking care of our horses we camped in a grove near the mill, with nothing save the bushes to shelter us from dew and sun. We slept nearly eighteen hours, which atoned for the repose that was lost during the march to Hillsborough, and then, on the morning after our appearance before Hillsborough, were ready to discuss the condition of the "rebellion." That we were included in the truce was a matter of rejoicing, for it had seemed certain we would become fugitives, hiding on the Dan River; but both of us decided that it would not be well to venture within reach of Sandy Wells, unless we were so well armed as to be able to care for ourselves. As a matter of course we two lads went to George Sally's with the Regulators, but neither of us ventured to take any part in the proceedings, although much was done of which we did not approve. In the first place the Regulation prepared a petition to be presented to Governor Tryon, begging that Messrs. Husband and Hunter be speedily released in accordance with the promise made by Master Edwards; that the taxes of those who, by reason of their poverty, could not raise the required amount of money, be abated; and that Master Fanning and other court officers be restrained from oppressing the people by exorbitant fees whenever a legal document was required or served. As I chanced to know full well, neither my father nor Master Hamilton approved such a course as pleading with the governor after showing his minions that the Regulation was sufficiently strong to make demands; but the majority of the gentlemen were in favor of proving that the Regulators were not disposed to transgress the laws, and the petition was written out by Malichi Tyke, who had once served as clerk of courts. Sidney and I were both very much dissatisfied with the turn of affairs, although we took good care not to give words to our discontent in the hearing of the gentlemen who formed the Regulation. In our opinion we should have encamped near about Hillsborough until all which Master Edwards promised had been performed, for Governor Tryon could better be moved by a show of force than an humble petition. However, as Sidney wisely said, it was no real concern of ours, since the elders of the association would contrive to manage affairs after their own fashion, without giving overly much heed to boys or hot-heads, and if we wished to be numbered among the Regulators it stood us in hand to obey the voice of the majority without grumbling. It was also decided at this meeting in George Sally's barn, that Masters Rednap Howell and James Hunter be appointed deputies of the Regulation to present the petition to Governor Tryon, and that they set out at once for Brunswick, where his excellency then was. Now the upper Carolina was not in as peaceful a state as could have been desired. Some of the more wealthy inhabitants favored the representatives of the king, and upheld them in all their iniquitous proceedings; calling themselves royalists, and us of the Regulation rebels. They oftentimes, when a fair opportunity presented itself, took the right to discipline the people who grumbled against the money-gluttons. It was not impossible that some of these aristocrats might meet our deputies, and, being the stronger in numbers, attempt to prevent them from appearing before Tryon, therefore to put a check upon such a possibility it was decided that at least two others should accompany Masters Howell and Hunter. It was my father who proposed that Sidney and I be chosen as the escort, giving as a reason why we two lads should be selected, that it was possible, despite the promise of Master Edwards, Sandy Wells might try to make trouble for us because of our taking him prisoner. It was better, so he urged, that we be kept out of sight until the Regulation had accomplished its work, and by accompanying the deputies to Brunswick, Sandy would not readily find us. Master Howell himself seconded the proposition, kindly stating that he desired no abler escort than our two selves, and thus was the matter settled, much to my satisfaction, even though there was more than the shadow of a suspicion in my mind as to the reception with which we might meet. The Regulation also decided that we four should set out as soon as Master Malichi Tyke had made a fair copy of the petition, and he was so expeditious with the work that everything was in readiness for our departure on the following morning. We had before us a ride of about two hundred miles, and to Sidney and me, who had never before traveled an eighth part of that distance from home, the journey offered much in the way of novelty. There were no preparations to be made save saddling our horses: we would sleep wheresoever night overtook us, and procure food at such dwellings as we came across, or, failing in this, depend upon finding game enough to satisfy our wants. "Remember that Masters Howell and Hunter are to be obeyed strictly by you, lads," my father said to us as we were saddling the steeds, "and do not put me to shame by behaving other than as gentlemen." As a matter of course we promised faithfully to heed his words, and with high anticipations set off, riding immediately behind those whom we were supposed to guard. During this first day, when we were yet within our own home neighborhood, the ride was without especial incident, save that at nightfall, when we were encamped in a lean-to which Sidney and I had put up while the gentlemen were cooking a couple of hares I had killed late in the afternoon, Master Howell amused himself with writing the verses I shall set down below, and which I afterward saw in a pamphlet entitled "A Fan for Fanning," that had been printed in Boston in 1771: "When Fanning first to Orange came, He looked both pale and wan; An old patched coat upon his back-- An old mare he rode on. "Both man and mare wa'n't worth five pounds, As I've been often told, But by his civil robberies He's laced his coat with gold." When these lines had been read to us Master Hunter declared that it was no more than right Master Howell should touch up Thomas Frohock, who, as clerk of the Superior Court in Salisbury, had done quite as much as Fanning to extort money from the people, and then it was that our deputy wrote these verses, which were afterward published in the same pamphlet of which I have spoken: "Says Fanning to Frohock, to tell the plain truth, When I came to this country I was but a youth; Me father sent for me; I wa'n't worth a cross, And then my first study was to steal for a horse. I quickly got credit, and then ran away, And haven't paid for him to this very day. "Says Fanning to Frohock, 'tis a folly to lie; I rode an old mare that was blind of an eye; Five shillings in money I had in my purse, My coat it was patched, but not much the worse: But now we've got rich, and 'tis very well known That we'll do very well if they'll let us alone." Master Howell laughingly said that as poetry the verses were of little account; but the sentiment could not be bettered, according to my ideas, and before we went to sleep that night I could repeat the lines without missing a word. We set out on our journey next morning shortly after sunrise, and, just before noon, when we were looking for a place in which to camp, two men, attended by a negro slave, undertook to make us explain our business. The whites had halted in the middle of the road, with the black immediately behind them, and when we advanced made a great showing of pistols. "Halt, gentlemen, and make us acquainted with your destination and your purpose in traveling this way!" one of them cried peremptorily, and in a twinkling Sidney and I, who were slightly in the rear of the deputies, had our rifles ready for use. "Why shall we make explanations to you or any other in the Carolinas?" Master Hunter cried angrily. "Fair and softly, good sir," the spokesman said, looking well to the priming of his weapon. "We are told that there are in the Carolinas those who speak against his majesty the king, and with such as they we would have a few words." "Except we are so minded, you will have no words with us," Master Howell said sharply, and I observed that he was fingering his revolver as if itching to draw it from the holster. "You will at least explain from what part of the colony you have lately come," the stranger said, this time speaking in a more gentle tone. "I am willing to give you so much information as that; but no more, for I deny that any person, save the king's representatives, have the right to question me. We are lately from Hillsborough." The two strangers exchanged glances, and he who had first spoken said quietly: "I have heard that the good people near there talk of banding together to resist the king's officers in their duty of collecting lawful taxes." "It can now be seen how much the governor's secretary meant when he gave us such fair promises," Sidney whispered. "Edwards himself has sent these fellows in advance to prevent us from going to Brunswick." There was much the same thought in my own mind; but I made no answer just then, for the very good reason that Master Hunter was replying to what was little less than a question. "Our people have banded together; but it is for the purpose of declaring ourselves against _unlawful_ taxation." "And you are one of the so-called Regulators, I may suppose?" the stranger said with a sneer. Sidney and I moved nearer until we were almost side by side with our deputies, for now did it seem certain that we were fallen upon those who would make trouble. "We have not come out either for the purpose of discussing politics with strangers, or indulging in a brawl," Master Hunter said stoutly, drawing his pistols deliberately. "It is our purpose to ride forward without too great delay, and if you oppose us the blood which is shed will be upon your heads." "Might it not interest you to know who we are?" the stranger asked menacingly. "Not a whit; _we_ are peaceful travelers who pursue our journey without molesting any man who does not seek a brawl. We shall go forward at whatever cost." Now it was that I believed a fight would be begun in a twinkling, and my rifle was raised, ready to do my share, when we heard the trampling of horses' hoofs in the distance. "There is some treachery afoot," Master Howell said in a low tone. "These fellows have kept us in conversation until the remainder of the party can come up. It would be useless to oppose an overwhelming force." "True," Master Hunter added, and then, as if seized by a sudden thought, he added in a low tone to me, who sat nearest him, "You two lads may perchance escape and carry to our companions of the association the information of our trouble. Back your horses off till you are partially screened by the trees, and then ride at full speed." "There are four of us, and each one ready to give a good account of himself," Sidney said, much as if he was eager to take part in a fray where blood must inevitably be spilled. "Do not stop to argue, lad. It is necessary the Regulation know that our passage is barred by some treachery of Edwards and Fanning, and you must carry the news." I remembered what my father had said, and pulled my horse back, step by step, until he was amid the bushes that bordered the road on either side. The strangers gave but little heed to my maneuvers, probably because they believed that a lad like me was of but little importance as compared with the deputies--I had no doubt but that they were acquainted with the purpose of Masters Howell and Hunter--and, therefore, I was soon partially screened from view. Sidney delayed until a party of horsemen numbering four or five came into view, and then he wheeled around suddenly, riding at full speed past me as a couple of pistol balls whistled by his head. I joined him, as may be supposed, and we rode at a sharp pace for a mile or more, when we pulled up as if by common consent. No chase had been given, and thus was I all the more strongly convinced that these highwaymen knew full well who were acting as deputies of the Regulation. We two lads looked at each other in silence as our horses came to a standstill, and not until perhaps a minute had passed did we speak. "The Regulators did well to listen to such knaves as Edwards and Fanning!" Sidney said angrily. "We should have released the prisoners when it was in our power. Now the poor men will remain in jail until the brute Tryon gets tired of holding them." "It is childish to cry over spilled milk!" I replied, angry because my comrade was inclined to give way to repinings when they could be of no avail. "It is our duty to get speech with Master Hamilton without delay." "Yes," Sidney cried scornfully, "and while we are riding toward Maddock's Mill, where I question if any of the Regulators can be found, those scoundrels will carry our companions to some jail in which they may die before we learn of their whereabouts." "We can only do as Master Hunter commanded," I replied meekly, realizing the truth of all Sidney had said. "I don't count on anything of the kind; but intend to turn back." "To what purpose?" I cried, now thoroughly alarmed, for I knew my comrade well enough to understand that he did not make such assertions without fully intending to carry out whatever plan might be in his head. "It stands to reason that those fellows who have taken the deputies prisoners came from near about Hillsborough, in which case they will camp somewhere on the road to-night. It is not probable they count two lads as of any great importance, and will never suspect us of coming back once we get away." "Well?" I asked, determined that he should unfold his scheme without assistance from me. "I shall turn back, follow those fellows if possible, and try to come upon them unawares to-night, when there should be a chance to aid our friends." "Suppose you fail?" I asked, turning over in my mind the possibilities of his being able to accomplish anything of importance. "If I find that they are on the alert against a rescue, or if there are too many, it will yet be time to turn my horse's head toward Maddock's Mill." CHAPTER IV. THE RESCUE. When Sidney had thus announced his purpose I asked myself what might be the chances of success, and after due reflection it appeared to me as if the possibilities were rather in his favor, because it did not seem probable the royalists would anticipate any attempt at a rescue. They must have overheard the command given us to ride back with all speed, and could hardly suppose two lads like ourselves would take the chances of making an attack, therefore we were likely to find them off their guard. Yes, so I decided, the scheme might be worked if we proceed cautiously, and even in case we found it impossible to do anything, the delay would be trifling, provided Sidney was willing to give over the effort if a rescue could not be brought about that same night, therefore I asked: "Will you agree to set your horse's head toward Maddock's Mill by sunrise, in case you fail in the purpose during this night?" "Yes, that much I promise, for I'm of the opinion that unless the work can be done before to-morrow morning there is no chance for us to carry it through without assistance." "Then I shall do what I may toward aiding you." He clasped me by the hand, saying as he did so: "I knew full well you would not ride away and leave me to make the venture alone." "I am taking no part in it save as your assistant. You are the leader, and I shall simply obey orders, because I have no head for such work, while you are a born soldier." Sidney laughed loud and long at my words, and said when it was possible for him to speak: "Now you are talking nonsense. If we free Masters Howell and Hunter from the governor's friends, it will simply be a case of good fortune, rather than anything deserved because of the intellect brought to bear on the matter. Let us make camp here for a time; the horses need rest and food." "Are you not afraid that our enemies will get too much the start on us?" "I am reckoning that we were near their camping-place when the two showed themselves. If they count on carrying our friends back to Hillsborough to give them quarters with Masters Husband and William Hunter, this road is the one they must take, and we shall see the party ride by. In case they have a comfortable halting place, I am counting that the return journey will not be begun until to-morrow morning." I understood from this remark that Sidney had already settled all the details in his mind, and, therefore, since I refused to take any part in making his plans, there was nothing for me to do save patiently hold my tongue. We unsaddled the horses, led them into the forest where was a small clearing covered with rich grass, and made a hearty dinner for ourselves from the contents of our haversacks. When this was done we had nothing with which to occupy our attention, save the task of keeping watch over the highway to make certain the enemy did not pass without our knowledge. Although I had so readily agreed to aid my comrade, I was far from feeling comfortable in mind regarding the outcome. I knew full well that even in event of success we must run many chances of losing our lives, for now that the royalists had begun to make prisoners of citizens of the Carolinas without legal warrant, they would not hesitate to take the lives of two lads who might interfere with their plans. To risk our lives in a battle where glory might be won, was one thing; but to be killed like thieves in the night, when none of our friends would be able to say whether we died like heroes or cowards was quite another matter. Do not let it be understood that I was regretting having agreed to the venture; on the contrary, I would have acted in the same manner had the question been put at that late moment, yet I weighed the possibilities once more, and found them less promising than when first considering the proposition. We did not indulge in conversation to any extent during that afternoon. Now and then Sidney spoke of the treachery displayed by Master Edwards, and the possible fate of the deputies in case we failed to rescue them; but for the greater portion of the time we remained silent, each giving way, perhaps, to gloomy forebodings. The sun was no more than an hour high when my comrade said as he rose to his feet and set off toward the clearing where the horses had been left: "I reckon the time has come for us to make a start. We'll ride to the place where the villains met us, and then you shall take to the woods with the horses, while I follow the trail on foot." "Why should we not boldly ride down the road until we find ourselves somewhere near their camping-place?" I asked, even after having promised myself to take no part in the plan of rescue. "Because I'm of the opinion that we shall find the villains within half a mile or less of where we were halted, and it would be a most serious mistake to let them see us." As he had proposed so we did, and I soon had good reason for congratulating myself that my advice was not taken. The hoof-prints of the horses told us plainly when we were come to the scene of the encounter, and then, leading both animals, I struck into the woods, advancing slowly because of the underbrush, while my comrade pushed rapidly ahead. The night had not yet come when Sidney returned, and as I involuntarily came to a halt he whispered: "They are camped half a mile further on. There are six horses picketed near by, in addition to those ridden by the deputies, therefore I reckon that the odds are not heavily against us." "Did you see our friends?" "Yes; they are in a lean-to, tied, and guarded by the negro. We can take the horses within two hundred yards of the place, where is a good bit of grass which will keep them quiet; but it is well to wait here a couple of hours." Once more we came to a halt, and while waiting until the time for action should come I asked Sidney to tell me how he proposed to set about the rescue. "I shall find no fault with your plans, for you are the leader; but it is necessary I know fully your purpose, in order to play my part properly." "We'll leave our horses hobbled, so that we may unfasten them quickly. Then, say in two hours, you and I are to creep around to where their animals are tethered. We must procure two, with saddles and bridles, and bring them to where ours are. Not till then are we to give the deputies any idea of our having disobeyed orders. We should be able to get them away safely, and a start of five minutes will be enough. The rising of the moon is to be our signal for work." "What about the negro who is on guard?" "Unless he is different from every other black I ever saw, he will be asleep. If not, or if one of the white men has taken his place, we must fall upon him in such a way that he can make no noise, after which a gag will do the rest." "Where are the others?" "In a lean-to nearer the road, and a good fifty yards from where our friends are lying." The two hours which followed were the longest I have ever known, although since that time I have been engaged in many and more dangerous ventures. Each second seemed like a minute, and I began to think that we had been mistaken in the belief that the moon rose at ten minutes past nine o'clock. The soughing of the wind through the trees sounded in my ears like a prophecy of evil, and the cry of a night-bird came to me like the shout of an enemy. Had we been forced to remain there inactive an hour longer, I believe of a verity that the courage would have oozed out of my finger-ends entirely; but, fortunately, before I was overcome by timorousness the time for action had arrived. Sidney led the way through the underbrush, gliding noiselessly along as if we were stalking a deer, and I copied his every movement. In order to get at the horses we were forced to make a detour through the forest to the rear of the place where the deputies were held prisoners, and this required a good half hour of most laborious work. Once we were there, however, it became evident that the royalists counted on beginning a journey very shortly, for the animals were not only saddled, but bridled, and we understood that the remainder of our task must be performed quickly, or it might chance that our enemies took to the road before we could warn Masters Howell and Hunter of the help which was near at hand. Now we did not dare carry our plan to the extent of taking the animals over to where our steeds were hobbled; but fastened them by the bridles in the rear of the lean-to, and then crept cautiously forward. It was so dark in this place, owing to the foliage, that although the moon was half an inch high, we could not distinguish objects five paces distant, and Sidney let the way by the sense of touch, rather than because of any aid from his eyes. When we were close at the rear of the lean-to I could hear the sound of heavy breathing; but nothing more, and Sidney whispered in my ear: "I will make my way through the brush, and you are to wait here. If I should be captured, do your best to carry the information to Maddock's Mill. Don't try to aid me." I made up my mind on the instant that I would do my full share in a fight before leaving the brave lad to his fate, and as the thought formed itself in my mind he disappeared through the branches which went to make up the shelter. I listened with painful intentness; but could hear no more than a faint rustling of the brush, and then a man crept slowly out into my arms. It was Master Howell, and when I would have conducted him to where the horses were tethered, he motioned for me to remain quiet. Another moment of most painful suspense, during which my heart beat so loudly that it seemed certain our enemies would be aroused by the noise, and then Master Hunter appeared, followed closely by Sidney. We four crept softly to where the two horses were standing, and my comrade explained to the deputies that we must keep within the thicket until having come to where our steeds had been left. "We had best turn in the other direction, keeping under cover until you ride by, when we can dash out," Master Howell said, and I was mystified by his words. "But we shall not ride past here," Sidney replied in a cautious tone. "To do so would be going directly away from Maddock's Mill!" "Our destination is Brunswick," Master Howell said, as if that was sufficient explanation. "Brunswick!" I repeated in astonishment. "Surely you are not counting on trying to continue the journey after all that has happened?" "Of a verity we are," Master Hunter said emphatically. "It is not in our minds to ride back with the story that we allowed ourselves to be frightened by six men after two lads have shown themselves so brave and so quick-witted. Go for your horses, and, having mounted them, ride directly out on the main road, moving cautiously until arriving opposite where these scoundrels are encamped. Then use your spurs; we will join you some distance on." "But think of the danger which you incur!" I pleaded, although it would have been more seemly for a lad like myself to keep a silent tongue and obey orders. "We count on presenting this petition to the governor if it be possible to arrive at Brunswick," Master Howell said sharply, and then, by way of putting an end to the conversation, the gentlemen began leading the animals back past the lean-to from which we had so lately rescued them. There was nothing left for Sidney and I but to perform the parts assigned us, although I am certain there was much the same thought in his mind that filled mine, which was that the latter portion of this venture would be needlessly dangerous and ill-advised. We did not speak one with another, however, until we had found our horses and made them ready for the journey, when Sidney said solemnly: "If I had fancied the deputies would have continued on toward Brunswick, of a verity we would be well toward Maddock's Mill by this time. Even if we two get past the camp in safety, we're likely to fall into the hands of others who are ready and willing to deprive honest men of their liberty." But for the fact that the deputies awaited our coming as the signal for them to come out of the forest into the road, I would have urged my comrade to leave them then and there that we might save our own skins by joining the members of the Regulation, wherever they might be by this time. Then, feeling in our hearts that there was no good reason for exposing ourselves to this additional danger, we led the steeds down the road to a point, as nearly as Sidney could determine, opposite the encampment of the enemies. We mounted in silence, and loosened our weapons that they might be ready to hand, after which Sidney started with a rush. It can well be fancied that I clapped the spurs to my horse, for the hindermost in this race was likely to be the one who would suffer severely, and we clattered past the camp at the best possible speed. When a mile or more had been traversed we heard the hoof-beats of horses both before and behind, telling that the deputies had taken to the road, and also that the royalists were in full pursuit. Masters Howell and Hunter must have checked the speed of their steeds somewhat in order to allow us to come up, after which all four settled down to such a race as I never rode before, for liberty, perhaps like itself, was the stake. Not until our horses were so nearly blown that it became absolutely necessary, did we draw rein, and then it was no longer possible to hear the sounds of pursuit. "We have out-ridden them, that is all," Master Howell said in a quiet tone, as if he was not greatly interested in the final result. "We will give the nags time to breathe, and then push on again. For a time our traveling must be done by night." "If you count so surely that there are others on the road who will try to prevent us from gaining Brunswick, why is it not reasonable to suppose Governor Tryon may play us false?" I asked timidly, for I feared the gentlemen might think me a coward, and yet was I determined they should discuss the possible dangers which awaited us at the journey's end. "I think it very likely he will treat us as rebels rather than deputies," Master Howell replied quietly. "And yet you make every effort to give him the opportunity?" I cried in dismay. "Aye, lad. We accepted the mission, and having done so it became our bounden duty to perform it whatever might be the result. Before the people of the Carolinas can force the representatives of the king to treat us fairly and honestly, many a good gentleman must come to grief, and it is not for us to hold back." There was no reply to be made to such a remark as this, and I would have held my peace but that the gentlemen insisted on being told why we had worked to rescue them, instead of pushing on toward Maddock's Mill. "All the credit belongs to Sidney," I replied, determined that my comrade should have the praise. He argued that we would be wasting but little time by trying to effect a rescue, and in case of failure we could have carried out your orders within six hours from the moment they were given. Sidney claimed that he could not have made the attempt unless I had been willing to remain with him, and regarding this we fell into quite a discussion, which lasted until we heard once more the trampling of horses in the distance. It was high time we continued the race, and, the horses having had quite a breathing spell, we sent them ahead once more at their best pace. After this we stopped twice to give the animals water, and once to breathe them, before the gray light told that a new day was upon us. Then it was that Master Howell proposed we take to the thicket, and after we were screened by the trees we led the horses a mile or more parallel with the road. Then we crossed over to the other side, taking good care to cover such hoof-prints as had been left on the highway. After these precautions it seemed as if we might consider ourselves reasonably well hidden from those who came in pursuit, and surely I was not sorry of an opportunity for rest. We had been in the saddle not less than eighteen hours, and during six or seven hours more were so strung up by excitement that it was as if we had been two days without repose. Fortunately the deputies had not been despoiled of their haversacks when taken prisoners, therefore we had food sufficient to provide us with one hearty meal, and this we ate immediately after the horses were picketed where was grass in abundance. Not until we were eating did Sidney ask Masters Howell and Hunter anything concerning their adventure, and soon we were in possession of all the facts. The deputies, finding themselves opposed by six horsemen, surrendered immediately after Sidney and I rode away. They were asked no questions, nor was there an attempt to search them. The royalist led the prisoners to the lean-to, tied their hands and feet, and left them in charge of the negro, giving orders for him to shoot with intent to kill if either made any effort to cry out for help in case travelers passed that way. Neither Master Howell nor Master Hunter had any definite idea as to what the scoundrels intended to do with them; but both believed that but for the rescue they would have been taken to Hillsborough and there lodged in jail on a charge of sedition or treason. "Yes, I recognized one of them," Master Howell said in reply to my question. "He who appeared to be the leader I have seen in Fanning's office, therefore there was no question in my mind but that the party set out from Hillsborough in advance of us. Some one at Maddock's Mill played the traitor." "Why did they wish to prevent you from presenting the petition to Governor Tryon?" I asked in amazement. "I do not believe that was their purpose. It could make but little difference if Tryon heard of our wrongs; but it might create a sentiment in our favor among the honest people of Brunswick if we told there what has occurred at Hillsborough. The scheme unquestionably was to prevent information of the outrages being carried into the lower Carolina." "Do you think we are in danger from others?" I asked. "Probably not, yet we will travel by night from this out in order to guard against a possible attack. If those fellows sent word ahead that we were on the road and must be stopped, then will there be men ready to detain us; but I am disposed to think that they believed it was in their power to bring our journey to a close, and we shall meet with no serious impediment between here and Brunswick." "The governor may close our mouths by sending us to prison as traitors to the king," Sidney suggested. "We shall take good care, my lad, to talk with many citizens of Brunswick before presenting ourselves before him. If it is known generally that we are in town as deputies from the Regulation, who have come in consequence of certain promises made by the governor's secretary, I do not believe even William Tryon will dare cause our arrest without first showing some proof that we are plotting against the king. He will commit deeds in Hillsborough which he would be afraid to commit in Brunswick or Newbern." "In other words," Master Hunter added with a laugh, "we are thrusting our heads in the lion's mouth because we believe he dare not make a meal of us until after we have gone back into upper Carolina." With this the conversation came to a close. Master Howell insisted that we must get all the sleep possible before nightfall, and to such end he proposed that we draw lots to decide who should first go on guard, after which the others were to lie down. No one questioned the necessity of standing watch. In the first place the horses were to be prevented from straying, and then again it was of the highest importance we should know if a party of horsemen rode past our camping place toward Brunswick, otherwise we might find ourselves following the enemy, instead of being followed. It was decided by lot that I take the first watch, and at the end of two hours Master Howell was to be aroused. Those who had the privilege of sleeping soon stretched themselves out in the most comfortable positions that were possible, and ten minutes later I was the only member of the party awake. CHAPTER V. AT BRUNSWICK. During my time of standing sentinel I neither saw nor heard anything to cause alarm or suspicion; but I never had a harder task than that of keeping my eyes open while the others were sleeping. It was as if until my companions lost themselves in slumber I had no sense of weariness, and then, suddenly, I was overcome to such an extent that it seemed almost impossible I could perform the duties of sentry. I walked to and fro briskly; repeated to myself this hymn or that verse, and now and then groomed the horses in the hope of arousing myself; but all to no purpose. My eyelids drooped as if weighted with lead, and not until I had switched my face sharply with a bit of brush, striking my bare eyeball inadvertently, was I awakened. Then the pain kept me awake until I judged that the time of my vigil had come to an end. Master Howell arose reluctantly when I shook him vigorously, and asked as he stretched his limbs and yawned prodigiously, whether I had heard anything which might concern us. Sixty seconds later I was sleeping soundly, and not until late in the afternoon was I sensible that the life yet remained within my tired body. Then I was surprised by seeing meat cooking before a fire; but soon learned that Master Hunter had been out in search of game, and, fortunately for us, had come across a deer within half a mile of our camping place. After partaking of a hearty meal the difficulties and dangers of our way seemed to have lessened, and I looked forward to the night's work as a task which might have within it somewhat of pleasure. Because we had not heard horsemen passing our resting-place, it was believed that our enemies had abandoned the chase, and immediately the late dinner was eaten we set forth, taking less precautions than before, for now it seemed as if we must have outrun danger. In order that I may not make too many words of what is of little consequence, no further record of the journey shall be made, save to say that on a certain day, near about noon, we rode into Brunswick despite the efforts of Master Edwards and Attorney Fanning to check us. At the inn, the landlord of which was an acquaintance of Master Howell's, it was given out with considerable emphasis, as if there was something in our official position of which to be proud, that we had come as deputies from the Regulation to petition the governor, and I venture to say that before nightfall every citizen of Brunswick was well aware of what had been done in upper Carolina to preserve the rights of the people. It was only natural the Brunswickers should be curious to know all that this association so lately sprung into existence was doing, and even we lads were questioned eagerly by those who, because of press of numbers around the deputies, could not otherwise learn of the organized resistance against unjust taxation. Thus it came about as Master Howell and Hunter desired, that the citizens were well informed as to the reason of our coming before we had asked for an audience with the representative of his majesty in the Carolinas. Not until the following morning did we present ourselves at the governor's residence, and then we were admitted after being allowed to cool our heels in the guard-room for an hour or more. Sidney and I had not supposed that we would accompany our companions on this visit of state; but it served the purpose of our gentlemen to introduce us as deputies of equal importance with themselves, with the view, most likely, of giving us lads that fancied protection which would be thrown around the messengers of a reasonably powerful association. There could be no doubt but that the governor knew by this time why we had visited Brunswick, and, while not daring, perhaps, to refuse us an audience, satisfied his narrow mind and tyrannical disposition by making us wait in the room occupied by the guard for a certain length of time. When finally we were admitted to his presence we saw a cruel-faced man, clad carelessly in a dressing-gown, seated at a table in that room which served him as a library, and ranged around the apartment were six soldiers fully armed, fitting protectors for such as he. As if with the view of proving that we were of but little consequence in comparison with his greatness, he did not so much as glance at us when we first entered; but remained as if engrossed with certain papers that were spread out on the table, until ten minutes or more had elapsed, when he looked up, surveying us with a scornful expression. Certain it is that he did not frighten either of the party by his lordly manner, and such fact must have been apparent on our faces, for he finally asked in a loud voice, perhaps hoping to cause alarm by his roar, why we had presented ourselves. Master Howell acted as spokesman, and he advanced a pace as he said boldly: "May it please your excellency, we, the deputies of a certain association well known in upper Carolina as the Regulation, have ventured to present ourselves with a petition from the Regulators, on the strength of a recommendation from your excellency's secretary, Master David Edwards." "Your association may be well known in the backwoods; but we have yet to learn of it here," the governor cried angrily. "That you may do by a perusal of this petition, your excellency," Master Howell said quietly as he laid a folded paper on the table in front of Tryon. "Two of our people have been imprisoned without due warrant, and when four hundred or more gentlemen of upper Carolina presented themselves at Hillsborough for the purpose of restoring our friends to liberty, Master Edwards urged us to the present procedure, promising faithfully in your name that this matter, together with others of an unlawful nature, should receive your prompt attention." At this speech, which savored little of fear, the governor took up the petition, glancing at it carelessly, and then throwing it contemptuously on the table, cried in a voice which quivered with passion: "Return to your homes, and smother this rebellion in the bud, else the penalty will be great. There shall be no association banded against the laws of his most gracious majesty! See to it that your fellows disperse at once, and have a care how you meet in opposition to our will!" "I pray your excellency to read that which we have brought at risk of our lives," Master Howell said firmly. "You will see that we do not rebel against his majesty's laws; but rather against those who exceed them unlawfully." "Go home and pay your taxes, or I will sweep the upper Carolina with my troops till it is a wilderness!" the governor cried as if beside himself with rage, and it appeared to me that he was about to give yet more rein to his passion when an officer entered hurriedly, whispering a few words in the angry man's ear. "Admit him at once," was the command, and then, to my astonishment and fear, in walked one of those two cavaliers who had opposed our passage and afterward made prisoners of the deputies. The newcomer had all the appearance of one who has traveled far and fast, and after looking around hurriedly as if to satisfy himself that we were really there, he laid a paper on the table in front of the governor. Then, at a sign from Tryon, he backed out of the room as if in the presence of royalty itself, and the governor hastily took up the written message. It must have contained something which did not please him, for his brows wrinkled as he read, and after coming to the end he perused it once more with greatest care. Although having had no experience in such matters, I understood full well that this missive had been sent by David Edwards, and could reason out all the circumstances readily. Most likely a messenger had been sent back to Hillsborough within a very short time after the escape of the deputies, and even while a portion of the party were pursuing us. Knowing as he did, that the Regulation was sufficiently strong to dominate upper Carolina if it was forced to extremities, Master Edwards had unquestionably sent a full account of all that had happened to the governor, in order that the latter might not do anything rashly. That my reasoning was correct I understood when, after some reflection, Tryon, turned toward us once more with something like a smile of friendliness on his cruel face. "You will excuse me, gentlemen, for having diverted my attention even momentarily from your affair. In these times, when treason is rearing its head against his most gracious majesty a moment's delay may have fatal results. I will read your petition." Then, as if he had but just understood our request, he perused the document we brought, and having done so said condescendingly: "This matter shall receive our immediate attention. Return to your homes; explain to your associates that their welfare has my best care, and assure them that within a month I will make a personal visit to Hillsborough. Then these complaints shall be inquired into by impartial judges, and that which is wrong or unjust will be remedied without loss of time." He bowed, to intimate that the audience was at an end, and we went out of the room, not backward, as had the messenger from Edwards; but as gentlemen should, in a manner calculated to show that we stood on terms of equality with all there. But for the manner in which he first received us, I would have said that the troubles of our people were well-nigh at an end; but, believing he had spoken us fairly at the last only because of realizing that the Regulation was of great strength, I fancied we had accomplished nothing of good by our coming. When we were at the inn once more, and could hold converse without fear of eavesdroppers, I learned that the deputies were of much my way of thinking, for Master Howell said with a grim laugh: "At least, we have pinned Tryon down to the promise that he will come to Hillsborough within a month." "And then I warrant you that those whose names are on the rolls of the associations will find themselves fast beset by Fanning's henchmen. Our last condition will be worse than the first." "He will need to bring a strong following with him." "Not so, my friend," Master Hunter replied gravely. "The weak-kneed among us will profess to believe in his promises, and the Regulation will be reduced to less than an hundred. He may work his will until again are the people so oppressed that alleged rebellion becomes necessary if we would save ourselves from prison." It was not a cheerful ending to our long journey; but there was nothing more that we could do, save make the people of Brunswick understand yet more thoroughly the situation of affairs in those countries where Fanning and Frohock held the courts of law in their hands. During the remainder of this day, in accordance with Master Howell's suggestion, we talked with such of the citizens as came to question us, and by nightfall the Brunswickers must have had a fairly good idea of the situation in upper Carolina, where already had four hundred gentlemen declared they would resist the misrule which was crushing them to the earth. One more day we spent in the town, and then it was as if the citizens had learned all they wished concerning our affairs, for our questioners ceased to be curious, and Master Hunter declared that the time had come when we should return. "We will set out to-morrow morning," he said, and Master Howell nodded to show that he was of the same mind. "Having described to the association our journey, and that which has taken place here, there will be nothing to do until the governor institutes the promised inquiry into the wrongs of the people." "Which will result in yet greater oppression," Master Howell added moodily. "We at least have done our duty, and will again be in the front ranks of the association when the time is ripe for action." Well, all was done as Master Hunter had said. We were on the return journey shortly after sunrise, and allowed the horses to take that pace which best pleased them, for we had no need to make great speed. Our haversacks had been well filled at the inn, and we would have no need of searching for game until two days had passed, when it was reasonable to suppose we should be in that section of the country where the planters would provide us with food and shelter. There was no thought in our minds that any effort would be made to stop us, for now were we carrying a message from the governor, and such an one as would go far toward soothing our neighbors who had so lately been in arms against those who represented the government. At noon we halted an hour to rest the animals, who were yet quite fresh for the journey, and to partake of the noonday meal. Then we rode leisurely forward again until about five o'clock in the afternoon, when we were arrived at a plantation where was promise of comfortable accommodations for the night. "It is better to halt here, at the expense of two or three hours, rather than push on and sleep in the open air," Master Howell said as he reined his horse in at the door of the dwelling. A white man and a negro, one an indentured servant and the other a slave as we afterward learned, appeared in response to our summons, and from them we learned that the planter and his family were in Newbern on a visit to relatives; but this did not prevent us from receiving such hospitality as is famous in the Carolinas. The negro led our horses to a stable of logs which was situated fifty feet or more in the rear of the main buildings, and the white servant ushered us into a sitting-room that gave access to the broad, vine-covered veranda overlooking the main road. In this last place we were served with light refreshments until a hearty meal could be prepared, and my comrade and I congratulated ourselves on having come across such a lodging, when we had expected to sleep in the thicket where flies and mosquitoes would disturb our repose. Our weapons, saddle-bags and haversacks had been brought into the sitting-room, and we could come at our belongings, if we so desired, by simply stepping through the open window. The deputies were taking their ease in a couple of hammocks, and we two lads were lounging in huge chairs when the clatter of horses' hoofs aroused us all to curiosity. Peering out through the vines which formed a curtain in front of the veranda, I saw five horsemen, the leader that same man who had brought the message to the governor while we were having audience, ride past in hot haste and halt a few yards beyond the path leading to the house as they carefully scanned the road. "Yonder men have been following on our trail," I said, giving words to the thought which was caused by their movements. "Having over-ridden it, they will turn back." It was as I said. The horsemen rode slowly back to the house-path, gazed toward the building, and continued on at a walk in the direction from which they had come. "Can it be that Tryon would try to prevent us from reaching Hillsborough?" Master Hunter said half to himself, and Master Howell replied grimly: "Those fellows have followed us by his orders, or those of Fanning and Edwards, you may be certain, for they have no personal quarrel with us. It is now known where we are, and I'm of the opinion that we had best make preparations for defense." "But it is to the interest of the governor that we report to the association his reply to our petition," Master Hunter continued with the air of one trying to read a riddle. "So it seems to us who are not in the secret. We need not try to solve the problem until preparations for defense have been made, since it is positive those fellows are on our trail." I failed to understand how we might turn another's house into our castle; but Master Howell was not troubled by such trifles. Entering the sitting-room hurriedly, he summoned the white servant who was supposed to be making ready a meal for us, and hurriedly explained to him the situation, concluding by saying: "It is likely that we shall be attacked before morning. What would your master do if he were at home?" The fellow shook his head in perplexity, and Master Howell added: "Having given us shelter we are his guests, and as such he would be bound to aid us, provided we had proven ourselves honest citizens of Carolina. So much, and no more, you shall do. I am of the opinion that they will take away the horses, if possible, and to check such an attempt the animals must be brought nearer the house where we can defend them." "There is no other stable, sir." "Is there not a store-room where we can stable them for the night? You can cleanse it to-morrow morning with this to lighten the task," and Master Howell held out three silver coins. The servant clutched the money eagerly as he said: "Peter the negro, and myself, are the only servants on the plantation. The horses might be brought into the room which is used as a kitchen during the winter. There is no floor, and a few armfuls of straw would make them comfortable." "These lads shall assist you in caring for them at once, and look to it that the saddles and bridles are also brought into the house. Do all you can to aid us, and double that amount of silver shall be yours when we ride away." It is easier to bribe an indentured servant than a slave, because the former may be able to purchase his freedom, and this fellow showed every desire to aid us. Sidney and I followed him to the rear of the building while Masters Howell and Hunter remained on the veranda with their rifles in hand, and in a few seconds the negro was made to understand what we would do. He brought straw while we led the animals into the house, and when so much had been accomplished the servants and us lads brought a supply of water from the well, filling every convenient vessel, for there was in my mind the thought that we might be called upon to stand a siege. When we had done this much, and we spent not less than half an hour in the work, Sidney and I went through the house to the veranda where we found the deputies on guard. I reported as to the arrangements we had made, and Master Howell said approvingly: "It is well. We are now prepared to give those gentleman a warm reception, unless they have some means which we have overlooked of getting into the house. You lads are to stand guard at the rear of the building, and if a stranger appears, call upon him to halt; if he then advances you will be warranted in shooting. In case the governor thinks to make way with us he will find that he has undertaken quite a task." "By calling out the soldiers he could soon put an end to our return," Sidney suggested. "That is exactly what he won't do, especially after we have made our story so public in Brunswick. It is not in Tryon's nature to come out like a gentleman in his usurpation of authority; but he must needs scheme to carry his ends by trickery. If he can dispose of us through the agency of these fellows, well and good, for there is little chance he can be connected with the crime. Have no fear that any public movement will be made to deprive us of freedom or life." We lads took our rifles and went to the back porch, where we were screened by the vines, and while the white servant prepared supper and the black acted as assistant, we watched for the enemy, feeling ill at ease, as well we might. After having come to believe that our troubles were at an end with the delivery of the petition, I was particularly cast down at thus learning that our enemies were inclined to pursue us yet further. It had an ugly look, as if Fanning and Edwards, with the possible consent of the governor, were seeking to take our lives, although, study the matter as I would, it was beyond my poor powers to make out how the rule of the king in the Carolinas would be strengthened by our death. It seemed more as if the discontent round about Hillsborough would be increased in case we were slain, and that the Regulators would make every effort to avenge the murder of their deputies. It was all a riddle to me, and after turning the matter over and over again in my mind, I asked Sidney what he made of it. "Nothing whatsoever," he replied with a long-drawn breath. "I cannot solve the riddle; but this much is certain, that those fellows who followed our trail to this house are the same who made prisoners of Masters Howell and Hunter, and unless we are willing to go to prison somewhere between here and Hillsborough, we stand a good chance of being shot." "Why do you say 'somewhere between here and Hillsborough'?" I asked in perplexity. "Because if we are not murdered outright, it will be to Tryon's interest to keep us well hidden from the Regulators, who would use every effort to free us, and we could not be imprisoned secretly either at Brunswick or Hillsborough." CHAPTER VI. BESIEGED. While we lads crouched amid the vines which covered the porch of the dwelling wherein we had entrenched ourselves without due authority from the owner, watching intently for some token that our enemies were creeping up on us, the question came into my mind as to whether a goodly portion of the present trouble did not come from the fact that Master James Hunter was one of the deputies appointed by the association. Then there came back to me all I had heard regarding the arrest of Masters Husband and William Hunter, a cousin of Deputy Hunter. It was said by some that Fanning had particular reasons for desiring the imprisonment of James, while he did not have a speaking acquaintance with William. When the arrest was made, or rather when the two Regulators were taken into custody to convenience Messrs. Fanning and Edwards, the wrong Hunter was taken, and he against whom the attorney had been working was appointed one of two to represent the Regulation at an interview with the governor. It was a vile act, throwing two men into jail on a charge of seditious conduct, simply to pleasure a couple of villains; but even this was not the worst of our treatment at the hands of Governor Tryon and his minions. I could fill an hundred pages like this with accounts of injustice done us of the Carolinas, and yet set nothing down which might not be verified by reliable witnesses, while every item would be the record of an outrage as gross as that committed in the imprisonment of Masters Husband and Hunter. If it could have been known throughout all the colonies what we of the Carolinas suffered under the misrule of William Tryon, then would that declaration of liberty which was made in 1776, have been brought about five years earlier. However, it is not for me to hark back to the beginning of our troubles; I have set down these thoughts because they came into my mind like a flood while Sidney Hubbard and I remained on the alert against those who, unquestionably, had been instigated by men whose duty it was to protect the people, instead of riding them down like foxes on the hunting field. I had been disheartened by the sudden turn in affairs, and the predictions made by Sidney, until it was to me as if the efforts to assert our rights as honest men would result in the death or imprisonment of all concerned in the undertaking. Meanwhile, as I thus agitated myself about affairs which would be regulated by Providence, we two lads kept close watch but without seeing or hearing anything of those horsemen, who, as we knew full well, were lurking near at hand to work us some mischief. When the white servant had prepared our supper, Masters Howell and Sidney went inside the dwelling to partake of the meal, leaving Master Hunter and me on guard, and, later, we two were relieved by the others to take our places at the table. While Master James Hunter and I were eating, I ventured to ask him what he thought of the situation, and received as reply: "We are better off here than on the road, although it seems likely our return will be greatly delayed." "Meaning that you believe those men whom we saw will spend much time trying to capture us?" "We shall not be able to continue our journey save at the expense of an encounter with those villains, and whether we ever see home again depends, as I believe, upon our being the best marksmen." Such a prediction did not tend to raise my spirits, as can well be imagined, and straightway all desire for food fled from me. I left the table without ceremony, and rejoined Sidney, full of determination to shoot with true aim if one of our enemies would present himself as a target. Until the sun had gone down we watched in vain, and while the twilight was gathering Master Howell announced his intention of venturing out to reconnoiter, for it seemed necessary we should know what disposition had been made of their forces. Sidney insisted that he or I should be allowed to perform such task, arguing with great force, so I thought, that it would be of but little consequence if one of us lads was captured, while it could not be reckoned anything short of a disaster if harm befell either of the deputies. Master Howell turned a deaf ear to his arguments and entreaties, replying again and again that he would not put a dangerous duty upon a boy when he was able to perform the task himself. Even while we strove to restrain him, he went out into the night, as if bent on visiting the stable, and when he had arrived at that building it was no longer possible for us to distinguish his form. Master Hunter kept watch alone at the front of the house, and in the rear Sidney and I strained our ears for some token of disaster or success. The deputy had been absent a full half hour, during which time we heard nothing save the movements of the servants, or the stamping of the horses in the winter kitchen, and then suddenly, as if he had risen from the ground, appeared Master Howell. We lads raised our rifles, not knowing for the instant whether it was friend or foe who had come upon us so silently, and then we heard his voice: "I have returned; do not fire." He stood on the porch an instant to tell us in whispers the result of his investigations. "They have surrounded the buildings in such manner that we cannot leave secretly, and appear to be content with that. As I look at the matter, they, having trapped us, are waiting for reinforcements, or, possibly, officers of the law." "But you have said that Governor Tryon does not dare to cause our arrest now that the people of Brunswick have heard all the story," I suggested, not a little alarmed by the information that the enemy appeared well content to wait until we might be captured with greater ease. "It was my proposition that Tryon would not dare arrest us in Brunswick; but now we have left that place, he might work his will without the people being any the wiser." There was in Master Howell's tone that which convinced me he was seriously disturbed by the condition of affairs, and I understood such was really the case when he added: "I think it is high time we held a conference of war, and one of you lads had best come with me to the front veranda, while the other remains here on guard." I motioned Sidney to accompany Master Howell, and he, eager to hear all which might be said, readily acceded to the mute suggestion. In another moment I was alone, peering out into the darkness with every faculty on the alert, and thus I remained until half an hour or more had passed, when my comrade returned. "Well?" I asked impatiently, burning to learn the result of the conference, for I had worked myself into a fever, trying to imagine what else we might do save await the preparations of our enemies. "It is decided that we leave this place about midnight," he said in a cautious whisper; "that is, if you agree to the proposition." "If I agree!" I repeated in nervous petulance. "What can I have to do with any plan which may be proposed?" "If we set out it will be at risk of our lives, and the deputies have decided that no move shall be made unless all four of us are fully agreed that nothing different can be done." "But how may we go or come at our pleasure if the house is surrounded?" "We can saddle the horses, and mount while yet in the building. Then it is a case of starting with a rush, hoping that in the darkness those fellows will not be able to shoot us down." "We are to run away, then?" I asked in surprise, for it had been in my mind that both Master Howell and Master Hunter would insist on fighting, however great the odds. "It seems necessary to do so if we would see our friends again, and the deputies believe it is of the utmost importance the Regulation be acquainted with the fact that all manner of treachery will be brought to bear, rather than do us justice. Therefore we will run instead of fight. Our horses are as fresh as theirs, and we may be able to give them the slip. In case we are brought to bay, it is better, so the gentlemen have decided, that we stand opposed to five or six men, rather than a large body. Are you agreed?" "It is useless to ask such a question. I shall do whatsoever the deputies think best." "Then, if that be your mind, the time may come when you will be called upon to act what appears to me like a cowardly part." I was amazed by this remark, and it can be readily supposed that I insisted upon an immediate explanation. "The deputies are agreed that in case we are brought to a standstill, you and I are to make our way to Maddock's Mill without regard to them. They will fight, whatsoever the odds, for the sole purpose of allowing us to escape." "Why have they grown so careful of us?" I cried, never dreaming of that which would have come instantly into the mind of a quicker-witted lad. "It is that we may carry the news to our friends. Masters Howell and Hunter will sacrifice their lives in order that the members of the association may be informed of the exact situation of affairs." I made no promises; timorous though I was, there could be, so I said to myself, no time when I would feel warranted in leaving comrades or companions struggling against a superior force. The Regulation might forever remain in ignorance of what had been said at Brunswick, before I would write myself down such a coward as to seek safety while others of my party were in peril. Luckily Sidney did not exact a promise from me on this score, and when Master Howell came to where we stood, he believed I had fully agreed to all the propositions. "Sidney and I will saddle the horses when the time comes, and you and Hunter will only leave your posts in order to mount and make the rush. There is opportunity for us to gain a couple of hours' sleep. I will stand guard in front, Sidney is to remain here, and in due time you and Hunter shall act as sentinels." I was not disposed for slumber; but this was virtually a command, and without hesitation I went into the sitting-room. Here I soon fell asleep, despite the fear in my heart, and when Master Howell aroused me, at the expiration of two hours, it was as if I had but just closed my eyes. Then I performed the part of sentinel, when the hours seemed as long as the time of repose had been short, and it was as if the night had passed before Master Hunter came to announce that the moment for action had arrived. Then he went back, leaving me with the blood bounding through my veins, and my heart throbbing violently, for I believed that one or more of us would soon be in another world. As had been agreed upon, Master Howell and Sidney made ready the horses, and the words were passed to the front veranda that that post be vacated. Now we moved swiftly, mounting the horses while they were within the makeshift of a stable, and when all were in the saddle Master Howell paused to say: "I will lead the way, then comes Clare, Sidney, and lastly Hunter. Ride in close order, and at full speed." The indentured servant stood near the door, yet holding the money which had been paid him according to promise, and our leader rode out into the darkness. At a foot pace we went around the building, until coming to the path leading into the road, when Master Howell struck the spurs deep, his horse darting off like an arrow sent from a bow. At that same instant came the crack of a rifle; I heard the ball whistling a few inches above my head, and said to myself that if the enemy shot as well as that in the beginning, they must succeed in winging all of us before we were well under way. The fever of excitement was so great upon me that I cannot well say exactly what happened during five minutes after we emerged from the stable. I only know that a volley of musketry rang out; that I fired point-blank at a man who suddenly appeared from out a clump of bushes, and cheered when he fell. Then it was as if a fierce conflict was being waged all around us, and that we rode through the showers of bullets until gaining the main road, when our animals stretched themselves to the race. I came out from the dream into which I had been plunged, when Master Howell shouted to know who had been hurt, and each in turn declared that he was not even scratched. It seemed almost impossible we could have come through that shower of bullets without being riddled, yet such was the case, and then I wondered whether the horses had fared as well. My steed was going true; I could feel the play of his muscles beneath me, and knew beyond a peradventure that he like myself was yet sound in wind and limb. "They aimed too high!" Master Howell cried exultantly. "If the scoundrels had turned their attention to crippling the animals, our chances would have been slim. Huzza for the Regulation!" Then we four who had ridden out from the shadow of death gave voice to our triumph, and from the rear came a yell of rage, telling us that it yet remained to shake off the pursuers who were bent on taking us, dead or alive. "Keep your horses well in hand," Master Hunter cried. "There's a long race ahead of us, and we must not wind the beasts." Our leader set the pace, riding only to keep beyond rifle range, and we four came alongside each other until we filled the road so completely that had any unfortunate been ahead on foot we must have trampled him down. It was possible now to converse, and I fancied also that the animals traveled more easily by thus being in company. When an hour had passed and we were come to a stream, the deputies and I dismounted, standing side by side in the road, while Sidney gave the horses water enough to wet their throats, and loosened the girths that they might regain their wind, for all four were well nigh blown. We there stood ready to fire in case the pursuers came up before the steeds were ready for the road again, and word had been passed that we should give our attention to crippling the enemy's horses rather than the men. During fifteen minutes did we remain with rifles in hand ready to be drawn to the shoulder at the first show of a pursuer, and then the chase was resumed. We had gained a long start of Governor Tryon's minions; but the halt would enable him to cut down the advantage, and again we rode at racing speed until once more it became necessary to halt. In this manner was the night spent; we favoring the faithful animals as much as possible, and while they rested, standing shoulder to shoulder ready for a battle. When morning dawned we could see no signs of the enemy in the road, and this fact troubled me not a little, because I feared that they had taken a short cut unknown to us, and we would soon find them in advance to check our flight. By riding until nearly noon we arrived at the plantation of William Payne, on whom Master Howell could rely fully, and here we came to a halt, counting to give the horses a long rest. Our host had two sons, and with such an accession to our numbers we were not greatly dismayed by the prospect of another siege, therefore we dismounted, and my timorousness vanished as I realized that we were now so far from Brunswick there was little fear but that word could be sent to the members of the association even though we should be disabled. While we ate dinner, which had been hurriedly prepared, and the sons of our host cared for our leg-weary steeds, Master Howell told all the story of our adventures, and the owner of the plantation proposed that one of his boys take a fresh horse for the purpose of making his way to Maddock's Mill with the tidings. After some little discussion our deputies agreed to this proposition, and before we stretched ourselves out to sleep the lad rode away, counting to change horses at the house of a friend, forty miles distant. Our mission was thus virtually accomplished, and we composed ourselves for slumber with the satisfaction of knowing that the duty due the association was the same as performed. Our host and his son agreed to stand watch while we slept, and nothing disturbed us until well into the night, when I was aroused by hearing the owner of the plantation as he entered the room to awaken the deputies. Then I overheard the following conversation: "Your pursuers are here. The hoof-prints of your horses could be plainly seen on the lane, and all hands were in front of the house before seeming to realize the situation." "Where are they now?" Master Howell asked quietly as he arose with difficulty from the bed, for his joints were stiff and lame after the hard race. "I forbade their coming nearer, and warned the party to leave my premises. They asked if two men and two lads were here, and I, fearing lest they might pursue my son, told them the truth." "That was well done," Master Howell replied approvingly. "Now they may besiege us once more, and we will make no effort to get away unless, perchance, you object to our resisting the governor's servants from your house." "Do as you will with me and mine. My wrongs are not less than yours, and now is the time when we of the Carolinas must prove ourselves men, or expect to remain under the yoke forever." "You may be set down as a traitor to the king if we make this house our castle," Master Hunter suggested; but stout Master William Payne was not to be frightened. "I can't say that I have any quarrel with the king himself; but against his representatives in the Carolinas my hand shall never be lowered. I aroused you only that you may be prepared in case an attack is made." "We will let the boys sleep, while Hunter and I have a look around," our deputy said in a low voice, and the three men left the room softly, believing we lads were yet asleep. When they were gone Sidney said as he turned to face me, for we had been sleeping in the same bed: "So it seems that we are besieged again." "Did you hear all Master Payne said?" "Every word." "We are like to make quite a halt here." "And can well afford to do so, now that word has been sent on ahead. Young Payne will readily arrive at Maddock's Mill by to-morrow afternoon, if he gets a fresh horse during the night, and we shall soon have reinforcements enough to settle as many as have come." "If we must fight to get back home, what will be the result once we arrive there?" I asked, a new fear coming over me. "That is something concerning which we need not trouble ourselves for the present," Sidney replied carelessly. "Then I'm of the mind that Fanning will speedily find a chance to clap us into jail on a charge of treason, unless the association holds together to the bitter end." Such mournful conversation might have been continued a long while but for the fact that it was interrupted by a volley of musketry, succeeded by straggling shots which told that our people were replying only when they saw a target. "It's to be a battle instead of a siege!" Sidney cried as he hurriedly dressed himself, I following his example; but the firing had ceased by the time we gained the kitchen, which apartment was directly below our chamber. Here we found Master Howell and our host, one at the door and another peering out of a loophole cut in the shutters of a window, and I knew full well that Master Hunter and young Payne were on guard at the front of the building. "Where can we be of service, sir?" I asked, and Master Payne replied with a grim laugh: "I reckon you lads will not be needed, save, perhaps, to stand guard later. The gentlemen from Brunswick fired in order to learn if we were prepared to receive them, and I'll answer for it that at least one knows to his cost that we're not to be caught napping." "How many do they number?" Sidney asked, and Master Howell said gravely: "Not less than a dozen. The reinforcements have evidently responded to the summons sent from our last halting place." "We should be able to hold our own until some of the Regulators arrive?" "Aye, lad, and that is causing me no little uneasiness. By protecting ourselves we shall be giving Tryon an excuse for breaking his word, and before this business comes to an end the upper Carolina will be overrun by the king's soldiers. It is beginning to be rebellion in good earnest!" CHAPTER VII. TIMELY AID. It appeared to me that Master Howell was trying to "lock his stable door after the horse had been stolen," when he mourned the fact that what we were doing in our own defense might be taken as open rebellion. To my mind the people had rebelled openly and with emphasis when the Regulators rode, four hundred strong, to release Masters Husband and Hunter. We four who had visited Brunswick to lay before the governor a petition couched in most respectful language, could not be accused of aiding and abetting rebellion when we objected to being shot down or taken prisoners by strangers who had no lawful warrant to deprive honest citizens of their lives or liberty. As the matter presented itself to my view, those on the outside were the ones who acted in a rebellious manner, and there was no honest judge in the country who would not rule that we had every right to protect ourselves. Something of this kind I said to Master Howell when he appeared to be bowed down with grief because, as he declared, our people were making a show of what might be called treason, and to my great surprise I found that we who were fighting our way from Brunswick to Hillsborough did not have any place in what it might please the governor to term "open rebellion." "We four are of no consequence in the outcome of this matter," Master Howell said, condescending to explain to me the situation as it appeared to him, "and yet through us, or, rather, through our distress, will the king's officers most likely declare the upper Carolina under military rule. If we could continue our journey to Maddock's Mill without interruption, all would be well. Or, if we fought for our lives from this moment until we were killed or come to our journey's end, it would also be of no moment. That which distresses me is, that young Payne will give the Regulators an account of our troubles, and those gentlemen will ride in full force to aid us. Then has come the time for Governor Tryon's minions to declare that the colony is in revolt, and the fact that four hundred armed men have banded together to regulate affairs outside their own country is fair proof that the cry of treason has good foundation." "Well, and what then?" I made bold to say. "Then will the king's troops be sent to Hillsborough and the surrounding towns. Fanning and Edwards can work their will on the people, with an armed force at their backs, and when the Regulators oppose the military it will be represented that the whole colony is in revolt." "That was much the condition of affairs when we left Maddock's Mill," I ventured to suggest. "Aye, lad; but then we had not opposed ourselves to the king's forces. Now it will be necessary to begin what can be called by no other name than that of treason." "It alarms you that such should be the case, Master Howell?" I said in a questioning tone. "Not for myself, lad, not for myself, nor for any of us who are brought to a stand in this house. It is the women and small children of whom I am thinking. We can fight to the bitter end; but they will suffer an hundred deaths while the English soldiers overrun the colony." "Then would it have been better had we surrendered when we were first besieged." It was as if this remark stimulated the deputy. His eyes brightened, he straightened himself suddenly, and said as if speaking to a vast assembly, instead of one timorous lad: "Not so, Clare. I was but considering the sufferings of our own people, and that should not be reckoned as against the grand result. This is indeed open rebellion, and the news of our oppression will flash from province to province until the entire country is aroused. Then, perhaps not until after we are dead, but at some time in the near future, will the rule of the king come to an end in America. We are the instruments selected to begin the way for freedom, and in future ages we will be spoken of as those who brought into existence a free country which shall be as a beacon light to those who are ground beneath the heel of selfish kings!" From, that instant it was as if Master Howell's entire nature had changed. He appeared to be exulting in the danger which surrounded us, and was eager for the fray. We stood watch until daylight, and then it was possible to see that Master Payne's dwelling was surrounded by fifteen or twenty men, some wearing uniforms, and others clad only in the garb of planters. The fact of there being soldiers among our besiegers told plainly that Tryon himself planned the outrage, and when such was apparent I heard Master Hunter say in a low tone to Master Howell: "From this day the Regulation will remain under arms until all the colonies are prepared to take up the struggle against the king's minions! Instead of 'Regulators' we should call ourselves 'Sons of Liberty.'" And thus it was that the association known as Sons of Liberty sprang into existence at the home of a planter in the Carolinas--that association which was speedily to extend throughout all the colonies as far east as Massachusetts, and south to the limits of the country. As when we made the last stand, there was no disposition on the part of the enemy to make an attack. We had bettered our situation, and increased the number of rebels, therefore Tryon's minions probably believed it necessary to strengthen their ranks. During this day we remained on guard and alert, while our enemies were posted just beyond rifle range in such manner as to encircle us completely. By making a rush after dark, as had been done before, we might readily have broken through the thin line; in fact such a move was suggested by Sidney, but Master Howell said firmly as if he had finally committed his life and fortune to that final result he foresaw: "We will wait for the Regulators. Since Tryon wishes to force us into open rebellion, he shall be gratified. Shoot down yonder villains if it so be you can; but here we remain until overpowered, or rescued by those who will speedily come to avenge the wrongs which are perpetrated upon all the colony." We had no opportunity to open fire on the enemy during the day; but when night came, and they drew more closely the circle of guards, we found a target now and then, thus reducing the number until I believe of a verity we might have ventured out and beat them off in a hand-to-hand fight. It is not well that I spend too many words on the situation at the Payne plantation, for the story is one of careful watch only, with now and then the report of a rifle to tell that we were on the alert. The enemy took turns at using us for targets; but, sheltered as we were behind the walls, they did no injury, while I am confident we disabled not less than four during the time of our arrival and noon of the third day. Then we saw a cloud of dust in the distance, heard the shouts of horsemen, and soon saw a body of gentlemen full four hundred strong ride down like a whirlwind upon fugitives who had lately been our besiegers. We sallied forth, and before the fray was come to an end our friends had seven prisoners. None were killed outright so far as I could learn; the remainder had taken the alarm in time to seek safety by flight, and our road to Maddock's Mill lay open before us. Young Payne had discharged his mission well; the Regulation was in session considering an arrest which had been made for non-payment of taxes, and, waiting only long enough to secure a supply of provisions, had set off for our relief. The entire party camped on the plantation that night, and before morning came, their plans for the future were fully formed. It was decided that the gentlemen composing the Regulation should remain under arms until Governor Tryon fulfilled his promise, or ignored it altogether, and during this time of waiting all efforts should be directed toward protecting those who refused to pay the unjust tax. On this evening Sidney and I were regularly admitted to the ranks of the Sons of Liberty, as if we were indeed men in age, and so wrought up was I by Master Howell's words, that I persuaded myself the colonies would speedily be freed from the rule of a master who had set over us such men as Tryon, Edwards and Fanning. We left Master Payne's plantation next morning at sunrise, and in due time arrived at Maddock's Mill, where it had been decided the Regulation would have its headquarters. It was no slight task to provide food and shelter for such a number; but once it was known that the governor evidently intended to play fast and loose with the people of our section, every one, including those who had not deemed it right to join the Regulation, set about bringing in stores of food for both men and horses. Then the men began building shelters, working in squads of five, three, or two, as was mutually agreed upon, and soon the neighborhood of Maddock's Mill resembled a military encampment. The rebellion began to assume decided form. As may be fancied, Sidney and I were camp-mates. We built for ourselves a lean-to which would shelter us from the rain at least, and in the rear of it made an enclosure into which the horses could be brought at night. It was not believed safe for us to go home, even for a few hours, because Edwards and Fanning had men out in every direction picking up a victim here and there, and we lads knew full well that Sandy Wells would take full advantage of the opportunity in case he came upon us where we could not defend ourselves. The Regulators were waiting to learn whether Tryon would keep the word given to the deputies, and a dull time of it we lads had meanwhile. Since one day was passed much as another, with nothing by way of excitement save when news came of this or that high-handed proceeding on the part of the secretary and the attorney, I propose to set down here simply an account of the general happenings in the neighborhood. The Regulators had scouts out in every direction, and therefore it was we learned, early in July, when we were heartily tired with lounging around camp while it seemed necessary the most active measures should be taken, that Governor Tryon, with an escort of an hundred and sixty soldiers, had arrived in Hillsborough. This was in accordance with his promise, and those who hoped the colony would not be forced to resist the king's laws were filled with joy, particularly when the governor issued a proclamation declaring that he had come to right the wrongs complained of in the petition delivered to him at Brunswick. Not a word in his official note to the people was said regarding the Regulators; but the citizens were requested to keep the peace until such time as the several complaints could be acted upon by the courts of law, and it was promised that if they remained quiet all should be done in accordance with the wishes of the majority. When this proclamation was sent out over the colony there were many who urged that the Regulation be dissolved, lest the fact of so many armed men remaining together might be construed by the governor as outright treason. As a matter of fact an hundred or more did leave the encampment, returning to their homes, and but for the earnest entreaties of General Hamilton, the deputies, my father, and several others, the Sons of Liberty would have dispersed simply because Tryon and his crew wished it so. Before one week had passed after the issuance of the proclamation, it could readily be seen that our burdens were to be increased instead of lightened. Twenty or more of those who had left the Regulation and returned home were arrested for non-payment of the poll tax levied to build Tryon's palace. Edwards and Fanning no longer spoke of pacifying, but of subduing, the people, and warrants were sworn out daily for the purpose of putting into prison those who were absolutely unable to pay the amount demanded. Fanning's fees were increased until they amounted to ten times as much as the law allowed for court services, and the poor wretch with money or lands who fell into his hands was unmercifully shorn of all his possessions before being set free. The wickedness was increased twenty-fold, and no man could say at what moment the prison-doors might open to receive him, save we who remained banded together in the encampment at Maddock's Mill. Then Governor Tryon proceeded to frighten the wretched people by marching with his soldiers from Hillsborough to Mecklenburg, and there coaxing or scaring twenty or more timorous souls to enlist in the army he said should be raised to subdue "the rebellion in upper Carolina." Then he marched to Salisbury and back to Hillsborough, enlisting recruits wherever men or lads could be cajoled or frightened, and, with an army of an hundred and sixty trained soldiers and about fifty feeble-minded colonists, he proceeded to play the part of king; but with rather poor success. By this time such of the Sons of Liberty as had returned to their homes and were yet at liberty came back to Maddock's Mill prepared to remain until matters were of a different complexion, and once more the defenders of the colony presented a formidable front to the tyrant. We numbered upwards of three hundred and eighty, and by advice of General Hamilton our camp was moved nearer Hillsborough in order that we might protect the country roundabout. In answer to what he was pleased to term a "threat," on our part, Tryon called out the militia of the colony, threatening direst vengeance upon those who dare disregard the call. By such means he added twenty or more to his army, and once again were the sheriffs sent to collect taxes, each officer guarded by a squad of ten soldiers. Now was come the time when the Regulation believed something more should be done than remaining idly in camp. We were told off into squads of twenty-five, and day after day we rode here or there as our scouts reported the movements of the sheriff, driving back the officials and their guards as if they had been so many sheep. When the guard of the tax-collectors were increased in numbers, our detachments were added to, and in every case we sent back the scurvy rascals. Sometimes they plucked up courage to exchange shots with us, when we always managed to disable one or more; but as a rule they beat a hasty retreat whenever we came in sight. We had orders not to shoot unless we were attacked, and it was hard at times to obey, particularly when, in the course of our forays, Sidney and I saw Sandy Wells at the head of a dozen soldiers destroying the household goods of a widow with one son of seventeen, who could not pay the money demanded. Before the middle of August, however, we made the governor and his crew understand that we were masters of that section of country, and instead of sending out sheriffs on fruitless errands, Tryon set about strengthening his position as if fearing we might attempt to capture Hillsborough. That town was a fortified camp, and none of the royalists dared ride three miles in either direction. It goes without saying that neither Edwards, Fanning, nor any member of the sheriff's posse trusted himself outside the town. General Hamilton had given orders that we were to capture any of Tryon's officers which we might come across, and keen were all for such game. I would willingly have given my horse and rifle, all the property I owned, for the privilege of bringing into camp as my prisoner the attorney Fanning. Although we were under strict orders not to shed blood, save in defense of our own, I question if that black-hearted lawyer's life would have been worth a moment's purchase once he was in our power. Among Tryon's many proclamations at this time was one which stated that on the twenty-second of September would be begun the trials of those who were confined in jail for any offense, and without question the case of Masters Husband and William Hunter would then be called. It also pleased the representative of the king to declare that "since charges had been preferred against Edmund Fanning, attorney, he would be called upon to render an account of his doings." No one among the Sons of Liberty believed the wretch who had caused so much misery would be regularly tried; but all were curious to see how Tryon might save his minion when so many and such serious charges could, and would, be made against him. I have tried to set down here an outline of what Sidney and I did during all that long summer while we waited for the royal governor to do us justice, which had been so long withheld. And by telling it in the fewest possible words, we are now come to three days before the time set for the trials, or, in other words, to the nineteenth of September, in the year of grace 1768. The Sons of Liberty were resolved that there should be ample evidence against Fanning, whatever the cost, therefore from among the members of the association eight were selected who could swear truthfully that the attorney had defrauded them of several considerable sums of money. It was believed that, unless protected in some manner, these witnesses would be arrested immediately they showed themselves in Hillsborough, therefore the officers of the Regulation prepared a paper stating that in case these men, whose names were set down therein, should be interfered with in any manner while they were in town to serve as witnesses, the Regulators would immediately make an assault. It was further stated that the lives of the governor and his associates depended entirely upon the manner in which our people were treated, for it would be the duty of every Son of Liberty to seek out the principal officials during the assault, for the purpose of shooting them down. This was open rebellion, and no mistake; but in order to prevent Tryon from declaring that we had intimidated the courts of justice, there was added to the document the agreement that no member of the association would interfere in any manner whatsoever with the judges or the officials of the court, while the cases were being conducted in a way agreeably with the laws of the king. This document was sent to the governor by one of our scouts who, going into town, secretly gave it to a royalist for transmission, and, before it could be delivered the venturesome man had rejoined us. Nor was this all the association did in order to secure fair and impartial trials for Fanning as well our friends. It was decided by the association in council, that while we remained at such a distance from Hillsborough Tryon might take upon himself the risk of conducting matters without regard to our just demands; therefore the camp was moved once more, and this time to a small hill overlooking the town, and hardly more than half a mile from the court-house. Here we felled trees to serve as breastworks, and otherwise guarded against an attack, for many of us believed that as soon as the Sons of Liberty showed themselves, the so-called king's forces would make a desperate attack, alleging as the reason therefor that they were in fear we might attempt to take possession of the town. It was on the morning of the twentieth of September when we rode up the hill in full view of Governor Tryon's forces; but no demonstration was made against us. The people could see that we were preparing to resist an attack; but they remained as if paralyzed with astonishment. Near nightfall came a mounted soldier bearing a white flag, who demanded in the governor's name the reason for our display of force, and General Hamilton replied to the question. "This is no display of force," he said. "We have come as citizens of upper Carolina to safeguard several witnesses, and have no mind to interfere in any way with the proceedings. Say to Governor Tryon that we shall remain until the close of the session, and that never a man of us will ride into town while the people are given the rights accorded to them by the king and parliament. If, however, there should be an attempt to deprive a witness of his liberty, we shall ride down like a whirlwind, carrying out to the utmost the plan which we have already had the honor to submit to the governor." The man rode back, and before night came we could see that Tryon's residence was guarded by three-score men, a fact which caused Master Howell to say scornfully: "I wonder if the coward thinks to save himself from our vengeance, with sixty recruits? We will overturn them, if there be any act of treachery, before William Tryon can sign his name!" After that we waited in anxious suspense, but constantly on the alert, for the day when law and order would be established in upper Carolina, or it might be known beyond a peradventure that we must depend upon ourselves entirely for liberty and the opportunity to live upon our own lands. CHAPTER VIII. SANDY WELLS. As early as sunrise on the morning of September twenty-first, twenty-eight hours or more before the time set for the trial of our friends, the people from the country roundabout began to gather, every man, woman and child eager to learn at the earliest possible moment what might be the outcome of this first attempt to check the course of the king's minions. Before nightfall it was said that there were not less than three thousand people in and around Hillsborough. On every hand as far as the eye could reach, the visitors were camped; some brought two or three bed-quilts, which they put up on crotched sticks and a long sapling as a ridge-pole, a tent that was made to accommodate as many as could crawl beneath it. Others utilized their carts as sleeping quarters, the body of the vehicle serving as the upper story of the dwelling, and the ground immediately beneath it as the ground floor; to the wheels were tethered the horses or oxen, and he who slept in the "chamber" of such a lodging was in danger of being awakened many times while the cattle munched at the hay which served as a bed. Now a few of the visitors reckoned on sleeping upon the ground wherever darkness overtook them, and many there were who had believed it would be possible to get a shelter in the town, never dreaming that nearly every man, woman and child in upper Carolina would come to the trial, during which was to be settled the question of their individual rights. Some of the visitors had brought with them a goodly supply of provisions, while others, more improvident, came with nothing save a hearty appetite, and these last went from party to party asking food as of right, until all appeared to be supplied. Every house in the town was filled to overflowing, so I was told, at nine o'clock on the morning of the day before the trial was to take place. Every tree which could be seen from our camp had one or more beneath the shelter of its branches, and in order to prevent our encampment from being literally over-run, it was necessary to station fifty men as guards to keep back our friends. Take it all in all it was such a sight as I had never seen before, and do not expect to witness again. I had not believed there were so many people in the upper Carolina as were now gathered here, and every one appeared to be feverishly eager to make certain Masters Husband and Hunter would receive a fair trial. Sidney and I had come off from sentinel duty at sunrise, when the crowd began to pour in, and we stood literally fascinated by the scene, never so much as thinking of breakfast, until the forenoon was nearly half spent, by which time the valley between us and the town was densely packed with human beings. "I wonder what Tryon thinks of this scene?" my comrade said musingly as he looked across the sea of heads from which came a perfect Babel of noise. "He must realize by this time that his imitation army could not make much progress against such a gathering." "Aye, and yet it is to his advantage, if he counts on playing us false," I replied, seized by a sudden thought. "The Regulators could not enter the town whatever might be the necessity for their so doing, save at the expense of trampling hundreds beneath the feet of their horses." "That is a danger which I had not considered," my comrade said with a long indrawing of the breath as when one brings himself to face a sudden and immediate danger. "Governor Tryon is guarded by his enemies, and yet if they turned upon him he would be swept from off the face of the earth like so much chaff before the wind." "The disaster would be appalling if these people should take it into their heads to rise against him!" I cried, shuddering as if the work of slaughter was about to begin. "The soldiers could mow great swaths through the crowd at every discharge of their muskets, and hundreds would be killed before the remainder found space in which to move." "He will not dare work an injustice upon the prisoners!" Sidney cried after a long pause, and I, sickening as I realized what might happen if a sudden panic arose, or in case an act of violence was committed, drew my comrade away from contemplation of the scene, as I said: "Why speculate as to possibilities? No disaster can come upon them during this day at least, and there is time enough in which to cross a bridge when we have arrived at it. Let us go in search of something to eat." It was not necessary to spend very much time in this last quest; each visitor who had relatives among the Regulators brought something in the way of provisions as a treat, with the result that our larder was filled to running over, and it was almost impossible to take a dozen steps in either direction without receiving a hearty invitation "to have something from home." Up to this time none of Sidney's relatives or mine had put in an appearance, and I was feeling decidedly disappointed, although I had no good reason for believing that my mother would come all the way from Alamance simply to learn what might be the result of Governor Tryon's investigations. When we had satisfied our hunger, however, and were about to visit General Hamilton's headquarters in order to learn whether we would be called upon for further guard duty that day, I was rejoiced beyond words to see my mother, in company with Sidney's parents, looking here and there anxiously, disappointed at not readily finding father or myself. It is not necessary to say that within a very few seconds I was clasped in her dear arms, and for the time being I almost forgot that such a tyrant as Tryon ever had an existence. When I had spent an hour in her company, my father joined us, and at the same moment Sidney shouted for me to come with him--where, I did not at the instant understand. "It is my intention to stay very near my mother this day," I said petulantly, as he went toward the river even while I was advancing. "She will be setting out for home immediately after the trials have been brought to a close, and I have no idea of wasting even a moment which might be spent in her company." "Give her a chance to talk with your father," Sidney said laughingly. "It appears to me as if the visitors were in some mischief down this way, and I cannot find any of the Regulators who are willing to look into the matter." "If it was of consequence there would be no lack of men to attend to it," I said petulantly, and then I became interested immediately as I saw a throng of an hundred or more, who appeared to be deeply intent upon something in their midst. "Most likely they are having some kind of a game," Sidney said when I came alongside; "but just before you showed yourself I fancied I heard cries for help, and it seems as if we should know the reason for the gathering. Unless we of the association have our eyes about us this day there will be rough play which may develop into a fight, as I heard General Hamilton say." By this time we were among those of the throng who were in the outer ring, and I heard such cries as: "Drown the scoundrel!" "Be sure he don't get away till we from Chatham have put our mark on him!" "He's needed a lesson this many a day, and now is the time to give it to him!" The crowd was so dense as each member of it pressed toward the center, that Sidney and I were forced to literally fight our way forward, and no less than ten minutes were spent in such task, during which time we plainly heard cries for help in a voice which sounded strangely familiar to me. Then, finally, we were in the very midst of the gathering, and had before us what promised to be a tragedy which might bring shame and reproach upon us all, unless it was speedily checked. As many men as could seize upon him, held in their grasp Sandy Wells, whose legs and arms were tied securely, and whose clothing had been torn to tatters by the rough usage he had received. His captors were industriously engaged in kicking him when we gained a place by his side, and at every blow they called aloud the name of some citizen of the Carolinas who had been ill-treated at his hands. "We're going to square accounts for all our neighbors, and then dump you in the river," one of the men cried vindictively, and I could see a huge rock, around which was a rope, lying near at hand to fasten on his body when the tormentors were ready to put an end to their victim. Now it cannot be supposed that either Sidney or I had any affection for the sheriff's officer; but yet we could not stand idly by while he was being murdered. In addition to such pity as common humanity dictated, it suddenly occurred to me that if the mob killed an officer of the law the Regulation would be accused by Governor Tryon of having committed the deed, and then would be good reason why the entire upper portion of the colony should be put under strict martial rule. If this murder was done the Sons of Liberty would be branded as assassins, and with some reason, therefore I whispered to Sidney, although without the slightest idea as to how we two might prevent the enraged men from working their will: "We must put an end to this, and that right quickly, else will the man be killed before our eyes." There was in his mind the same thought as had come into mine, and he turned to look me full in the face as he said, almost shouting in order that I might hear the words above the uproar: "It may cost us our lives to interfere! I do not recognize any of these men, and they will refuse to listen." At this moment Sandy Wells caught sight of us, and, stretching out his bound hands, cried imploringly: "Save me, lads! For God's sake don't allow me to be murdered!" "That we won't!" I cried, suddenly forgetting that I was running my nose into very serious danger until we could make that maddened desperate mob understand who we were, which last would require some time while the tumult was so great. Forcing myself with a rush between two of those who had a hold upon Sandy, I seized the prisoner by the arm as I cried with the full force of my lungs: "You are ruining the cause of freedom when you lay violent hands upon this man! Have a care, or there'll be mischief done to more than him!" I had hardly finished speaking before half a dozen rushed forward, one seizing me by the throat, despite all Sidney's efforts to hold him back, and crying: "Here's another of Tryon's friends! we'll drop him into the stream to bear the tax-collector company!" I tried in vain to speak; but the fellow had my throat as if in a vise, and it was impossible to so much as whisper. As the mob pressed yet further I was forced downward until I lay across Sandy's body, and Sidney strove valiantly to make himself heard as he cried: "He whom you have there is Clare Butler, one of the Regulators! I am Sidney Hubbard, also a member of the association! Do you hear? We are of the Regulation, and are trying to prevent you from bringing yet greater wrongs upon the colony!" Before it was possible for Sidney to utter many words the men had bound me hand and foot, after the same fashion as was Sandy, and at that moment I believed, and feel certain to this day, that death was very near me. It was only a question as to whether my comrade could make himself heard before I was pitched overboard. Already I could hear shouts from those in the rear demanding that I be "finished" before Sandy's score was paid off, and more than one threatened to take a hand in the business if it was not brought to a speedy close. "Drown the villain! Let Tryon understand that he can't play fast and loose with us!" one of the crowd shouted, and another added: "Waste no time over him; but let us pay our dues to the tax-collector while he is drowning." Those in the rear were so eager to expedite matters that they flung themselves forward until the men who held me were forced to turn and defend themselves lest they be trodden under foot, and this temporary delay, I firmly believe, was all that saved my life. Had the members of the mob not fought with each other to gain a better place in which to witness the spectacle, of a verity I would have been flung into the river. "We are two lads who acted as escort to the deputies when they went to Brunswick!" Sidney shouted during a momentary lull in the tumult, and one of those nearest him caught the import of the words. "Who are you?" the man cried, and Sidney replied, yelling in the fellow's ear to make certain the words were understood: "Regulators! Members of the association! But for the lad you are threatening to drown, the deputies might not have escaped from those whom Tryon sent in pursuit of us!" Now it was Sidney had assistance in his efforts to procure for us a hearing, for the man set about making his neighbor acquainted with the facts, and in a twinkling a third understood that they had been trying to kill their friends. When perhaps five minutes had passed, and time moved slowly to me who was expecting each instant that some impatient one would pitch me over the river bank, those in the middle of the throng came to know what we had been trying to tell them, and in a very few seconds afterward I was released from my bonds. "It was a close shave for you," he who had been holding me by the throat said, as I stood before him gasping for breath. "We made certain you were trying to save the tax-collector." "That is exactly what we were doing," I replied, speaking with difficulty because my windpipe was sore from the pressure so lately put upon it. "Then you must be friendly to Tryon, else you would not speak a good word for that villain whom we count on killing as we would a rat!" "It must not be done!" I cried frantically, raising my voice so that those in the immediate vicinity might hear. "If you kill him it will be said that it was done by orders of the Regulation, and Tryon will have right on his side when he overruns the country with soldiers. To raise your hands against an officer of the county is to weave a noose for those brave men in prison who will look to-morrow for your assistance! Nothing would please Tryon better than to have a reasonable excuse for throwing us all into jail!" Then, as my voice failed, Sidney took up the theme: "How much do you harm Tryon by killing Sandy Wells? The governor cares nothing about such as he, and would gladly reward the man who, by committing murder almost in the encampment of the Regulators, should give the king's minions power over us! Turn the tax-collector over to us. We will take him to General Hamilton, who is bound to see that he be held a prisoner, and to-morrow, if Tryon and Fanning play us false, we shall have one on whom to retaliate." "Keep him till to-morrow!" a voice cried, and straightway I began to have hope that we might finally succeed in our purpose. Some of the mob came to understand that which we would beat into their thick skulls, and with the knowledge of what the murder of a king's officer might mean for all in that section, whether innocent or guilty, came the impulse to wash their own hands of any participation in the outrage. For the time being they forgot their victim while discussing each with another the situation as we had shown it, and now was come the time when I could cut Sandy's bonds. "Get to your feet and keep close behind Sidney and me," I whispered. "Do as I bid you, and it may be that we three can make our way inside the lines of the encampment." "I'll do whatever you say," Sandy replied in the tone of one whose life has just been saved, as indeed his had, and I whispered in Sidney's ear, for the tumult had so far subsided that it was possible to speak with some degree of privacy: "Work gradually toward the encampment while you talk. If we can attract the attention of the Regulators our point is gained." Then I turned to argue with the man nearest me, showing him how much it would advantage us if we could have the tax-collector as our prisoner until the trial in the court had come to an end, and all the while pressing gently forward, step by step, toward our line of guards. Sandy, knowing that his only chance for life was in keeping close to us lads, for if he had attempted to gain the village an hundred hands would have been laid upon him in anger, obeyed my commands to the letter, pressing me so hard at times that I found it difficult to keep my footing. In this manner we succeeded, after more than an hour had passed, in approaching within twenty feet of the encampment line, and the remainder of the task was simple. We had but to attract the attention of the guard, and in a twinkling half a dozen Regulators were on the spot. Hurriedly I told our friends of what had been on foot, and Sandy Wells was marched directly within the lines, while those who would follow were forced by the guards to keep their distance. The men who had come to our rescue believed it proper the prisoner should be taken to that lean-to known as "headquarters," and soon the miserable wretch was telling his story to our commander. "Why did you show yourself such a simpleton as to venture into the midst of those whom you had harassed?" the old general asked with a laugh, for I believe he was secretly pleased at seeing the tax-collector in such a plight. "I came across the river to speak with some friends of mine who were come----" Sandy began, and one of our party interrupted him by saying: "I didn't suppose you had a friend outside of Hillsborough, and but precious few in the town!" "This was a family from Chatham whom I have known many years----" "I venture to say you never tried to collect illegal taxes from them!" "Let the man tell the story," General Hamilton interrupted, and Sandy continued: "They were so near the town that I didn't think any one would dare lay hands on me; but before I was comfortably seated under their wagon half a dozen men seized me. I was dragged up the stream to that point where the bank is high and steep, and there the life was nearly kicked out of me." Sandy concluded the story by explaining how we had chanced to go to his rescue, and what happened after we arrived at the scene. "You two lads have done well!" the old general said emphatically. "It would have been a sorry day's work for the people in this section if yonder rascal had been killed. The one question now in my mind is, what we shall do with him. I don't want such scurvy knaves in camp." Hearing this Sandy dropped on his knees, begging the general not to send him outside the lines of the encampment lest he be killed, and, after waiting a moment without hearing anything by way of suggestion as to what should be done with the fellow, Sidney said: "If it please you, Master Hamilton, Clare and I will take charge of him until to-morrow. I think he will do as we command, and it's only a question of keeping him away from the visitors." "You may take him and welcome," the general said in a tone of relief. "It may not be safe to make too great a display of the rascal even in camp, for we have among us many whom he has wofully distressed." "Always acting under orders, sir, always under orders!" Sandy cried, yet on his knees. "You would be more of a man if you took your orders from a different source," the general said sharply, and then motioned for us to lead him away. "You lads have saved my life," Sandy began when we three were walking toward the lean-to Sidney and I had built, "and if I can ever do anything in return, you shall understand that I know how to be grateful." "We've done nothing for which we expect to be rewarded," Sidney replied with a gesture of impatience. "You can't fancy that we bear you any very good-will, therefore what we did was for the good of the colony." "Never mind why you did it; I shall never forget what I owe." Then we were come to the lean-to, and once there the question arose as to what we should do with our charge. If he was left to wander around the encampment alone, some of the men would undoubtedly ill-treat him, and we were not disposed to waste time which should be spent in the company of our dear ones, looking after him. It was Sandy himself who solved the question for us, by saying: "Leave me here; I can hide beneath the brush which forms your bed, and you may be certain I shan't be such a fool as to venture out." It was a good idea, and after he had burrowed beneath the pine branches until no trace of him could be seen, I went to seek my mother. CHAPTER IX. TRYON'S DEMONSTRATION. Although we, meaning Sidney and I, had saved a man's life, it was but a trifling incident to the majority, so intense was the interest in the outcome of the trial to be held on the morrow. The welfare of the colony, and, perhaps, the lives of hundreds of our people depended upon what would be done next day in the Hillsborough court-house, and with such a great stake at hazard, the citizens might well be excused for giving but little heed to the fact that a tax-collector had been very near death. Those who paid any particular attention to the events which I have just set down, viewed the entire proceeding as but the first move in the game betwixt rulers and those who are ruled, and if any disquietude was felt, it arose from the fact that the more superstitious took Sandy Wells' escape from death as a token that our oppressors would win the legal battle, or contrive some way by which it might be turned into a farce. When I rejoined my parents I found them looking decidedly uncomfortable in mind, and it was possible to guess the reason for their anxiety when mother said to me in a low tone as she clasped my hand lovingly: "My son, in case it should not be prudent to return home at once, I feel confident you will conduct yourself as if my eyes were upon you all the time." "Then father thinks Tryon will get the best of us to-morrow?" I cried, looking up quickly. "It is possible that, despite all our show of force, the king's party may outwit us, or force the judges to decide in Tryon's favor," my father replied thoughtfully. "If that should happen the people would make quick work of the traitors," I said, thinking of the scene I had just witnessed. "No one can say when or how a gathering like this is to be swerved from its purpose. Within four and twenty hours the situation may appear entirely different to those who now cry out against the king's minions." "But the Regulators will hold steadfast," I said quickly. "Having announced themselves as true Sons of Liberty, they cannot give up the struggle while right is on their side." "I know not what may be the result of to-morrow's trial," my father replied gravely, "and it is of little use to speculate, as I have already been led to do by certain questions your mother asked. We shall know the outcome in due season." "But you have intimated to her that it may be several weeks before I return home, as if believing the result will be in favor of Tryon's party," I insisted. "I have said that it might become necessary for the Regulation to remain in session some time and of course, since you are a member, it will be needful to remain in camp." I understood that father had indulged in more forebodings while conversing privately with mother, than he cared to have made known to me, and was not surprised thereat. It had been in my mind for many hours that the governor could and would influence the decision of the court, if he believed it might be done with safety so far as he personally was concerned, and it would not have caused me astonishment had I been told that the case was already settled without regard to any evidence which might be submitted. The judges upon the bench would be Chief Justice Martin Howard, with Maurice Moore and Richard Henderson as his associates. It had been said more than once that to these gentlemen Tryon's desire was of more importance than the king's written law, and even General Hamilton was quoted as having declared that the words of the decisions in the cases which were to come up on the morrow would have been dictated by the man who made of justice a mockery. However, when I looked around upon the vast assembly, and realized that the governor knew beyond a peradventure that all these people would cry out against any additional wrongs, even to the extent of resorting to arms, I could not believe he would dare trifle with them. Mother, observing the mood into which I had fallen, bade me forget her words, but not the substance of them, and to change the current of thought suggested that father and myself escort her around the encampment in order that she might meet our friends. We were on the point of acceding to what was really a proposition, when one of the Regulators came up hurriedly with the word: "The members of the association are ordered to fall into line, mounted, and fully armed." It was a command to be obeyed on the instant, and as I ran toward my camp to make preparations, I wondered what could have happened to give color to such a warlike proceeding. So far as I was able to see, everything appeared in much the same condition as when we had rescued Sandy, yet there could be no question but that danger threatened from some quarter. Sidney was by my side before I arrived at the lean-to, and his first question was as to whether I knew the meaning of the command. "I can see nothing to cause alarm, and yet General Hamilton is far too cautious to do anything unnecessarily which might provoke a conflict," I replied. "At such a time as this it needs but a spark to set all these men aflame, for after the many wrongs committed in the king's name they are like to so much tinder, and our forming into ranks will arouse them at once." "If Sandy Wells can stir up the visitors to the point of murder, it stands our officers in hand to go slowly and with exceeding caution," Sidney said in so grave a tone that I looked at him in surprise. When we began saddling our horses, which had been kept within the enclosure that day lest they might be frightened away, or stolen, the collector was alarmed, and, poking his head out from under the brushpile, asked in a voice trembling with apprehension: "What is the matter? Have any others from the sheriff's office been so reckless as to follow my example by coming across the river?" "We don't know what is on foot," Sidney replied; "but certain it is that we are called out for duty. Take my advice and keep under cover till night, when we will make an effort to send you over to the town." Sandy disappeared like a flash, and despite the fears in my mind I could not repress the smile which was provoked by a glimpse of his face. The day was exceedingly warm, and his hiding-place must have been close indeed, for not a breath of air could reach him beneath all that brush. His cheeks were flushed crimson, and the perspiration oozed from every pore, only to be covered with pine needles which adhered to the skin as if glued there. We were not long in answering the call, and once my comrade and I were on the brow of the hill overlooking the town, where the command was being formed, it was possible to understand why we had been summoned. Across that sea of heads, just in front of the court-house, was Governor Tryon's army, drawn up as if for action. We could see that every man was fully armed, and all the officers in position, ready for immediate movement. "What is the meaning of that display of force?" I asked in surprise, and the man nearest me replied grimly: "That is what all of us would like to know. It may be that Tryon is only showing the visitors what he can muster in case of a riot, and yet such would be a foolish move, for it simply proves that this multitude could make short work of them. If I stood in Tryon's shoes I should hesitate about showing my hand so plainly." "The fellow is no fool, however much of a knave he may be," one of the Regulators who had heard the reply said quickly. "I warrant those soldiers are not there to overawe the people." "Then why have they been called out?" Sidney asked impatiently. "In my opinion they will march across the river, or, at least, to a point mighty near this camp." "Meaning that the governor counts on showing fight?" I asked in dismay. "You are getting beyond me; but the question is likely to be answered very soon, for the men are in motion." As he spoke the command wheeled into files, and advanced in order of fours directly toward us. At the head of the column rode three officers tricked out with gold lace and feathers; but we could see readily that Tryon himself was not among them. By this time the people, who had been aroused by seeing us form in line as if to resist an attack, now perceived what was happening on the other side of the river, and straightway a murmuring sound arose which was at the same time menacing and disquieting. I could see that the male visitors were hurrying the women and children around to the other side of the hill, as if expecting a battle was imminent, while the younger men and older lads were collecting into a solid mass. "If yonder fellows were armed, Tryon's recruits would have a rough time of it," Sidney said with a laugh as he pointed at the throng which was edging toward the hill as if to support us. "God forbid that such should be the case, else Hillsborough would be a shambles this night," a horseman near me said in a low tone. "If Tryon begins blood-letting to-day, he and we alike will rue it." The soldiers advanced in something like regular order until they were come to the river bank, and there, not more than two hundred yards from where the Regulators and their horses remained like statues, they came to a halt. The three officers who had led the column rode into the stream to a point midway across the ford, where they also halted. "It is a parley!" I heard some one near me mutter, and then came a cry from that officer whose uniform bore the greatest amount of gold lace: "Is there any one who professes to command your force?" General Hamilton, attended by Master James Hunter and my father, rode to the line of the encampment, and the old Scotchman lifted his hat in answer to the question. "Who am I addressing?" the officer asked, and then it was that I recognized him as the governor's secretary. "That you know full well, David Edwards!" our old commander shouted; "but lest you may think I'm afraid to bring myself under the ban of your mock court, I'll repeat it. I am Ninian Bell Hamilton, a freeholder of this colony, president of that association known as the Regulation, and bending the knee to no one outside of bonny Scotland!" What a shout went up from the people as the old gentleman thus boldly announced himself! It was as if the hill literally trembled because of the tumult, and not until a good five minutes had passed was it possible for Master Edwards to make himself heard. Then, when the people were hoarse from much shouting, the secretary cried: "In the name of the king I bid you disperse!" "Wherefore?" General Hamilton asked sharply. "Is it not allowed that the people may assemble when their court of law is about to decide upon the fate of two most worthy members of this colony?" "It is not lawful to menace the king's officers while they are in discharge of their duty." "It is you who are menacing, my good man. We have come here in orderly fashion, and were doing our best to preserve order when you marched out in full war array." "You are inciting the people to deeds of violence. It is hardly an hour since one of his majesty's officers was foully murdered by you who call yourselves Regulators, and I demand that those who had any hand in that cowardly deed be delivered up to his excellency's guard, whereof I am temporarily in command." "Whatever is the rascal talking about?" I heard General Hamilton mutter; but after Master Hunter had spoken with him, he looked around as if in search of some person. I made bold to spur my horse forward a few paces, believing I understood what the general would have, and immediately he motioned me nearer. "Have you that rascally tax-collector in your charge, my lad?" "Aye, sir; that is to say, he was in our camp half an hour since." "Bring him out here, and we will see if he's the man yonder popinjay prates about so loudly." I rode back to our lean-to without loss of time, and once there called to Sandy. He poked his head out from amid the brush like a turtle, and because of the pine needles which covered his face the best friend he had in the world would have failed to recognize him. "The governor's troops have sent for you," I said curtly, intent only on performing my duty in the shortest possible space of time. "You are to come with me." "I don't dare, lad, I don't dare!" he cried in an agony of terror. "You alone amid all this throng cannot protect me!" "There will be no throng where you are to go. The Regulators are drawn up in line, and I give you my word they will brook no interference from those who were near to doing murder." Instead of coming out, he drew back till I could see no more than the top of his head, and I was angered because of the delay. "The general has sent for you, and I am not willing to waste time. If you are not by my side before it is possible to count ten, I'll put a bullet into your head as you lie there!" Although I would not have done such a thing to save my right hand, the coward must have believed I was in deadly earnest, for he crept out, shaking with fear like a man suffering from an ague fit. "Now march by the side of my horse, holding to the stirrup," I said sharply. "It will be well so long as you obey orders; but once I see any show of running away, my bullet will make a target of your carcass." "How could I run away while on every hand are those who would murder me?" he asked with a whine. "If the people see me I am undone." "The governor's troops have come to conduct you to the town, and surely you may trust them!" I cried. Sandy shook his head doubtfully; he was in that frame of mind where he trusted no one, and his terror was so great as to excite pity. I contrived, however, by a liberal use of threats, to keep him by me until I had arrived at General Hamilton's side, and then the old Scotchman bade me advance with Sandy until I was midway between himself and the three officers. "Is that the man you accuse us of murdering?" the general asked when I had obeyed his order, and I could see a look of surprise come over Master Edwards' face. "Is it Sandy Wells, of the sheriff's office?" he asked; but my prisoner remained silent, whereupon I prodded him in the side, whispering as I did so: "Speak out, man! Do you distrust your own friends?" "I'm not certain if I have any," he said mournfully, and then so far plucked up courage as to reply in a thin, tremulous voice: "Aye, sir, I am Sandy Wells." "We heard that you had been murdered," Master Edwards said, much as if disappointed because such was not the fact. "I was indeed very near death; but those who call themselves Regulators rescued me from the vile men who accuse me of having worked them harm because of obeying the sheriff's orders." "Is that the man you declared had been murdered?" General Hamilton shouted, and after some delay Master Edwards replied: "That is the man." "Send him forward, lad, and let those brave gentlemen take the fellow without delay to his excellency, who will be in distress of mind until after having assured himself that he is in the land of the living." Master Edwards wheeled about as if to join his force, and General Hamilton shouted: "Turn back, David Edwards, and take him who has caused you so much trouble! Why do you not grasp the gallant gentleman's hand?" "Come back, please, dear Master Edwards!" Sandy shouted. "Else I shall be killed, for the Regulators evidently will have no more of me!" At this pathetic appeal the people burst into a roar of laughter which was like unto the shrieking of a hurricane, and not until he had crossed to the other side of the river did Master Edwards turn his head. Then his cheeks were flaming red as with shame, and I fearing lest we might let slip this opportunity of safely delivering our prisoner, said to Sandy: "Run forward, man, now that you have the opportunity! It is not certain Sidney and I can smuggle you into the town, and you may come to grief on this side the river, no matter how close you hide yourself." The tax-collector hesitated only an instant, and then seeing that there were none between him and the line of red-coated soldiers, took to his heels, crying at the full force of his lungs: "Wait for me, Master Edwards! For the love of heaven don't leave me here to be murdered, dear Master Edwards!" "Wait for the lost sheep which we have restored to you, Master Secretary!" General Hamilton shouted, and the people were once more convulsed with laughter. They roared and shrieked in mirth until Sandy was by the side of the angry secretary, and jeered both the tax-collector and the soldiers until the governor's guard fairly ran toward the court-house. Meanwhile I had ridden back to my place in the line, and, arriving there, heard one horseman say to his neighbor: "There will be no further thought of foul play, now that the people are amused; but if those two lads had not rescued the tax-collector when he was nigh to death, we should have a pretty hornets' nest about our ears by this time." It filled me with pride as I realized that Sidney and I had done so much for the cause, and I could well understand how important was our work of mercy, by glancing at the governor's troops. Had Sandy Wells been killed, as he would have been but for us two lads, then had Tryon such a weapon against us as must have doomed the Regulation to everlasting shame and contempt. We held our line until the governor's soldiers disappeared behind the court-house, and then the command was given to break ranks, after which General Hamilton rode up to Sidney and me, saying as he faced about to check our forward movement: "I thank you, lads, in the name of the Regulation, for having made it possible for us to throw ridicule upon the enemy. May you ride long in the ranks of the Sons of Liberty!" I was as proud as any turkey cock at being publicly praised by one of the foremost men in the colony, and when we were alone in our lean-to Sidney said: "I reckon we ought to be well satisfied with ourselves. There's many a one in this company who would give half he possessed to win such words as we received from the general." "But for you Sandy would have been killed, and the governor had just cause to imprison every Regulator he could come at. I have taken my share of the praise, but without having earned it." "I say you're entitled to as much as myself," the lad cried hotly. "I had no idea anything very serious was on foot when I dragged you from your mother, and once we were in the crowd it was impossible to do other than exactly as we did." Sidney's generous heart prompted him to give me a full share in the work when I had but followed him, and during the remainder of that day I took good care to make every one who spoke of the matter understand exactly the position of affairs. When my horse had been tethered I sought out mother once more, and she sang my praises till my cheeks were red with something very like shame, for she would not listen to the explanations I made; but insisted on calling me "a brave lad" who was an honor to his parents. A stranger who had come suddenly upon us during the afternoon of this day would have found it difficult to believe that we were ready for, and expecting, mischief on the morrow. The scene on the hill and nearabout the river was rather one of peace and good-will. Neighbors and friends seemed bent on a holiday, with no thought of care, and yet their merry-making was carried on between two small armies, each prepared to meet the other in deadly conflict if provocation was given. It was a scene of gaiety which might be entirely changed by the morrow, and then instead of smiles one could expect to see tears; instead of laughter, to hear groans of agony, unless God should put it in the heart of William Tryon to deal justly and lawfully by those over whom the king had set him. It was with some such thoughts as these that I looked down from the brow of the hill upon the joyous throng, and my heart grew sick with apprehension as I speculated upon that which the morrow's sun might bring to light. CHAPTER X. THE LONG NIGHT. The excitement of the people appeared to increase rather than diminish as the night approached. The appearance of the king's soldiers had disturbed them in their merry-making, and brought to their minds the possibilities of the morrow. A view of the two armed bodies, drawn up one against the other, told more clearly of the danger which threatened than words could have done, and the cautious began to ask if it would not be well to send the women and children away. Dull-witted though I am, I could not fail to observe the people casting furtive glances toward the town, as if fearing to see issuing from it those who would work some injury in the name of the king. The sounds of laughter were replaced by deep mutterings, and instead of lounging here or there with their families, the men and boys moved restlessly from one point to another, watching jealously every motion of the Regulators. It was much as if we were all walking to and fro in a magazine of powder, each with a lighted match in his hand, and that the explosion was a foregone conclusion, the only question being as to exactly when it would occur. I understood that others besides myself took much the same view of the situation, when the officers of the Regulation gave orders concerning that which should be done during the night. All the company were ordered to go on duty at sunset, remaining under arms until morning, ready for any sudden emergency. The men were especially commanded not to stray away from the limits of the encampment, and forty were told off to do guard duty when ten could have patrolled the camp thoroughly under ordinary circumstances. All these preparations told that our leaders were anxious regarding the possibility of treachery on the part of the royalists, which was not to be wondered at in view of all that had happened. When it was reported in Hillsborough that Sandy Wells had been murdered, Tryon and Fanning saw an opportunity of setting us down before the world at large as murderers and knaves who should, in justice to a law-abiding community, be committed to jail. When they learned that we had kept our hands clean, that we had done our best to preserve the peace, it might well be expected some other plan to ruin us would be tried, and General Hamilton was far too wise a man to neglect any opportunity for additional defense. It was also evident that the people generally were of the belief that the royalists would attempt to do us a mischief, and, as I have said, they moved around restlessly, watching keenly all that was taking place on the opposite side of the river. Had the king's troops come toward the ford a second time, I believe of a verity that trouble would have ensued even though the soldiers advanced with peaceful intent. Sidney and I were stationed as sentinels at that part of the line which overlooked the town, with orders to observe closely all that might be taking place on the opposite side of the river, and to report immediately at headquarters any unusual movement, either on the part of the royalists or visitors. Every inch of the line which marked the bounds of the encampment was constantly traversed that night. The guards were stationed twenty feet apart, and it was expressly commanded that each man should advance until he met the sentinel on his right, when he was to wheel about and proceed in the opposite direction until meeting the Regulators on his left, continuing this throughout the hours of darkness. The numerous fires kindled by the visitors with which to cook supper, or keep off the insects, served to illumine the scene, and on the opposite side of the river one could see the streets closely packed with human beings, who counted to spend the night in the open air. It was eight o'clock in the evening, and I was yet doing guard duty, when a sudden outburst of noise from near about the court-house startled us, for it seemed to be the signal of that uprising or outbreak which we had been fearing might occur before morning. At first it was no more than angry cries and yelps of pain; but these increased steadily until it seemed as if a riot was well under way. There was no need of carrying any information to the headquarters' shanty. General Hamilton was on the guard line very near to my post, within two minutes after the first cries were heard, and he remained there in a listening attitude, turning his head this way and that like the dog who seeks to find a lost trail. A dozen or more of the chief men were with him, and I heard one of them ask anxiously: "Can you guess why trouble should have begun at this time? I believed all the hot heads among our friends were on this side of the river." "So they are, else would the brawl have been fanned into a battle long before this. Master Hunter," he cried sharply to the deputy, "form your men into line at the river bank to prevent any from leaving the encampment, and lose no time in doing so." At the call for the guards to advance into line I stepped forward; but stopped very suddenly as the general seized me by the collar of my shirt. "You and the comrade who aided in saving Sandy Wells' life are to wait here that I may have a moment's speech with you." Then, raising his voice, he cried, "Hunter, give the word as soon as you have a force at the riverbank sufficient to hold this throng in check!" "The entire Regulation will be none too many for such service as that." "Station the guards first, and then call out the remainder of the force. It stands us in hand to hold all on this side the river, and also keep peace among them." I was at some little trouble to find Sidney, he having gone to the further end of the line when the word was given to "fall in"; but I succeeded in withdrawing him from the ranks just as the men went forward into position at the river bank. When we two lads stood before him, the general said in a low tone as if to prevent any other from hearing the discourse: "It is in my mind that yonder riot has been begun by orders of Tryon or Fanning, that they may have some excuse for filling the jail before morning, as well as to cast discredit upon the Regulation. You lads have shown yourselves quick-witted, and I have no doubt that you will be able to hold your own in case Tryon and his crew are provoking a brawl. Cross the river at once; mingle with those who are taking part in the disturbance, and learn all you can regarding the beginning of the trouble." "Our lines are in position!" Master Hunter cried, and the general replied: "Very well. Hold the people here, and allow none to cross save the two who may speedily come with my permission to do as they please." We lads waited twenty seconds or more to learn if Master Hamilton had any further commands for us, and since he did not speak, Sidney plucked me by the sleeve as a signal that we should set out. The general was looking at us when we moved off, therefore did I know that we had received all the orders he had to give. On coming to the water's edge we walked up the stream until finding Master Hunter, and then, in a low tone, explained what we had been ordered to do. He immediately directed the men to give us passage, and hurriedly we forded the stream, bending our steps toward the court-house after having gained the opposite bank. It was not a simple matter to make our way through the crowded street. By this time nearly all the people who had encamped in the open air were astir, and every man and boy was pressing eagerly forward to that point from whence came the outcries. By dint of using our elbows sharply, and forcing aside without ceremony those who barred the way, we succeeded, at the risk of embroiling ourselves in private quarrels, in gaining a position near the center of the disturbance, when it was possible to perceive at a glance that General Hamilton was correct in his surmises. The visitors were not raising their hands against the soldiers save when great provocation was given; but here and there I could see those who were in some way connected with the government, and among them Sandy Wells, making their way from point to point, dealing blows and uttering insults well calculated to raise a disturbance. Whenever one of the visitors attempted to defend himself, or would have punished the insulter, the minions of Tryon raised a great hue and cry to bring the solders to that point, after which they slipped off to create a disturbance at some other point. But for the fact that the visitors had been warned against giving the governor an opportunity for complaint, a riot would have been begun within a very few minutes, and with such a degree of violence that it might have increased to a regular battle; but as it was, our people behaved with remarkable moderation. I believed that we might do much good by advice, and suggested to Sidney that we go hastily around among the throng, explaining what was the evident purpose of the governor's minions, at the same time advising every one to cross the river immediately, lest by their behavior Tryon should have some color of a reason for postponing the cases which had been set down for a hearing next day. He was of my opinion, and without delay we began our work, hurrying here or there with such good effect that the people began to fall back before the mischief breeders, instead of pressing forward. This was not at all to the liking of those who desired to provoke a breach of the peace, and they redoubled their efforts, offering yet greater indignities to the unresisting citizens. Foremost among these was Sandy Wells, and I made it my business to gain a position close by his side, when I said, holding him by the arm until the words had been uttered: "Sidney Hubbard and I saved your life this day, as you well know. It can readily be seen what you are trying to do, and unless you cease your efforts I will take good care before the sun sets to-morrow, to inflame every man's mind against you. That fate which was escaped this afternoon shall overtake you within the next four and twenty hours, even though Tryon gives you shelter in his own quarters." Sandy was a rank coward, as I well knew, and when my hold of his sleeve was relaxed he slunk away among the soldiers, nor did I see him again that night. During more than an hour Sidney and I continued our efforts, sometimes threatened by the soldiers or Tryon's emissaries, and then the throng had so far dispersed that there were not enough hot-heads left to make any very great disturbance, even though they felt disposed to resist the troops. "Now the enemies of the colony can do no more than foment an ordinary brawl, which is not what Tryon most desires, and I believe our work here is done in accordance with the general's orders," Sidney said to me as we met among the foremost of the small crowd, within a short distance of where the uniformed men were drawn up in line. "If we are recognized you may be certain those fellows will use every effort to lodge us in jail, and it is wise to beat a retreat while we may." I was of much the same opinion, and, after gathering half a dozen of the wilder spirits in our wake, we set off toward the ford, hooted and jeered at by those who had most signally failed in the task assigned them. The sudden change in the situation of affairs was truly surprising. When we two lads first crossed the river we found the streets literally choked with men, women and children who counted on remaining there with the hope of gaining admittance to the court-house as soon as the day dawned; but now it was as if the earth had opened and swallowed all these people. We did not meet with twenty as we went toward the ford; they had wisely crossed the river, and, once on the opposite side, the Regulators would keep them quiet. We had checked the governor's scheme, not through force of arms, but simply by removing those who might unwittingly have aided him in his unlawful efforts. Once the visitors were on that side of the river held by the Regulators, they were unable to go back; but all who called themselves Sons of Liberty would be forced to remain on duty during the entire night in order to hold in check those who counted themselves friendly to the cause. As a matter of course Sidney and I reported to General Hamilton as soon as possible, and when we had concluded our story the old Scotchman said in a tone of satisfaction: "I knew full well I could depend upon you lads to do whatsoever was wise. By sending the people over here you have accomplished a good work, and once again is Tryon defeated by your unaided efforts. The Regulation has good reason to count you as valuable members, and when the time comes that this colony can reward the services of those who have aided her, as come it will in due season, I hope I may be alive to make certain you are not neglected." According to my way of thinking we were already rewarded by such words as these, and but for the darkness Master Hamilton would have seen my cheeks crimsoned with shame because he had given us far more than we deserved. It was but natural that there should be considerable confusion on our side of the river; all who had lately changed their camping places were seeking for new quarters, and already the slope of the hill outside the lines of our encampment was literally covered with human beings. The late comers were compelled to find a resting-place on the other side of the elevation, and thus were our horsemen literally hemmed in. If it should become necessary to make a quick movement, it would require some time to clear the ground in order to avoid trampling the visitors beneath the hoofs of our horses. Every member of the Regulation was now doing guard duty, and as soon as Sidney and I had concluded our interview with the general, we joined our comrades, when the weary work of pacing to and fro was resumed. At the river front remained a line of Regulators who allowed any person to come over; but refused passage to such as would have gone back, and thus we held the key to the situation so far as keeping the peace was concerned. Until this last move of Governor Tryon's I think the majority of our people believed the king's officers would not dare do other than give the prisoners a fair trial, although perhaps no one was convinced that it was more than a farce to bring Fanning before the bar. Now, however, when we had good proof as to the lengths Tryon was ready to go, and could see plainly that he was using every effort to place the Regulation in a false light before the world, there was much doubt as to the outcome of the cases in court. The Regulators on duty discussed the matter among themselves as if it was a foregone conclusion that might, not right, would rule, and such of the visitors as I heard conversing were loud in their declarations that justice must prevail even though it should be purchased by force. "There is likely to be hot times to-morrow," Sidney said to me as we halted an instant when everything seemed peaceful. "If we are brought face to face with Tryon's army, much blood will be shed on both sides before the question is settled definitely." "But that blood will cement the colonies in such manner that oppression in one will be felt by all the others. We shall have effected a union, and what are our lives in comparison to such a consummation?" a voice said, and, turning, I saw Master James Hunter, who had come up in time to overhear our conversation. "Then you believe we shall fight a battle to-morrow, sir?" I made bold to say, and he replied with a sigh: "Of that I am not so certain. If we do, the colonies will declare for freedom against the king's rule. If peace is preserved throughout the morrow, then must greater wrongs be endured in order to provoke the people into demanding their full rights." Having said this the deputy continued on his rounds, and we two lads no longer had any desire to discuss the situation, for it had become so grave, according to Master Hunter, that a bloody battle between us and those on the opposite side of the river seemed suddenly to be really desirable. During the remainder of that long night we lads did our full share of guard duty, I dwelling upon the possibilities until the old timorousness came upon me, and I was almost a coward. It seemed to me that death would come within a few hours, and I was already marked out as one of his victims. I found myself wondering if I could march up to the guns of the enemy without betraying the cowardice in my heart, and otherwise spending the time in a very foolish fashion for one who must play the part of soldier. Never had the dawning of a new day been so much of a relief to me as then. The gray light of morning revealed the multitude sleeping peacefully, and on the opposite bank not even a wreath of smoke showed above the chimney-tops. The scene brought relief to me, and by the time the sun rose I was able to keep down the fear in my heart, so that no one might suspect that I was in very fact a coward. It was a wonderful scene when the visitors awakened to life, and began making ready for the coming events which were of concern to all dwelling in America. This day's sun would see the dawn of freedom, or a postponement of that spirit which must in the near future descend upon our people. The officers of the Regulation went from camp to camp, cautioning the visitors against making any demonstration before the trials at the court-house were brought to a close, and at the ford a group of our best citizens was performing the same task. If the citizens of upper Carolina made any error on this day it would not be from lack of advice from those who were in a position to know what might be best for the colony. The one aim of the people was to reach the court-house in order to gain admission as spectators, and although the building would not accommodate one in every hundred who were eager to enter, the thousands flocked thither, jostling and pushing each other in order to get a position among the foremost. General Hamilton did all a man could to persuade them into remaining at a respectful distance, pointing out the uselessness of expecting to gain admittance; but yet they made their way into the town until our encampment was deserted by all save the better informed--say five hundred men, women and children. We of the Regulators were ordered to get breakfast as best we might, and then fall into the ranks again, for we were to remain under arms the entire day lest our force might be needed in defense of the citizens. "Are we like to be called upon for any serious service, sir?" I asked of Master Hunter, who chanced to pass where I was partaking of the morning meal with my parents, and he replied: "It is hardly probable. Tryon will not attempt any more tricks, now that the time of opening court is so near at hand, and I believe our people will keep the peace, at least until after the decision of the judges is made known." Then the deputy called my father aside, and the two held such long and earnest converse that I believed our officers were of the opinion the trial would be no more than a farce. This idea was strengthened in my mind when mother showed such tender affection as I would leave her to take my place in the line which was being formed. She bade me farewell as if believing we might never meet again, and despite all her efforts the tears came as she spoke. I was not heartened by this evidence of fear, as may well be imagined, and hurried away to feed my horse in order that I might hide the evidences of my own emotion. Half an hour later we of the Regulation were in something approaching a military formation, with our horses tethered just in the rear where we might be able to get at them without loss of time, and then came the most trying moment of all-waiting for Governor Tryon to show how far he dared to go in opposition to the law and the rights of the people. The square around the court-house was black with citizens awaiting an opportunity to enter the building. In the midst of this mass could be seen two files of soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder in order to keep open a passage for the officers and witnesses, and a short distance away were the governor's troops under arms in case it should please our oppressor to order an attack upon the helpless throng. CHAPTER XI. THE TRIAL. Now the trial was so near at hand--when in a few hours we should know beyond a peradventure to what lengths Tryon would go in his villainy towards the people of the Carolinas we no longer discussed the possibilities of the near future. If Masters Husband and William Hunter were set free, as indeed could be the only just verdict of the judges, and if Fanning was convicted of having extorted money from the people without even the color of the law to sustain him, then would our colony be peaceful; but I question if one among all those horsemen who awaited the signal to disperse quietly or to ride to their deaths, believed that justice would triumph. Even two lads like Sidney and myself understood that the governor would deny us our rights, and the thoughts of what might come to those we loved before the sun had disappeared behind the hills, rendered us dumb. I did not see any of the gentlemen conversing. I threw myself at full length on the grass close by Sidney's side, and would hardly have heard him had he spoken. My eyes were fixed upon the court-house, surrounded as it was by that vast throng of people, and I noted every movement, however slight. When the judges and the officers of the court marched through the lane formed by the weapons of the soldiers, I saw them plainly, and could almost imagine that the voice of the sheriff rang in my ears as he uttered the words which opened the sitting. My father and four other Regulators had gone into town in order to give evidence against Fanning, and to combat the charge of "riotous conduct" which had been preferred against our friends. All the other gentlemen of our company remained on the hillside, save Master Hamilton, who stood on the highest point in the encampment where he might see any signal which our people should give. The forenoon passed, and I remained like one in a stupor. The noon hour went by, and I had no sensation of hunger. Some of our companions ate; but they were the ones known to be lukewarm to the cause. As I came afterward to know, it was near about two o'clock in the afternoon when a low hoarse murmur which was like unto nothing save the growl of an enraged beast sounded on our ears. It rose louder and louder, gathering in angry menace each instant, until it was of such volume, that one could hardly have heard a peal of thunder above it, and then we knew full well that Governor Tryon had trampled all the laws under his foot--that it was our duty to become rebels in fact, by rushing upon the villainous representative of the king and cutting him down. Then came one from the town running at full speed, and when having come near enough to make his voice heard, he shouted: "Master Husband has been acquitted; but both William and James Hunter and Master Hamilton have been adjudged guilty, and are fined one thousand pounds each, in addition to imprisonment for six months!" "But James Hunter and Master Hamilton had not been even charged with crime!" one of the Regulators cried, doubting the truth of the news. "Very true; yet they were tried just the same. Master James Hunter was taken into custody as he entered the court-room to give evidence against Fanning, and a warrant is already issued for Master Hamilton," the messenger added. Then Sidney shouted: "What about Fanning? Has he been acquitted?" "It is much the same. He was tried on seven counts for extortion, found guilty, and sentenced to pay one penny on each indictment. Seven pence to be paid by the rascally lawyer, and one thousand pounds each by the Hunters and Master Hamilton!" "And the people?" Master Howell demanded. "What do they say?" "You can hear for yourself," the man replied, forced to shout even though he stood close beside us by this time, because of the tumult in the vicinity of the court-house. "Before the trial had come to an end the building was filled with soldiers, while the remainder of the governor's force encircled it. If a fight is begun our friends will be shot down by hundreds, with no opportunity to strike a blow save with their bare fists." Without waiting for the word of command every Regulator mounted his horse, and all of us waited for the signal from our commander, who had drawn near to hear the report made by the messenger. He stood with his chin on his breast like one stunned, neither looking up nor speaking, while the cries from the opposite side of the river increased in fury each instant. "Are we to sit here while our friends are imprisoned without cause?" a horseman near me asked angrily, and Master Hamilton raised his head as if to make reply, when some one shouted: "Here comes Master Husband! They have set him free!" The man who had been in jail nearly six months for having dared to say that Tryon had no authority to levy a tax to build himself a palace, could be seen walking rapidly toward the ford, and all understood that nothing would be done by us until he arrived. Master Hamilton rode down to meet him, and the two remained in private converse five minutes or more before coming up to where we awaited them with the utmost impatience. Then it was that our commander spoke: "Gentlemen, it is our duty to prevent the people of upper Carolina from beginning a conflict with the king's troops. We must not permit ourselves to commit any act of violence against the governor until after due deliberation, for all which we do now is the same as if we moved against the king. By Master Husband's advice, we shall ride into town, and do our best to prevent a conflict which would cost the lives of hundreds of our friends and neighbors. I beseech you that, however great the provocation, all this company keep well together in military formation, and obey every order to the letter. Later, when some of those who are absent can take part in our deliberations as is their right, we will settle upon a course of action." Some one offered Master Husband a horse, on which he rode by the side of our leader as we crossed the river and went from thence to the court-house, or, I should say, as near as it was possible to advance. The vast throng were inflamed by anger. They shouted threats against the soldiers, who were evidently alarmed by the demonstration, and had General Hamilton given the signal to make an attack, I believe of a verity that every man, whether armed or not, would have joined the fray. At seeing us ride up the citizens shouted yet more loudly; but when we halted, they turned about to learn the reason of our delay in giving Tryon a lesson, and Master Hamilton cried out to them, speaking so loudly that every word must have been heard by those who yet remained in the court-room. "We, the Regulation, beg that you will not put your lives in jeopardy while unprepared for battle. If you will disperse, each sending his women and children home out of danger, the Regulators will meet you in solemn deliberation this evening when our plan of action shall be decided upon." "And are we to let Tryon and Fanning sneak away?" one of the throng asked angrily. "Not so, my friend. While the Regulators are under arms you know full well that no one can leave Hillsborough without our permission. The cause will not suffer by this delay, and we shall be in better position to demand that which you have failed of receiving this day--justice. Send your families home, collect your weapons, and join us who have sworn to drive the oppressors out of upper Carolina." If Tryon was in the court-room, as many of the throng declared, then he had heard every word spoken by our commander, and I venture to say he felt ill at ease, for it was plain to be seen that if the Regulators should be reinforced by these men who were raising their voices against the farce of a trial, he stood in great danger of being made prisoner. He might use the court-house as a fortification, and could hold it two or three days, perhaps; but we would take good care that he did not send any messengers to Brunswick or Newberne, and there could be but one ending to the affair. The people seemed to understand all this, for straightway they began to move toward the river, followed by their families, and in less than half an hour few save the Regulators remained around the building. The soldiers who had been stationed outside now crowded inside the court-house, never waiting for orders to move, and we were left like jailers who are satisfied with holding their prisoners in closed cells. Master Hamilton told off a dozen men for sentinels at each side of the building, and as many more in the rear, with orders to shoot down any who attempted to escape from the windows, while the main portion of our force remained thirty yards or more from the front doors. It looked much as if an attack was to be made upon the king's representatives despite all Master Hamilton had said regarding the advisability of waiting for reflection and concerted plans. Our commander remained by himself, midway between the front rank and the building, as if expecting that which occurred before we had been in position five minutes. Then it was that David Edwards, the governor's secretary, appeared at one of the windows, and cried warningly: "In the name of his excellency, Governor William Tryon, I bid ye disperse! Those who remain do so under the pain and penalty of being adjudged in rebellion against his most gracious majesty." "We are in rebellion against tyranny and injustice," Master Hamilton replied in a loud voice which had in it no tone of menace. "It is our purpose to remain here until the wrong committed this day has been righted, and he who ventures out from among you in the meantime will do so at the expense of his life." "But this is neither more nor less than armed rebellion against the king," Edwards cried as if suddenly understanding that we were in a position to enforce our demand. "I repeat that we are not here against the king, but to uphold the laws which Tryon and his minions have trampled in the dust. We of the Regulators number five hundred men; within two hours we shall have as many more in our ranks, and it does not need much calculation on your part to prove that the power is with us, as the rebellion against his majesty is with you." Master Edwards disappeared, and I was expecting each moment that the soldiers within the building would open fire upon us, when my father appeared at the door, holding up his hand to attract attention. "It is William Butler, one of the Regulators!" Master Hamilton shouted for the benefit of those who might not have recognized my father. "Let him come out!" Our commander advanced to my father's side, and the two held long converse, after which both came forward toward our troop. Then appeared once more at the window, Master Edwards, who cried out: "Will you allow that I hold a conference with you in private?" "Meaning in your own name, or that of the governor?" Master Hamilton asked sharply. "I would bring to you a message from his excellency." "You may come," our commander said after whispering with my father; "but I shall repeat at my pleasure, to these gentlemen, all which you may say." Again the secretary disappeared, to show himself at the door a moment later, and General Hamilton remained motionless, forcing Master Edwards to approach him. The two gentlemen saluted, exchanged a few words, and then half a dozen of our leaders were summoned to what appeared to be a council of war participated in by representatives of both armies. Much time was spent by these gentlemen in consultation; but, finally, it appeared as if some plan had been arranged to the satisfaction of all. Master Edwards returned to the court-house; our leaders fell back into line, where we remained half an hour or more wondering what was to be the upshot of the matter, when suddenly Masters James and William Hunter, and three other citizens who had been held prisoners, came out of the door. While one might have counted five we were held speechless with astonishment, and then our people began to cheer, for it seemed at the moment as if we had in fact beaten the governor in a game of his own making. Before the shouts died away the command was given for the sentinels to come in; the troop was formed in fours, and we rode away, heading for the encampment on the hill. Our leaders were grave, probably because they alone knew at what price this temporary triumph had been purchased; but the remainder of the party were wild with joy, for we imagined ourselves victors. Before fording the river we were joined by nearly an hundred mounted men who had obeyed Master Hamilton's instructions to take their families home and return armed, and throughout the night we received accessions to our force until the Regulators were more than a thousand strong. It can well be supposed that all the company were burning with curiosity to learn more concerning the bargain which had resulted in the release of the prisoners; but our commander gave no sign of being in haste to explain matters. "The Regulation will meet to-night, and the whole matter shall be laid before it," he said gravely when Master Howell, bolder than the others, ventured to ask for particulars. Sidney and I, when we were occupying our old lean-to once more, speculated earnestly as to what the people had, through Master Hamilton, promised as the price of the prisoners' release; but we had made little headway when Master James Hunter, the deputy, approached our shelter on his way across the encampment. After our experience in his company he seemed rather like a comrade than a mere acquaintance, and Sidney did not hesitate about asking the questions we were so eager to have answered. "As yet we have really made no bargain, lads," Master Hunter said as he seated himself in a friendly way near us. "The governor promised, for the sole purpose of averting bloodshed, so he declared, to release those of us who were sentenced to imprisonment and fine, in consideration of the Regulators returning to camp, and keeping with them such as might arrive bent on rebellious acts, until to-morrow morning. Then, so the secretary stated, some proposal looking to peace will be made." "It seems much as if Tryon was backing down from the high horse he has been riding in the Carolinas," Sidney said with a laugh. "He had no choice in this case," Master Hunter replied. "The Regulators held him like a rat in a trap, and if a battle had ensued his own precious body would have been endangered. My only fear is that he counts, by such delay, on getting the best of us in some way." "We shall be stronger to-morrow morning than we are now," I ventured to suggest. "The people are coming in rapidly, and soon we shall outnumber his force five to one." "All of which is very true, and because he must have understood that such would be the case, I am the more suspicious of his honesty in this matter." Then it was I dared ask Master Hunter to tell us all that had occurred in the court-house, and he began by saying: "There is very little to the story, lad, for unless I'm much mistaken, Tryon, Edwards and Fanning had the program arranged last night. When I entered the room the sheriff made me prisoner without so much as producing a warrant. Not until late in the forenoon were the others brought in, and then the story of our misdeeds was quickly told by men like Sandy Wells. Our defense was cut down in every way; we were not allowed to call our witnesses, and checked when we would have argued our case. There was no verdict given when the trial closed. The case of Fanning was called, and of all the witnesses we had brought, only two were allowed to give in their testimony. Fanning argued that he was forced to charge extortionate fees in order to gain a livelihood; that it was generally understood court officers should demand sufficient to provide them with a fair salary, and then pleaded guilty as to the indictments so far as the facts were concerned, but insisted he was innocent according to the spirit of the law." "I suppose _he_ was allowed ample time in which to argue his case," Sidney interrupted. "As to that you may be certain; it was only the witnesses appearing against him who were admonished not to waste the court's time. Then we were sentenced, and after ten minutes or more the judges had agreed that Fanning should pay seven pence for the crime of extorting hundreds of pounds from the poor. We would have been sent into the prison at once but for the fact of your arrival. It could readily be seen that Tryon was really alarmed by the cries of those outside, and when the Regulators arrived he went into the next room with the judges, Fanning and Edwards. The rest you know as well as I. We who sat in the dock were ordered to follow the secretary, and, to our great surprise, were set free." "Then we are to remain here quietly until tomorrow morning?" Sidney asked. "That is the proposition." "And what will the governor be doing meanwhile?" "I cannot say. It is possible he has troops on the way from Brunswick or Newberne, as Master Husband suggests; but I am not of the same opinion. He would most certainly have brought to Hillsborough all the force that could be raised, before the trial began, for it must be humiliating to be obliged to make any terms with us." "He counts on some treachery I'll be bound!" Sidney exclaimed, and Master Hunter said with a sigh: "I have the same fear, lad. To release us after we had been sentenced was a harder task for him than if he had set Husband and my brother free last week. We shall find that he can play double, while our people hold so strictly to the truth that they are not willing to believe a lickspittle like the governor would stoop to tell a deliberate lie." Having said this Master Hunter went on his way, and we lads could do no more than speculate upon the probability of our having put Tryon in such a trap that he would be forced to deal honestly with us. Late that evening, when there were not less than one hundred armed men in the encampment, the Regulation was called to order, and Master Hamilton opened the meeting by telling the same story we two lads had previously heard from Master Hunter. He concluded by saying: "Believing that humanity demanded us to avert bloodshed at any price short of honor, the officers of the Regulation decided on a truce of twenty hours in consideration of the freedom of the prisoners. We ask you to hold the promise we made as if each of you had personally given his word to it. To-morrow we shall have another proposition from the governor, and then will be the time when we must decide as to our future course." Many gentlemen spoke on the same subject, all agreeing that we could do no less than adhere strictly to the promise our commander had given, and then the meeting was dissolved. Having had no sleep on the previous night, I was right glad to crawl into the bed of pine branches which Sidney and I called our own, and not until the sun showed his face next morning did I awaken. Because a truce had been declared, there was no need of standing guard, and all our company enjoyed a full night's rest. As soon as breakfast had been eaten we lounged around the camp, remaining where we could overlook the town, and waited for some word from the governor, speculating meanwhile as to what proposition it might please him to make. Noon came, and no messenger appeared. At one o'clock my father was sent across the river to learn why we had not heard from Tryon, and he returned with a reply that we "would be well satisfied in a few hours." This message was given by a servant at the governor's headquarters; my father had seen neither the governor, his secretary, nor Fanning. There was no little grumbling because we were thus kept waiting when the truce was for twenty hours only; but never a man dreamed of breaking his word. Such perfidy as that was left for his excellency, William Tryon, he who claimed to be the king's honorable representative. My mother had gone home; she went away the afternoon previous when the women and children were asked to leave the vicinity, and as we waited for that message which was so long delayed, I was truly thankful she had not remained, for it came into my mind that there would be a troublous, rather than a peaceful, ending. The sun was no more than half an hour high in the heavens when we saw one who appeared to be a servant, come out of the governor's house and walk swiftly toward the ford. It did not seem possible Tryon would send other than one of his officers on a mission to the Regulation, and yet I believed that now was come the time when we were to hear from his excellency. The man halted at the opposite bank of the river, unfolded a huge document, and began reading that which told us to what a depth of infamy William Tryon was willing to descend in order to carry his point. CHAPTER XII. THE PROCLAMATION. It can well be understood with what eagerness we listened to the messenger as he read from the paper in a loud tone; but he remained at such a distance that I found it impossible to catch every word, although the general purport was made sufficiently plain. The fellow, whom we afterward came to know was one of the clerks from the sheriff's office, regaled us with a high-sounding proclamation from the governor, in which his excellency graciously pardoned all the Regulators save thirteen, whose names were twice repeated in order that there should be no mistake. I set them down here that the world may know who were the patriots of upper Carolina in the opinion of William Tryon: "James Hunter, Ninian Bell Hamilton, Peter Craven, Isaack Jackson, Herman Husband, Matthew Hamilton, William Payne, Malichi Tyke, William Moffat, Christopher Nation, Solomon Goff, John O'Neil, and Rednap Howell." When the clerk ceased reading and marched back from whence he came, we on the hillside looked at each other in silent amazement while one might have counted twenty, and then on the instant every tongue was loosened. All that had been gained by the truce was an act of outlawry against our best men, and Fanning was still the trusted servant of the king! The one thought in the minds of all was to seize the person of the villain who held a commission from the crown as governor of the Carolinas, and a thousand voices were crying out against delay. The officers of the Regulation held a brief consultation, and then came that command which all expected and demanded. "To horse, gentlemen! The moment has arrived when we must declare ourselves against the king, unless he redresses our wrongs by recalling such officials as have misruled the colony!" General Hamilton cried in a loud tone, and he had no more than concluded before every Regulator was in the saddle burning to avenge the insult offered by Tryon. The earth literally trembled beneath the hoofs of a thousand horses as we rode at full speed to the ford, then across the river, and on to the governor's residence. The royal "army" remained on guard until we were come to within an hundred yards, and then they scattered like chaff before the wind, running in every direction, crying for quarter. No attention was given to the cowards. Tryon, Fanning and Edwards were the men we counted on teaching a lesson, and the dwelling was surrounded in a twinkling. Fifty gentlemen entered the building, some of them to reappear a few moments later with the fellow who had read the proclamation. "Tryon! Tryon!" our people shouted in anger, and then came the truth which, in our simplicity and honesty, we had not suspected. "Tryon and his henchmen left town last night escorted by twenty men!" one of those who had come out with the prisoner shouted, and we who heard the words gazed in open-mouthed astonishment, failing on the instant to understand that the villainous representative of the king had simply proposed the truce in order that he might save his own precious body. The clerk, fearing for his life, and hoping to save it by answering the questions which were literally hurled at him, told the entire story twenty times over, until we came to realize that the three rascals had set off at full speed immediately after sunset on the day previous. By this time they were half-way to Brunswick, and however good our steeds, there was no possibility we could overtake them. Unless we might hold the governor of the colony as our prisoner, rebellion would avail us little, save that we should retain possession of upper Carolina until such time as he could send an overwhelming force against us. There was not a man in the ranks of the Regulators who did not realize that Tryon had outwitted us, and that our only hope lay in remaining together year after year until the other colonies should be willing to join us in the struggle for liberty. And in the meantime, while holding out against the king, how might we gain means of subsistence? The richest among us owned only so much land, and this could not be tilled if we were forced to fight day after day to retain possession of a small extent of territory. When all this was fully understood as we sat in our saddles near about the governor's house, I saw this man and that, the bravest among us, give way to tears, and for the time being it seemed to me that the cause of liberty was crushed. I could not then foresee that in the principal towns of the eastern colonies would spring up branches of our association, styled "Sons of Liberty," who would resist, as we had done, the unjust demands of an unjust king until the beacon lights of rebellion were kindled on every hill. I could not foresee that massacre at Lexington and at Concord which was needed to arouse the people until no sacrifice appeared too great, so that we purchased liberty for those who should live after us. In silence, each man hanging his head as if having suffered an ignominious defeat, instead of allowing ourselves to be tricked because of believing that a gentleman's word was sacred, we returned to the encampment on the hill, and were there formed in line for what I believed would be the last time. There were more than Sidney and myself who looked as if bowed down with sorrow, and when we most needed words of encouragement they came from our commander, that noble old man who was, by the proclamation of one false to all the instincts of a gentleman, an outlaw on whose head a price was shortly to be set. "Gentlemen of the Regulation," General Hamilton began, speaking loud and clear as becomes an honest man who knows in his heart that he is in the true path, "we have been deceived, and are thereby cast down by sorrow. At a time when it appeared as if we held the threads which could be woven fairly to the interests of this colony, we have, by trusting in the words of one who has no honor in his heart, lost all our advantage; but we would be proving ourselves faint-hearted indeed if such a misfortune was accepted as final defeat. Now more than ever, must we struggle against wrong and oppression. It is not necessary you should again swear to be true to the cause; neither will it be of service to remain together just now, therefore I have this to propose, and it is for you to decide if it be the proper course: Let us disperse, each going to his home, there to remain one month; at the expiration of such time we will meet at Maddock's Mill to settle upon a further course of action." The idea that we should remain as the Regulation, subject at any time to a call from our leaders, heartened us wonderfully, and with one accord our people agreed that Master Hamilton's plan should be adopted. We broke ranks, each vowing friendship for his comrades, and entire devotion to the cause, and then went our several ways home firmly believing that in due course of time the purpose of the Regulation would be accomplished. And now has come the time when I must hasten over the months and even years, without entering into details as to what Sidney or I did while we waited an opportunity to strike a blow for our distressed country. True to the proposition of Master Hamilton, we met once each month, either at Maddock's Mill, or some other place equally central, and thus kept pace with the events which particularly concerned us of the Carolinas. Tryon remained in Newbern in his palace which had been paid for by money wrung from a people who at times actually suffered for food, and flattered himself that he had finally destroyed the germs of rebellion that had been sowed by his own tyranny. Contrary to our expectations, he did not make any decided effort to get into his clutches those of the Regulation whom he had declared outlaws, and it was quite as well that he remained quiet on that score, for a thousand of the king's soldiers could not have taken them from us. The sheriffs of the counties in the upper Carolinas, knowing full well that the Regulation was neither crushed nor disheartened, no longer attempted to collect the unjust taxes, and thus it was that our people had been benefited in some slight degree. We cultivated our lands, moved about at will without fear of being molested during nearly two years, and then, on a certain day in September, Sidney came to my home in hot haste, acting as messenger of the Regulation. Word had come from Newbern that the Superior Court was to be convened on the 24th day of the month, and then would efforts be made to secure the bodies of those whom Tryon had styled "outlaws." Master Hamilton, who yet remained in command of the Regulators, despite his many years, had decided that our wisest method of procedure was to interfere at the outset, claiming that we had the right to make certain that justice, not the will of Governor Tryon, should influence the decisions given by judges who were inclined to listen to the orders of the governor rather than the evidence before them. It can well be supposed that neither my father nor myself lost any time in saddling our horses, and within twenty-four hours we were at the old encampment which overlooked the town of Hillsborough. This time we were perfect masters of the situation. Tryon, believing the Regulation had been crushed out of existence, neglected to send soldiers to overawe us, and twenty of our people took possession of the court-house, while the remainder occupied the hill on the opposite side of the river ready to cross whenever a signal should be given that the services of armed men were necessary. Because of our superior numbers, there was little chance the king's minions could do very much harm, therefore we were not held to rigid military discipline, and Sidney Hubbard and myself had no difficulty in obtaining permission to accompany that party which was to make certain no wrongs were inflicted upon us in the name of the law. When we arrived at the court-house, having left our horses on the opposite side of the river, we found there but one judge, and he the man above all others who was ready to give such verdicts as would please the governor. It is needless for me to set down the fact that this man was Richard Henderson. Seeing our party enter the building Fanning took it upon himself to ask that we be put out, and not allowed to enter even the yard, because, as he said, there were outlaws among us who had come for no other purpose than to create a disturbance. All those of whom he thus spoke had suffered many wrongs at the hands of this same attorney, and foremost in the list of the oppressed were Herman Husband, the two Hunters, and Rednap Howell, not one of whom felt inclined to take additional abuse from such a traitor as Fanning. That they acted hastily in the matter, I must admit; but at the same time one should remember the wrongs they had received. The miserable cur of an attorney had no sooner ceased speaking than the gentlemen I have named, aided by all the Regulators present, seized Fanning roughly and literally dragged him into the courtyard, where Sidney and I were set over him as guards until such time as our people might be at liberty to attend to him properly. Because of being thus occupied, I did not see that which followed; but later in the day my comrade and I were told that our people demanded the trial of those belonging to the Regulation who had been declared outlaws, which was no more than just, since the court had been called together for that sole purpose. It was not the purpose of Judge Henderson to give the Regulators a fair trial, and, therefore, in order to outwit us, he declared the court adjourned for the day. Then he left the building, walking swiftly through the yard as if expecting to be roughly treated, and once he was out of sight our party set about giving Fanning a lesson. He was taken across the river to our encampment, being dragged by the heels a portion of the way, and there we held a little court of our own, the decisions of which I dare venture to say were more in accordance with strict justice than any Judge Richardson would have delivered. It was decided that Fanning should be beaten with rods in the presence of the Regulation, and Masters Husband and James Hunter were the gentlemen selected to inflict the punishment, therefore it can well be fancied that it was done in proper fashion. We kept the attorney with us during the night, and next morning all our company rode over to Hillsborough, only to find that the brave judge had run away during the night, after declaring that the court was adjourned until one year from that day. He could not pronounce the sentences which Tryon demanded, therefore had no idea of being forced to act honestly for once in his life. Well, some of the hotter heads, taking advantage of the general confusion, utterly destroyed Fanning's house, beating him again before setting the scoundrel at liberty. This done we went home once more, agreeing to meet each month as before. I can best tell the remainder of my story, up to the time when Governor Tryon decided to wage war upon us, by quoting from a history of the Carolinas which I have lately seen; and while it is written from the standpoint of the royalists, it is correct as to the acts and movements of our enemy: [2] "Judge Henderson, who was driven from the bench, called upon Tryon to restore order in his district. The governor perceived that a temporizing policy would no longer be expedient, and resolved to employ the military force to subdue the rebellious spirit of the Regulators. He deferred operations, however, until the meeting of the Legislature, in December. "Herman Husband was a member of the Lower House, from Orange, and there were others in that body who sympathized with the oppressed people. Various measures were proposed to weaken the strength of the Regulators; and among others, four new counties were formed of portions of Orange, Cumberland, and Johnson. These counties were named Guilford, Chatham, Wake and Surrey. Finally, when the Legislature was about to adjourn without authorizing a military expedition, information came that the Regulators had assembled at Cross Creek, with the intention of marching upon Newbern, having heard that Husband had been imprisoned." Now at this point I must interrupt the historian in order to explain that we of the Regulation did indeed make this march. We knew full well that Tryon both hated and feared Herman Husband, and, therefore, kept one or more of our people in Newbern all the time the Legislature was assembled in order that the news, if there was any of importance, might be sent without loss of time to our leaders. It is a fact that Tryon even went so far as to prefer charges against Master Husband, and that the council caused his arrest and imprisonment. Word to this effect was brought to us at once, and we set out for Cross Creek; but Governor Tryon had his spies out, and when it was known that the Regulators, a thousand strong, were riding to aid one of their number who was illegally deprived of his liberty, the council made haste to examine the charges against Master Husband. They finally decided, in order to save their own worthless skins, that the charges were not sustained, and set the prisoner at liberty, imploring him to ride with all speed in order to prevent us from entering Newbern. He met us at Cross Creek, and we escorted him home; but this time it was decided that the Regulation go into camp at Maddock's Mill, and there remain ready for war until it was learned how far our enemy proposed to go in his effort to exterminate us, for that was what he had boldly said he would do. Now we will copy once more from the printed story of our struggle: "The Assembly immediately voted two thousand dollars for the use of the governor. The alarmed chief magistrate fortified his palace, and placed the town in a state of defense. He also issued a proclamation, and orders to the colonels of the counties in the vicinity, to have the militia in readiness. These precautions were unnecessary, for the Regulators, after crossing the Haw, a few miles above Pittsborough, to the number of more than one thousand, met Husband on his way home, and retraced their steps. "The governor soon issued another proclamation, prohibiting the sale of powder, shot, or lead, until further notice. This was to prevent the Regulators supplying themselves with munitions of war. This measure added fuel to the flame of excitement, and finally, the governor becoming again alarmed, he made a virtual declaration of war, through his council. That body authorized him to raise a sufficient force to march into the rebellious districts and establish law and order. "The governor issued a circular to the colonels, ordering them to select fifty volunteers from their respective regiments and send them to Newbern. With about three hundred militiamen, a small train of artillery, some baggage wagons, and several personal friends, Tryon left Newbern on the 24th of April. On the 4th of May he encamped on the Eno, having been reinforced by detachments on the way. General Hugh Waddel was directed to collect the forces from the western counties, rendezvous at Salisbury, and join the governor in Orange County." It goes without saying that while these preparations were being made, whereby Tryon counted on driving us from the face of the earth, our spies were scattered around the country plentifully, and, therefore, we knew exactly the size of his force, and how it was made up, when he went into camp. Colonel Joseph Leech commanded the infantry, Captain Moore the artillery, and Captain Neale a company of rangers. On his way to the Eno Tryon was joined by a detachment from Hanover, under Colonel John Ashe; another from Carteret, under Colonel Craig; another from Johnston, under Colonel William Thompson; another from Beaufort, under Colonel Needham Bryan; another from Wake, under Colonel Johnson Hinton; and at his camp on the Eno he was joined by Fanning, with a corps of clerks, constables, sheriffs and others. FOOTNOTE: [2] Lossing's "Field Book of the Revolution." CHAPTER XIII. WAR DECLARED. At last the Regulation had forced Governor Tryon to acknowledge it as an adversary, and this afforded the members no slight amount of satisfaction. Until he marched out of Newbern with the militia, it had been his good pleasure to treat us as a lot of malcontents who should be dealt with by constables or sheriffs, and in his proclamations, or statements made to the people of other colonies, he was careful to so word his communications as to make it appear that the people of the upper Carolinas, instead of being banded together for a specific purpose, were simply rioting and plundering. And I doubt not but that many of the colonists considered us a gang of bullies who had set their faces against law and order, never understanding that ours was a purpose which lay close to the heart of every true citizen, until that day came when he marched out against us. We, the Regulators, were encamped on William Payne's plantation when the news came that our enemy had left Newbern after giving orders that he be joined on the route to the Eno by this force or that, and Master Rednap Howell said gleefully as he heard of that movement which might result in the death of many of our company: "It is the first cheering news we have had brought to us during the past two years. Now must it be known in the other colonies that we are standing up for liberty, and, instead of believing us to be a few hot-heads, the people will understand that our party is a strong one, otherwise there would be no need for the governor to come out with such a force." And Master Butler added: "Tryon must fight this time, instead of sitting in his palace and ordering that this or that gentleman be thrown into prison. We have more than half attained our end when the other colonies understand for what principle we are holding out." In fact, this move of Tryon's caused the greatest possible satisfaction among our people, who had been running hither and thither for the past two years without opportunity of making public the oppression against which they had risen in arms. Never a member of our party who questioned as to what our leaders would do; it was to all of us a settled fact that we would meet the government as speedily as might be, and in anticipation of the command we began furbishing up our equipments, or looking after the horses to make certain they were in condition for a forced march. By this time Sidney and I were eighteen years of age, and no longer considered ourselves boys. Since having been permitted to join the Regulation we had been credited with doing good work, never flinching from a severe task or holding back because of danger, and thus we rode with the company as equals. I believe we two lads were more eager than any of our companions to meet Tryon's forces in the open field; for it was our firm belief that the Regulators would win the first battle fought and we burned with impatience to show what we could do as soldiers. "I never felt well inclined toward Governor Tryon until this moment," Sidney said in a matter-of-fact tone as we overhauled our saddle-girths to make certain they were in good condition. "Now it is very much as if he had suddenly become our friend, because of having boldly taken the field against us." "According to the report of our scouts, he must outnumber us two to one," I ventured to suggest. "The result will be the same if four against one is the odds. We must win, and what a relief it will be to ride forward with a definite aim, instead of going here and there without effecting anything, as we have been doing these two years past." "I agree with you on the last, Sidney; but holding our own against twice our force is a different matter." The lad looked at me scrutinizingly for an instant, and then asked banteringly: "Are you beginning to show the white feather just when our affairs look the most promising, Clare?" "Not a bit of it," I replied indignantly. "To my mind it is no evidence of cowardice to count well the situation and strength of the enemy." "But you went farther, and was near to questioning whether Tryon's force might not worst us, simply because of its size." "And why might I not question it? A full thousand of his men are citizens of the Carolinas, and should be our equals in both riding and fighting." "So they would were the cause the same; but they fight on the side of oppression, while we are striving to do that which shall be of benefit to every person in the American colonies." I did not attempt to continue what was rapidly becoming an argument, simply because it was useless just then. I believed it was folly to claim that gentlemen of the Carolinas who did not hold to our opinions were our inferiors: but knew full well that it would be impossible to persuade my comrade to look at the matter in the same light I did. It is a sad mistake to think that ourselves and our adherents are better men than those who oppose us, and that, I think, has been fully proven by this time. I was ready to say that our cause was just, while theirs was not, and further than such a statement I would not go. Finding that I was not inclined for a wordy quarrel, Sidney ceased boasting of what the Regulators could do, and set about speculating as to whether Tryon would remain on the Eno until we could come up with him, until suddenly, at the moment our people were least expecting it, word was passed through the camp that we were to fall into line, unmounted, to hear an important announcement from the commander. "I wish we had been summoned to appear ready for marching," my comrade said almost petulantly as he made his preparations for obeying by washing his hands, which were covered with the grease he had been applying to his bridle. "This talk of an 'announcement' has in it a suspicion that the Regulators are not to break camp immediately." "Don't begin to look after trouble," I replied with a laugh, knowing well Sidney's disposition. "If we do not set out this night, the Regulators will take the road to-morrow, and I'll warrant we see Tryon's soldiers in good time." There were many others besides Sidney who felt a certain degree of irritation because we were to hear words, instead of commands which would result in setting the entire company in motion toward the enemy; but all of us soon learned that Master Hamilton had no idea of trying to evade a pitched battle. "Since this association was formed, it has been the custom to discuss any important movement with all the company, therefore have you been summoned," our commander said when we had been formed in a hollow square with him in our midst. "It is not necessary for me to promise that you shall be led against the enemy at the earliest fitting moment, and I also declare that you shall not be allowed to hurl yourselves upon the government troops like an unruly mob. When we have made ready, Governor Tryon shall see us. Our scouts have brought in the information that General Waddel is halted with a small force at Salisbury, awaiting the arrival of powder from Charleston. The Regulators need that powder, and I propose that we take it. Two hundred men well mounted will be sufficient for the enterprise, and in order that there shall be no charge of favoritism made against me, instead of detailing a force of such size, I ask that the best mounted among you step three paces to the rear, in token that you are willing to make the venture." The old gentleman had hardly more than ceased speaking when the entire company moved back as if with one accord, thus showing that every man of us was eager for active service, and that each one believed his horse superior to all the others. Master Hamilton laughed heartily, and then asked that none but the youngest volunteer for the service, and do so by stepping forward into the former position. Once more was the square formed in the first position, for not a man was willing to be left behind at such a time. It was positive that all the company could not be spared for a service which might be performed by two hundred men, and I wondered how the matter could be arranged without causing jealousy. Then our commander explained that it would be unwise to go for the powder with such a large company, and announced that since we could not settle the matter among ourselves, he would be forced to decide for us. "We will begin with William Husband and count from one to five in regular order," he said at length. "Every fifth man is to fall out of line and make immediate preparations for a forced march." Sidney was standing by my side, and, fearing lest one should be taken and the other left, I whispered hurriedly to him: "Move up until you are the fifth from me, and then if one goes the other will be with him. I would be as sad to leave you behind, as you would to see me stay in case you drew the lucky number." He agreed at once, for Sidney was a true comrade in every sense of the word, and hardly had he taken up a new position when Master Husband began the count. My breath came thick and fast as the numbers sounded nearer and nearer, so fearful was I lest the number should doom me to stay in camp when glory might be earned, and I had so worked myself into a fever that when the man standing next beside me spoke the word "four," it was almost impossible for me to add the next number. I fell out of line silently, and one of those who had been selected to remain behind, thinking I was afraid to venture on the enterprise, whispered eagerly: "I'll swap my new saddle for your old one, if you'll give me your chance." "I'd not consent if you threw into the bargain the best horse in the company," I replied, and an instant later Sidney and I were shaking hands vigorously in token of delight because of our good fortune. It can well be supposed that we were not many moments making ready for the expedition, and when we came to the center of the encampment, where the lucky ones were assembling, it was learned that Master Rednap Howell had been selected as the leader of our party. The only orders Master Hamilton had to give were announced in the hearing of all. We were to ride toward Salisbury until arriving at the bank of the Yadkin, which river was to be crossed in order that we might come upon General Waddel from Cabarras County, thus hoping to give him the impression that the Regulators were south of him, instead of in the course taken up by Tryon. Master Hamilton was good enough to explain that he believed beyond a peradventure we would soon fight with the governor's forces; but it was his hope that we might meet them elsewhere than near about our own homes. A ride of between eighty and ninety miles was before us; but we gave little heed to the distance, since each yard traversed brought us so much nearer the enemy, and I venture to say that a more eager, happy party of men never set out to provoke a battle. When I say that the Regulators were in sore need of powder, it can be understood that this venture of ours meant more than the worrying of General Waddel; we were depending upon him for ammunition with which to wage battle against Tryon. In less than an hour from the time when we had been summoned to hear Master Hamilton's announcement, our company of two hundred were riding away from the encampment, envied by every man who was forced to remain behind. Many a time since Governor Tryon gave us the slip at Hillsborough had we ridden across the country in company; but never before with the certainty before us that we might measure strength with the oppressors of the colony if it so pleased us, and this fact it was which put us in such wondrous spirits. It was the first opportunity we had had of striking a blow, and we were determined to give a good account of ourselves, regardless of the numbers to which we might find ourselves opposed. We rode at an easy pace, believing there was no urgent need for haste; but did not draw rein until sunset, when Master Howell gave the word to halt and unsaddle. "There is plenty of water and grass here," he said in explanation, "and the animals need a rest, not having the same spur to exertion as was given us with the news that Waddel might be where we could get at him." Each man carried his share of the provisions, and as soon as the horses had been cared for, we ate a hearty supper, knowing that many hours might elapse before another opportunity for satisfying hunger presented itself. At the end of two hours we were in the saddle again, and we rode until near two o'clock in the morning, with but one short halt, when the company had arrived at the bank of the Yadkin. Now was come the time when scouts should be sent out lest we come upon the enemy before gaining possession of the powder, and it was near daybreak before the march was resumed. By that time we had learned that General Waddel's force was in Salisbury, and counting on remaining there until the ammunition train came up. Two miles below was a ford where we might cross the river without swimming the horses, and when the sun showed himself we were headed at full speed for the road leading from Charlotte to Salisbury, over which it had been reported that the powder would be sent. Our horses were well blown; but we had made good time, and the only thing which might prevent the venture from being a success, was that General Waddel had already received the ammunition. "If it turns out that we are too late to intercept the convoy, we must try conclusions with Waddel," one of our party said when we were waiting on the west side of the river for our people to get into line, and, overhearing the remark, Master Howell said emphatically: "Don't fear that we'll miss of getting our hands on the powder. We'll have a try for it even though it becomes necessary to face all the men Tryon has brought with him." But that we were in an enemy's country our people would have cheered this statement; but as it was the men contented themselves with raising their hats to such a leader, and then we rode on, now intent only on finding a hiding-place where we might remain until scouts had been sent out to learn the condition of affairs. Eager though Sidney and I were to come face to face with those who wore the king's uniform, both were well pleased when the word was given to halt and make camp under cover. We had ridden nearly four and twenty hours, and although our hearts were stout for a battle, our bodies were sadly in need of a rest. We had halted by the side of the road between Charlotte and Salisbury, along which the powder must pass if it had not done so already, and on either side the highway were groves of live oak where five hundred men and horses might readily have found a hiding-place. Five were told off as sentinels to give the alarm when the ammunition train came in sight, and five more were detailed to scout in the direction of Charlotte to make certain the powder was yet to the south of our hiding-place. Neither Sidney nor I envied those who were obliged to remain in the saddle yet longer. If, four and twenty hours previous, there had been an opportunity to act as scouts, we two lads would have been willing to fight for the honor; but now we congratulated each other on the possibility of gaining a little sleep before the battle was begun. We tethered our horses near by; placed saddles and bridles where they might be come at in a hurry, and laid ourselves down in a thicket of small oaks, falling asleep almost as soon as we touched the ground. It was sunset when I awakened, and looked about me fearing, by some unlucky chance, the company had got away without my knowledge; but my mind was soon set at rest by seeing a score or more of men lounging near at hand as if discussing some matter of importance. Without stopping to awaken Sidney, I went toward them, and soon learned that our journey had not been in vain. The scouts had come in with the report that the powder and its convoy had not yet arrived at Charlotte, therefore we had only to wait patiently for the desired opportunity. I was also told that Master Howell had stationed guards three miles down the road, in order that we might have timely warning of the movements of the train, and there was nothing for us to do but pass the time as best we might, providing all hands were ready for a quick jump at the word of command. When we first halted I was so sore in body from long riding that I believed four and twenty hours of a rest would not be sufficient to satisfy me; but within half an hour after awakening and being told that there was no doubt as to the coming of our game, I was eager to be in the saddle once more. Although our sentinels were four miles away, and would come into camp at their best pace on hearing or seeing the ammunition train, the word was passed that no man should speak above a whisper, while the horses were to be guarded closely lest by whinnying they betray our whereabouts. Then came a most trying time of waiting, when we crouched in the darkness close by our accouterments that there might be no delay in laying hands on them immediately the alarm was given, and expecting each instant to be engaged in deadly conflict. Sidney and I were side by side, not making any attempt to start a conversation because our nerves were strung too tightly to admit of anything like ordinary topics, and I do not remember of passing such dreary, dismal moments. One had ample time in which to figure all the chances in favor of his being killed or wounded, and to speculate upon the probabilities of success. It seemed as if each moment was ten times its usual length, while the hours were like entire days. Once when I believed it must be near morning, and was looking up at the sky for the first faint light of the coming dawn, I heard Master Howell say that it yet lacked a quarter of an hour to being midnight, and then both patience and courage oozed out at my finger ends. The cold chill of fear ran up and down my spine, and I believe that had the enemy made his appearance just at that moment, I should have been forced to fight against an inclination to run away. It is needless and impossible to try to give any correct story as to that night when we waited for the enemy, fearing because success was so necessary to our cause, that, by some blunder or unforeseen accident, we might fail. The sun had risen, showing haggard faces amid that thicket of live oaks, when we heard among the underbrush some distance away, that crashing which tells of a heavy body trying to force its way through the foliage. Every man of us sprang to his feet and held his horse's bridle ready, when we saw one of the scouts in company with a sentinel. "The train will be here within an hour!" was the whisper, and even though the time when we might meet the foe was so far in the future, I ran with all speed to saddle my steed, exulting and at the same moment timorous. CHAPTER XIV. THE CONVOY. After the first flush of excitement had died away, leaving in its stead that tremulous calm which is caused by exceeding great courage or abject fear, we of the Regulation went about our task in proper order and with due precaution. It was Sidney who, when I was exultant and excited to the verge of doing some foolish thing, brought me to a realization of the situation by saying scornfully: "I'm beginning to grow ashamed of the Regulators. To see them running around here as if bereft of reason simply because a rascally corporal's guard of a convoy is coming this way, one would say they had never seen service. Is there like to be so much of credit in the capture of ten or twenty men by a force of two hundred, that each fellow burns with a desire to be in the front rank?" For a moment I was ashamed at having shown so much emotion over what was really nothing more than an incident, and then there came to my mind the knowledge that this capture meant more to us of the Regulation than would the taking of a force twice our size, and I said decidedly, angry with myself for having been disconcerted by Sidney's scorn: "One whose heart is with the cause cannot fail of being excited and anxious at such a time, no matter how small may be the force with which we are to contend. It is the idea that the powder is sadly needed by our people, which causes our company to be unduly excited. Every man realizes the importance of doing the task well, and, quite naturally, fears lest it be not performed thoroughly." Sidney had no reply to make, and I fancy he was somewhat ashamed of having spoken disparagingly of his companions. Then the word was passed in a whisper for each man to conceal himself and his horse as near the edge of the road as possible, remaining there in readiness to spring out at the first word of command. A squad of ten was sent a quarter of a mile to the north in order to intercept any who might succeed in making their way past the main body, and our preparations were complete. I understood that the word for the attack would not be given until the convoy was opposite the center of our line, so that we might completely encircle it to prevent escape in either direction. Then came half an hour of suppressed excitement, during which I could distinctly hear the beating of my own heart, and finally, the rumble of wheels in the distance, proclaiming the near approach of our prey. The train consisted of two heavily laden carts convoyed by twenty men, as I could see when the force was nearly opposite my hiding-place, and these details had no more than been noted when Master Howell's voice rang out like a trumpet: "At them, lads! At them, and make certain none escape you!" To those we were about to attack it must have seemed as if the thicket itself suddenly sprang out toward them, and before they had time to draw up in line ready to receive us, the party was completely surrounded. I would have been ashamed had there been no show of resistance, for the convoy was made up of Carolinians, and, whether they were for the king or the people, it behooved them to display courage. At the word we could have shot all the little company down, most likely at the first volley, and in order to save bloodshed Master Howell cried sharply: "Surrender, you of the convoy! We are full two hundred strong, and there is no good reason why you should throw away your lives!" While one might have counted ten a deep silence, save for the pawing or stamping of the horses, fell upon all that gathering in the road, and then the leader of the convoy, having seen that there was no hope of accomplishing anything by resistance, said curtly: "We can do no less than obey your order to surrender." "Lay your arms on the wagons, after having dismounted, and then march toward the south." No one spoke while this command was being obeyed until, the men having marched down the road a dozen yards or more from the hindermost wagon, Master Howell called upon them to halt. Then ten men were told off with orders to guard the prisoners, and when this squad had taken position near the convoy, our leader said in the tone of one who has already mapped out his course of action: "You will march your squad well to the westward of Salisbury, and endeavor to gain our headquarters. Do not take any chances of coming in contact with Waddel's force, and see to it that not a man escapes. You may set off at once, gentlemen." The prisoners were first searched to make certain they had no weapons concealed about them, and then the little party rode slowly up toward Salisbury counting on striking into the thicket before coming within dangerous distance of the town. When the party had disappeared in the distance, we set about taking possession of the ammunition. As a matter of course it was impossible for us to take the wagons with us, therefore each man was ordered to carry such portion of the powder as he could strap to his saddle, and we set about the work, the greater number of us stripping off our outer shirts, which we converted into bags by tying up the neck and sleeves. So great was the supply that even when each trooper had all he could conveniently carry, there yet remained a full third of the whole, and this we proceeded to destroy by pouring it into the tiny creek which bordered the western side of the road. Then the horses were unharnessed and set free from the carts, which we left where they were in the highway, and our company formed in line once more. I had supposed that we would be ordered to join the main body of Regulators; but in this I speedily found myself mistaken, for we rode directly to the Yadkin River, and crossed it, going immediately into camp in a grove of live oaks. Once this had been done Master Howell sent off five men as scouts, and soon we came to know that this last detachment was gone to spy upon General Waddel's force. "Yes," our leader said decidedly in reply to a question from one of the older men, "I count on attacking the force which is now at Salisbury. It would be little less than criminal to let slip such an opportunity as is now before us. Waddel is short of ammunition, now we have captured his supply, and I'm of the opinion that he will make an effort to join Tryon, in which case we have him at our mercy. It will not cause us more than two days in time, and we shall be doing great service by preventing the union of the forces." Now indeed were we doing something in aid of the cause, and my heart leaped high with joy, for it was reasonable to suppose that, in case our leader accomplished all he had set himself, the main body of the Regulators could readily take care of Governor Tryon's army. It was at this time, although we did not come to know of it until after several days, that Master Rednap Howell showed himself to be a great leader, inasmuch as he caused to be conveyed to General Waddel, without trouble or inconvenience to ourselves, that information which we desired him to have, and the task was performed in this fashion: Those who had in charge the captured convoy were instructed to allow one of them to escape, after the party were so far north of Salisbury that there would be little likelihood of pursuit, and then it was certain the fugitive would take refuge with Waddel's force. All this was done in accordance with Master Howell's orders, and thus it came about that when we were on the easterly bank of the Yadkin, the general came to the conclusion that his wisest course would be to join Tryon with the least possible delay, regardless of the fact that the powder had been lost. Within twelve hours after we had made a camp in ambush, one of our spies came hot foot from Salisbury with the word that the king's forces at that town were making ready for the march. In addition to this information we learned considerably to our surprise, that Waddel's men were in a state of disorder nearly approaching mutiny. With but few exceptions they were members of the militia, and openly avowed that they would not fight under any consideration; others were favorably inclined toward the Regulation, and already had many deserted. We were unprepared for such good news; but it did not require much reflection for Master Howell to hit upon a course of action which promised success. Without delay two of our party, the eldest among us, were sent with all speed under a flag of truce for an interview with the general. They were instructed to warn the commander to remain where he was, or retreat to the coast, as might best please him, otherwise we would at once engage him. It was only natural Waddel should believe that the entire force of Regulators was within striking distance, and while his men were so sadly disorganized he could not well risk an encounter. We remained in hiding, ready to mount at a moment's notice, and before our messengers returned one of the scouts came in with the word that the militia was crossing the river, evidently bent on making at least one effort to join Tryon. Five minutes after this information was received we were riding out of the thicket toward that road which it would be necessary for the general to take if he counted on meeting the governor, and within two hours we were in advance of the king's poor soldiers, ready and eager for an engagement. It was only natural that Sidney and I should be among those who most desired to be led against the enemy, for now, the first time in two years, might we add to whatsoever good reputation we had made as Regulators, and we put aside the possible danger in the belief that we would succeed in distinguishing ourselves. Skirmishers were sent out to learn when the enemy approached, and the remainder of us waited in anxious expectancy the moment when we might come face to face with the foe. In this we were doomed to disappointment, however. Waddel also had skirmishers in advance, and immediately his men came in touch with ours they retreated, and soon word was brought that the entire force was retreating across the river again. Now began a chase, when our horses were fresh, but handicapped considerably by the loads of powder they carried, and we were positive success would be ours whenever we could come within range of the foe. All evidence of military formation was lost sight of as we forded or swam our horses across the river, and in less than half an hour we were among the rear guard; but even this did not satisfy Master Howell. He believed the time had come when we might make prisoners of the entire force, and panted for the glory of capturing General Waddel himself. To effect this fifty of us whose horses were fleetest, and among the number Sidney and I, were directed to make a detour across the country in order to strike the enemy in front before he could gain shelter in Salisbury, holding him there at whatsoever cost until the force was absolutely surrounded. How we rode that day! The horses were sent forward at racing speed, regardless of the danger that they might be foundered by carrying such a weight, and Sidney and I were among the foremost when we broke cover directly in advance of the retreating column. "Look after the general!" Sidney shouted as we pressed on, our horses running neck and neck. "Now has come the time when we can make names for ourselves which will not soon be forgotten!" We could see the leader and his officers plainly, and rode directly toward them without taking heed as to whether we were followed; but there yet remained a sufficient number of the men who were loyal to the king to prevent us from carrying out the plan. We speedily found ourselves confronted by a squad of twenty or more who stood bravely in line while their officers rode swiftly away, and this little party must be attended to before it might be safe to push on in pursuit of the prize. We drew back within the shelter of a clump of trees, where we were joined by a dozen or more of our men, and then began the first real fight in which I ever took part. There was no room in my mind for fear. I thought only of what might be done if we could disperse the party, and I fired and reloaded without realizing that my one desire was to take human lives. The militia held their ground well, and both sides were at a disadvantage because of trying to take aim while in the saddle. With such marksmen as we had among us that squad of the king's men should all have been disabled within ten minutes, and yet half an hour passed without any perceptible advantage on either side. Three of our men were down, and four of theirs had dismounted or been knocked out of the saddle; but by such time the general and his officers had surely succeeded in making good their escape. From the sounds of firing which came from every direction we knew full well that all our party was engaged, and the question had just come into my mind as to whether this force of Waddel's had been as badly demoralized as we were led to believe, when I heard shouts in the rear, and a moment later saw Master Howell ride up with eight or ten men at his back. "Throw down your arms, and surrender!" he cried to our adversaries. "The remainder of the command have yielded, and you can do Tryon no good by holding out longer!" In a twinkling the men came forward empty-handed, and the fight was won; but I failed to feel any great elation because of what we had lost, while Sidney was furious with rage. "But for their holding out, we two might have captured Waddel with, perhaps, some of his officers. It is a clear case of cheating, and we have got the worst of it!" "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," I cried laughingly, for my sorrow was dissipated by Sidney's rage. "We never counted very surely on capturing the general, and should thank our lucky stars that we have deprived him of his force, for thus have we weakened Tryon." He would not be consoled for the lost opportunity of distinguishing himself, and for a moment I really believed he was on the point of striking the disarmed men who had baffled his desires. There was no reason why we should not feel proud of our work. We had captured the ammunition, which was the first task set us, and, in addition held as prisoners a force which Governor Tryon counted on as adding to his own. Surely we had done well, and if the remainder of the Regulators could do as much, then was it certain Tryon would be driven in shame from this portion of the colony. Now it was that we had more prisoners than were convenient. As a matter of fact it would be impossible to feed them during the march to the Alamance where we counted on meeting our companions-in-arms, to say nothing of providing them with horses, for not more than half the number were mounted, therefore Master Howell called for a consultation in which all hands were to take part. It was not necessary to spend very much breath over the question as to whether we would try to hold them captives. They must be disposed of in some manner, and without loss of time; but yet our duty was to make certain they did not join Tryon. After hearing such propositions as our people had to make, and some of them were wild indeed, Master Howell raised the question as to whether it would not be wise to release them on parole? This was the solution to the whole matter, and if he had so stated it at first, we would have decided within a few seconds. On being consulted, our prisoners declared that they would readily take an oath not to bear arms against us until after having been properly exchanged, and all seemed pleased at being able to get out of the scrape so easily. The men were formed in a hollow square, and each was required to repeat the oath Master Howell administered, after which we parted company, the paroled force going toward Charlotte, and we riding at full speed toward the Alamance, for it was to be expected that Tryon would go there to seek us. I would it were possible for me to set down all the details of our movements; but the yarn has already been spun out to such a length that much which might, possibly, be interesting to strangers must be omitted. It suffices to say that within three days after this encounter with General Waddel's force, we of the two hundred which had been sent out to gather in a supply of ammunition rejoined the main body of Regulators, and much rejoicing was there in camp after our story had been told. It was as if each of us had done something remarkable, to judge of the treatment we received, and certain it was that those who had been weak-kneed regarding our chances of a successful opposition to Tryon, straightway became convinced that we could force him to retreat when the two forces came together. During our absence it had been decided by our leaders that we would await the enemy on the banks of the Alamance, and there was no good reason to change the plan after we returned. We now had plenty of powder, and the women from roundabout melted lead into bullets until our wants were fully supplied. We had already fought and captured a full third of the force Governor Tryon counted on bringing with him, and this was done by only two hundred of our people, therefore it seemed positive that when we met them, a thousand Regulators against no more than fifteen hundred militia and a few companies of soldiers, the result would be in our favor. Twenty men or more were sent out as scouts and the remainder of our company lounged idly in camp, when, as a matter of fact, every moment should have been spent in fortifying the position. More than one of our people suggested that it would be a good plan to throw up breastworks, but our leaders gave no heed to the suggestion, and for the reason that they were suddenly plunged into distress not unmixed with dismay. Our old commander, the man upon whom all relied at such a time, was taken with a most serious illness, and it was believed that his days on this earth were few. It was necessary to carry the old gentleman to a dwelling, and half a dozen of our best men undertook this duty, leaving the command of the force to Herman Husband, that member of the force in which we placed implicit confidence. As I look back upon that time, when all were confident regarding the future, it seems indeed strange that we should have selected as Master Hamilton's successor the only member of our company who would play us false. It was as if the gallant Master Hamilton had but just been carried away from us, when the scouts came in with the news that Tryon was approaching, having heard of General Waddel's defeat. Then it was we leaned upon Master Husband, that man for whom we had risked our lives three several times in order that he might be spared imprisonment, and learned in the end that he was no more than a broken reed. CHAPTER XV. THE BATTLE. It was as if we had no sooner learned that Tryon was near at hand than he came almost upon us. Just at sunset on the 13th day of May in the year of grace 1771, our scouts came in with the report that the governor's force was encamped hardly more than six miles away, and was sending out skirmishers to ascertain our position. Master Husband's opinion was, and now he had become the leader we learned that he could be very obstinate once his mind was made up, that our scouts should be drawn in lest, peradventure, some of them be captured. Thus it was we remained all in ignorance of what the enemy might be doing until, at about eight o'clock in the evening, our sentinels captured two of the king's men who were out reconnoitering, bringing them into camp. These were none other than Colonel John Ashe and Captain John Walker. Now has come the moment when I must write of what we did to disgrace the Regulation, because surely it was a disgrace for civilized men claiming to be at war, to act as did the Regulators through the advice, or, I might almost say, the commands of, Master Husband. As we learned afterward, our new leader fancied he had cause for enmity against the two gentlemen whom our sentinels had taken prisoners, and within half an hour after they were brought into camp, he ordered both tied to a tree and severely whipped. It was an outrage which cannot be excused, however partial one may feel toward that organization which first nourished the spirit of liberty among the American people. Yet it was done, and to Master Husband must be given the blame. In the Carolinas Colonel Ashe and Captain Walker were looked upon as worthy gentlemen even by those whose politics were of a different complexion, and that we should flog them like slaves, nay, even in a more brutal fashion than one would whip his own chattels, was dire disgrace. Had Master Husband delayed even ten minutes after making the proposal for punishment, our people would have cried out against the outrage; but it seemed almost as if the Regulators were paralyzed by the mere suggestion of such an act as had never before disgraced them, and a few of the meaner spirits carried the order into execution while the remainder of the company were literally stupefied. This was the first wrong done, so far as I knew, by the Regulation, and nineteen out of every twenty condemned it as brutal and uncalled-for. When the punishment was concluded, however, kindly hands took charge of the unfortunate gentlemen, and if words could have soothed their wounds, then of a verity had they been made whole while yet the sting of the lash was upon their flesh. Master Husband knew full well that he was censured by the majority of the company, and it was as if from that moment he took the entire command into his hands, determined that we should have no voice in whatsoever was done. Thus it was that that brave company of gentlemen followed blindly a leader who was very shortly to prove himself a rank coward, raising no mutiny as would have been done under other circumstances, because we were facing the enemy and bickerings might bring about a disaster. When some of us would have accompanied Colonel Ashe and Captain Walker to Tryon's camp under a flag of truce, Master Husband sternly forbade any such procedure, and declared that he should hold the gentlemen prisoners until after the enemy had retreated, or been whipped in battle. Next morning, instead of sending out skirmishers, our leader appeared to think that a written notice from him would be sufficient to disperse the king's men, and accordingly he wrote what it pleased him to call a "proclamation," setting forth the fact that the governor had come contrary to law into counties over which he had abandoned control, and demanded that he should send answer within four hours explaining when it would please him to retreat. We had among us the Reverend David Caldwell of Orange, that good minister who followed such of his congregation as belonged to the Regulation, knowing full well a battle was imminent, and believing he might acceptably serve God and his fellow-man at the time when death was about to seize upon some of us. Master Caldwell had been among those who spoke the loudest against Master Husband's brutality of the previous evening; but now he accepted the position of messenger in the hope that he might prevail upon Tryon to draw off and thus avert bloodshed. The good man disdained to use a flag of truce; but set off trusting that his cloth would protect him, as indeed it did, for he was speedily given audience with the enemy. Governor Tryon received the clergyman graciously; but excused himself from making a reply to the ill-advised proclamation until noon of the following day, because, as he said, until then there would not be time to discuss the matter with such of his officers as were entitled to consideration. However, he gave the parson the most positive assurance that no blood should be shed unless the Regulators began the battle; in other words, he bound himself to keep his force in leash unless we made an unprovoked assault. When Master Caldwell came within our lines again, he had a long interview with Master Husband, the substance of which none of us knew thoroughly; but it was whispered among the more knowing, that the parson had insisted on liberty being given to the two prisoners, and our leader had flatly refused. Master Howell and a dozen others who had shared the command of the company with General Hamilton, were loud in their complaints because Master Husband refused to send out scouts, and, finally, after no little bickerings which would have swelled into open mutiny but for the situation of affairs, they left the bigoted man to himself, and sent secretly a dozen or more to spy upon the enemy. By this means we knew that during the night Governor Tryon's force had crossed the Alamance and marched silently along the Salisbury road until within half a mile of our camp, where they were formed in battle order by daybreak. All this we of the rank and file knew; but our leader remained in ignorance, and had no suspicion that Parson Caldwell paid a second visit to the governor before breakfast was served our men, receiving from him another promise that blood would not be shed by his force without provocation; but now, having gained the position he desired, Tryon demanded as the price of peace, that the Regulation should surrender unconditionally. This he charged Master Caldwell to repeat to our leader, and when Master Husband heard it he showed himself, for a short time, as one who understood somewhat of warfare, for as soon as might be thereafter he marched us down the road until we were halted within three hundred yards of the governor's army. Now did it appear as if the battle was to be fought by words rather than bullets, for Tryon sent forward under flag of truce a magistrate from Orange County, who read a lot of high-sounding words to the effect that we were ordered by the chief ruler of the colony to disperse within an hour. Then was come the time when we should have set spurs to our horses and dashed into the king's lines, for of a verity could we have put them in full flight within ten minutes; but Master Husband, beginning to feel the influence of that cowardly fit which so beset him shortly afterward, ordered Robert Thompson, a gentleman well known among us all as being of a most peaceful and amiable disposition but prone at all times to speak his mind, to go into the governor's lines and learn what arrangements might be made for the settlement of the difficulty. This command was given secretly, else would Master Thompson never have been allowed to go forth on such an errand when we were prepared and eager to measure strength with the enemy. However, he went, and we remained in the saddle mystified, wondering why any parley should be held, until we saw our comrade halt in front of the governor himself. Now this which I am to about to relate was afterward told me by a member of Tryon's force. As a matter of course all that we of the Regulation could see was the movements of the men. When Master Thompson advanced to the governor, he was told abruptly, and without even the ordinary civility which is due from one gentleman to another, to make his way to the rear as a prisoner. Indignant because of such perfidy, he told the brute Tryon some very plain truths regarding his actions in the Carolinas, and wheeled about to return to our lines. My eyes were upon him at the moment, and Sidney had expressed his satisfaction at seeing Master Thompson coming toward us in such a resolute manner, when I saw Tryon seize a musket from the hands of a militiaman, and shoot the Regulator dead. At the same instant it was as if the governor realized what he had done, for the smoke of the musket had hardly more than cleared away before we saw a flag of truce advance; but the murder of Robert Thompson was sufficient to arouse us all, and an hundred rifles were immediately emptied upon the bearer of the flag. Then it was that we would have advanced without waiting for orders from Master Husband, but that Parson Caldwell rode swiftly up and down the line between us and the enemy, imploring the Regulators to disperse rather than bring civil war upon the colony. We could not fire upon a man like Master Caldwell, neither was it in our hearts to ride him down, as we must have done had a charge been made at that moment; but Tryon, losing his senses through rage, as it seemed to me, gave the word for the militia to fire. Not a man obeyed the order. Parson Caldwell continued to urge that we have forbearance, and again Tryon called out for his men to shoot, this time addressing the artillery as well as militia. It was as if both sides were listening to the entreaties of the clergyman, when the bully Tryon, maddened with rage, rose in his stirrups as he shouted frantically: "Fire! Fire on them or on me!" This order was given to the entire force, and the men obeyed. How many of our people fell I know not. On the instant there came before my eyes a red mist; my brain swam, and I only know that there was but one desire in my heart, which was to kill--to kill the brute who had neither the instincts of a man nor the courage of a woman! We Regulators fired rapidly as we could load and discharge our pieces, and then suddenly Sidney shouted: "Come forward, lads! Spur your horses hard and we may take those cannon, for the men who work them act faint-hearted! Follow me!" An hundred or more of us responded to this call. Riding forward at full speed we literally swept the cannoneers from their pieces, and this done, after many lives had paid the price, we saw that man to whom General Hamilton had entrusted the command of the gallant Regulators, ride like a coward down the road a short distance, and then into the thicket. Verily I believe there was not one among us save he who would have shown the white feather even in order to save his own life, and we cursed him--while we battled against the enemy we cursed him! What followed I know not of my own knowledge. It was as if a fever had seized upon me, and when reason returned Sidney and I were in the jail at Hillsborough, where we remained many a long, dreary month before finally being allowed to return to our homes under parole. Here is an account as I have seen it set down by another who wrote at a later day, when all the facts were known, and in his words shall be told the remainder of the distressing story which began so bravely, and ended in shame and in death. [3] "Some young men among the Regulators rushed forward and took possession of the cannons. They did not know how to manage them, and soon abandoned them. The military now fired with vigor, and the Regulators fell back to a ledge of rocks on the verge of a ravine, not, however, until their ammunition was exhausted. "Nine of the Regulators and twenty-seven of the militia fell in that conflict, and a great number on both sides were wounded. Tryon, in his report, said, 'The loss of our army in killed, wounded, and missing amounted to about sixty men.' "The admitted excesses of the Regulators afford no excuse for the cruelty of Tryon after the battle on the Alamance. With the implacable spirit of revenge, he spent his wrath upon his prisoners, and some of his acts were worthy only of a barbarian. He exacted an oath of allegiance from the people; levied contributions of provisions; chastised those who dared to offend him; and at Hillsborough he offered a large reward for the bodies of Husband and other Regulators, 'dead or alive.' "At Hillsborough he held a court-martial for the trial of his prisoners. Twelve were condemned to suffer death; six were reprieved, and the others were hung. His thirst for revenge satiated, Tryon returned to his palace at Newbern, where he remained but a short time, having been called to the administration of affairs in the province of New York. "The movements of the Regulators and the result of the battle on the Alamance form an important episode in the history of our Revolution. Their resistance arose from oppressions more personal and real than those which aroused the people of New England. It was not wholly the abstract idea of freedom for which they contended; their strife consisted of efforts to relieve themselves of actual burdens. While the tea-duty was but a 'pepper-corn tribute,' imposing no real burden upon the industry of the people in New England, extortion in every form, and not to be evaded, was eating out the substance of the working men in North Carolina. Implied despotism armed the New Englanders; actual despotism panoplied the Carolinians. Each were equally patriotic, and deserve our reverent gratitude. The defeat on the Alamance did not break the spirit of the patriots; and many, determined no longer to suffer the oppressions of extortioners, abandoned their homes, with their wives and children, went beyond the mountains, and began settlements in the fertile valleys of the Tennessee." FOOTNOTE: [3] Lossing's "Field Book of the Revolution." THE END. The Boy Spies Series These stories are based on important historical events, scenes wherein boys are prominent characters being selected. They are the romance of history, vigorously told, with careful fidelity to picturing the home life, and accurate in every particular. HANDSOME CLOTH BINDINGS PRICE, 60 CENTS PER VOLUME THE BOY SPIES AT THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. A story of the part they took in its defence. By William P. Chipman. THE BOY SPIES AT THE DEFENCE OF FORT HENRY. A boy's story of Wheeling Creek in 1777. By James Otis. THE BOY SPIES AT THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. A story of two boys at the siege of Boston. By James Otis. 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The story of how the young spies prevented the capture of General Washington. By James Otis. The Navy Boys Series A series of excellent stories of adventure on sea and land, selected from the works of popular writers; each volume designed for boys' reading. HANDSOME CLOTH BINDINGS PRICE, 60 CENTS PER VOLUME THE NAVY BOYS IN DEFENCE OF LIBERTY. A story of the burning of the British schooner Gaspee in 1772. By William P. Chipman. THE NAVY BOYS ON LONG ISLAND SOUND. A story of the Whale Boat Navy of 1776. By James Otis. THE NAVY BOYS AT THE SIEGE OF HAVANA. Being the experience of three boys serving under Israel Putnam in 1772. By James Otis. THE NAVY BOYS WITH GRANT AT VICKSBURG. A boy's story of the siege of Vicksburg. By James Otis. THE NAVY BOYS' CRUISE WITH PAUL JONES. A boy's story of a cruise with the Great Commodore in 1776. By James Otis. THE NAVY BOYS ON LAKE ONTARIO. The story of two boys and their adventures in the War of 1812. By James Otis. THE NAVY BOYS' CRUISE ON THE PICKERING. A boy's story of privateering in 1780. By James Otis. THE NAVY BOYS IN NEW YORK BAY. A story of three boys who took command of the schooner "The Laughing Mary," the first vessel of the American Navy. By James Otis. THE NAVY BOYS IN THE TRACK OF THE ENEMY. The story of a remarkable cruise with the Sloop of War "Providence" and the Frigate "Alfred." By William P. Chipman. THE NAVY BOYS' DARING CAPTURE. The story of how the navy boys helped to capture the British Cutter "Margaretta," in 1775. By William P. Chipman. THE NAVY BOYS' CRUISE TO THE BAHAMAS. The adventures of two Yankee Middies with the first cruise of an American Squadron in 1775. By William P. Chipman. THE NAVY BOYS' CRUISE WITH COLUMBUS. The adventures of two boys who sailed with the great Admiral in his discovery of America. By Frederick A. Ober. The Boy Allies (Registered in the United States Patent Office) With the Navy By ENSIGN ROBERT L. DRAKE Handsome Cloth Binding, Price 60 Cents per Volume Frank Chadwick and Jack Templeton, young American lads, meet each other in an unusual way soon after the declaration of war. Circumstances place them on board the British cruiser "The Sylph" and from there on, they share adventures with the sailors of the Allies. Ensign Robert L. Drake, the author, is an experienced naval officer, and he describes admirably the many exciting adventures of the two boys. THE BOY ALLIES ON THE NORTH SEA PATROL; or, Striking the First Blow at the German Fleet. THE BOY ALLIES UNDER TWO FLAGS; or, Sweeping the Enemy from the Seas. THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE FLYING SQUADRON; or, The Naval Raiders of the Great War. THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE TERROR OF THE SEA; or, The Last Shot of Submarine D-16. THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE SEA; or, The Vanishing Submarine. THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALTIC; or, Through Fields of Ice to Aid the Czar. THE BOY ALLIES AT JUTLAND; or, The Greatest Naval Battle of History. THE BOY ALLIES WITH UNCLE SAM'S CRUISERS; or, Convoying the American Army Across the Atlantic. THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE SUBMARINE D-32; or, The Fall of the Russian Empire. THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE VICTORIOUS FLEETS; or, The Fall of the German Navy. The Boy Allies With (Registered in the United States Patent Office) the Army By CLAIR W. HAYES Handsome Cloth Binding, Price 60 Cents per Volume In this series we follow the fortunes of two American lads unable to leave Europe after war is declared. They meet the soldiers of the Allies, and decide to cast their lot with them. Their experiences and escapes are many, and furnish plenty of the good, healthy action that every boy loves. THE BOY ALLIES AT LIEGE; or, Through Lines of Steel. THE BOY ALLIES ON THE FIRING LINE; or, Twelve Days Battle Along the Marne. THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE COSSACKS; or, A Wild Dash Over the Carpathians. THE BOY ALLIES IN THE TRENCHES; or, Midst Shot and Shell Along the Aisne. THE BOY ALLIES IN GREAT PERIL; or, With the Italian Army in the Alps. THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALKAN CAMPAIGN; or, The Struggle to Save a Nation. THE BOY ALLIES ON THE SOMME; or, Courage and Bravery Rewarded. THE BOY ALLIES AT VERDUN; or, Saving France from the Enemy. THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES; or, Leading the American Troops to the Firing Line. THE BOY ALLIES WITH HAIG IN FLANDERS; or, The Fighting Canadians of Vimy Ridge. THE BOY ALLIES WITH PERSHING IN FRANCE; or, Over the Top at Chateau Thierry. THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE GREAT ADVANCE; or, Driving the Enemy Through France and Belgium. THE BOY ALLIES WITH MARSHAL FOCH; or, The Closing Days of the Great World War. The Boy Scouts Series By HERBERT CARTER Handsome Cloth Binding, Price 60 Cents per Volume THE BOY SCOUTS' FIRST CAMP FIRE; or, Scouting with the Silver Fox Patrol. THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE BLUE RIDGE; or, Marooned Among the Moonshiners. THE BOY SCOUTS ON THE TRAIL; or, Scouting through the Big Game Country. THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE MAIN WOODS; or, The New Test for the Silver Fox Patrol. THE BOY SCOUTS THROUGH THE BIG TIMBER; or, The Search for the Lost Tenderfoot. THE BOY SCOUTS IN THE ROCKIES; or, The Secret of the Hidden Silver Mine. THE BOY SCOUTS ON STURGEON ISLAND; or, Marooned Among the Game Fish Poachers. THE BOY SCOUTS DOWN IN DIXIE; or, The Strange Secret of Alligator Swamp. THE BOY SCOUTS AT THE BATTLE OF SARATOGA. A story of Burgoyne's defeat in 1777. THE BOY SCOUTS ALONG THE SUSQUEHANNA; or, The Silver Fox Patrol Caught in a Flood. THE BOY SCOUTS ON WAR TRAILS IN BELGIUM; or, Caught Between the Hostile Armies. THE BOY SCOUTS AFOOT IN FRANCE; or, With the Red Cross Corps at the Marne. Our Young Aeroplane Scout Series (Registered in the United States Patent Office) By HORACE PORTER Handsome Cloth Binding, Price 60 Cents per Volume A series of stories of two American boy aviators in the great European war zone. The fascinating life in mid-air is thrillingly described. The boys have many exciting adventures, and the narratives of their numerous escapes make up a series of wonderfully interesting stories. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN FRANCE AND BELGIUM; or, Saving the Fortunes of the Trouvilles. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN GERMANY. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN RUSSIA; or, Lost on the Frozen Steppes. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN TURKEY; or, Bringing the Light to Yusef. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN ENGLAND; or, Twin Stars in the London Sky Patrol. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN ITALY; or, Flying with the War Eagles of the Alps. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS AT VERDUN; or, Driving Armored Meteors Over Flaming Battle Fronts. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN THE BALKANS; or, Wearing the Red Badge of Courage. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN THE WAR ZONE; or, Serving Uncle Sam In the Cause of the Allies. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS FIGHTING TO THE FINISH; or, Striking Hard Over the Sea for the Stars and Stripes. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS AT THE MARNE; or, Harrying the Huns From Allied Battleplanes. OUR YOUNG AEROPLANE SCOUTS IN AT THE VICTORY; or, Speedy High Flyers Smashing the Hindenburg Line. THE JACK LORIMER SERIES 5 Volumes By WINN STANDISH Handsomely Bound in Cloth Full Library Size-- CAPTAIN JACK LORIMER; or, The Young Athlete of Millvale High. Jack Lorimer is a fine example of the all-around American high-school boy. His fondness for clean, honest sport of all kinds will strike a chord of sympathy among athletic youths. JACK LORIMER'S CHAMPIONS; or, Sports on Land and Lake. There is a lively story woven in with the athletic achievements, which are all right, since the book has been O.K.'d by Chadwick, the Nestor of American sporting journalism. JACK LORIMER'S HOLIDAYS; or, Millvale High in Camp. It would be well not to put this book into a boy's hands until the chores are finished, otherwise they might be neglected. JACK LORIMER'S SUBSTITUTE; or, The Acting Captain of the Team. On the sporting side, the book takes up football, wrestling, tobogganing. There is a good deal of fun in this book and plenty of action. JACK LORIMER, FRESHMAN; or, From Millvale High to Exmouth. Jack and some friends he makes crowd innumerable happenings into an exciting freshman year at one of the leading Eastern colleges. The book is typical of the American college boy's life, and there is a lively story, interwoven with feats on the gridiron, hockey, basketball and other clean, honest sports for which Jack Lorimer stands. The Big Five Motorcycle Boys Series By RALPH MARLOW It is doubtful whether a more entertaining lot of boys ever before appeared in a story than the "Big Five," who figure in the pages of these volumes. From cover to cover the reader will be thrilled and delighted with the accounts of their many adventures. THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS ON THE BATTLE LINE; or, With the Allies in France. THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS AT THE FRONT; or, Carrying Dispatches Through Belgium. THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS UNDER FIRE; or, With the Allies in the War Zone. THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS' SWIFT ROAD CHASE; or, Surprising the Bank Robbers. THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS ON FLORIDA TRAILS; or, Adventures Among the Saw Palmetto Crackers. THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS IN TENNESSEE WILDS; or, The Secret of Walnut Ridge. THE BIG FIVE MOTORCYCLE BOYS THROUGH BY WIRELESS; or, A Strange Message from the Air. The Broncho Rider Boys Series By FRANK FOWLER A series of stirring stories for boys, breathing the adventurous spirit that lives in the wide plains and lofty mountain ranges of the great West. These tales will delight every lad who loves to read of pleasing adventure in the open; yet at the same time the most careful parent need not hesitate to place them in the hands of the boy. THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS WITH FUNSTON AT VERA CRUZ; or, Upholding the Honor of the Stars and Stripes. When trouble breaks out between this country and Mexico, the boys are eager to join the American troops under General Funston. Their attempts to reach Vera Cruz are fraught with danger, but after many difficulties, they manage to reach the trouble zone, where their real adventures begin. THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS AT KEYSTONE RANCH; or, Three Chums of the Saddle and Lariat. In this story the reader makes the acquaintance of three devoted chums. The book begins in rapid action, and there is "something doing" up to the very time you lay it down. THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS DOWN IN ARIZONA; or, A Struggle for the Great Copper Lode. The Broncho Rider Boys find themselves impelled to make a brave fight against heavy odds, in order to retain possession of a valuable mine that is claimed by some of their relatives. They meet with numerous strange and thrilling perils and every wideawake boy will be pleased to learn how the boys finally managed to outwit their enemies. THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS ALONG THE BORDER; or, The Hidden Treasure of the Zuni Medicine Man. Once more the tried and true comrades of camp and trail are in the saddle. In the strangest possible way they are drawn into a series of exciting happenings among the Zuni Indians. Certainly no lad will lay this book down, save with regret. THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS ON THE WYOMING TRAIL; or, A Mystery of the Prairie Stampede. The three prairie pards finally find a chance to visit the Wyoming ranch belonging to Adrian, but managed for him by an unscrupulous relative. Of course, they become entangled in a maze of adventurous doings while in the Northern cattle country. How the Broncho Rider Boys carried themselves through this nerve-testing period makes intensely interesting reading. THE BRONCHO RIDER BOYS WITH THE TEXAS RANGERS; or, The Smugglers of the Rio Grande. In this volume, the Broncho Rider Boys get mixed up in the Mexican troubles, and become acquainted with General Villa. In their efforts to prevent smuggling across the border, they naturally make many enemies, but finally succeed in their mission. The Boy Chums Series By Wilmer M. Ely In this series of remarkable stories are described the adventures of two boys in the great swamps of interior Florida, among the cays off the Florida coast, and through the Bahama Islands. These are real, live boys, and their experiences are worth following. THE BOY CHUMS IN MYSTERY LAND; or, Charlie West and Walter Hazard among the Mexicans. THE BOY CHUMS ON INDIAN RIVER; or, The Boy Partners of the Schooner "Orphan." THE BOY CHUMS ON HAUNTED ISLAND; or, Hunting for Pearls in the Bahama Islands. THE BOY CHUMS IN THE FOREST; or, Hunting for Plume Birds in the Florida Everglades. THE BOY CHUMS' PERILOUS CRUISE; or, Searching for Wreckage on the Florida Coast. THE BOY CHUMS IN THE GULF OF MEXICO; or, A Dangerous Cruise with the Greek Spongers. THE BOY CHUMS CRUISING IN FLORIDA WATERS; or, The Perils and Dangers of the Fishing Fleet. THE BOY CHUMS IN THE FLORIDA JUNGLE; or, Charlie West and Walter Hazard with the Seminole Indians. The Girl Comrade's Series ALL AMERICAN AUTHORS ALL COPYRIGHT STORIES A carefully selected series of books for girls, written by popular authors. These are charming stories for young girls, well told and full of interest. Their simplicity, tenderness, healthy, interesting motives, vigorous action, and character painting will please all girl readers. HANDSOME CLOTH BINDING. PRICE, 60 CENTS. =A BACHELOR MAID AND HER BROTHER.= By I. T. Thurston. =ALL ABOARD. A Story For Girls.= By Fanny E. Newberry. =ALMOST A GENIUS. A Story For Girls.= By Adelaide L. Rouse. =ANNICE WYNKOOP, Artist. Story of a Country Girl.= By Adelaide L. Rouse. =BUBBLES. A Girl's Story.= By Fannie E. Newberry. =COMRADES.= By Fannie E. Newberry. =DEANE GIRLS, THE. A Home Story.= By Adelaide L. 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38088	----	STATE TRIALS _First impression, March 1899_ _Second impression, September 1899_ _All rights reserved_ [Illustration: William Lord Russell.] STATE TRIALS POLITICAL AND SOCIAL SELECTED AND EDITED BY H. L. STEPHEN IN TWO VOLUMES VOL. II [Illustration] LONDON DUCKWORTH AND CO 1899 Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty CONTENTS PAGE LORD RUSSELL, 3 THE EARL OF WARWICK, 59 SPENCER COWPER AND OTHERS, 139 SAMUEL GOODERE AND OTHERS, 231 INDEX, 305 LORD RUSSELL Lord Russell's trial marks the moment in the latter part of Charles II.'s reign when his power reached its highest point. The Exclusion Bill was thrown out by the House of Lords in 1680, and though Stafford was tried and executed at the end of the year, the dissolution of the short-lived Oxford Parliament in April 1681 left the Country party, who had just acquired the name of Whigs, in a temporarily hopeless position. On the 2nd of July in the same year Shaftesbury was arrested on a charge of suborning witnesses in the Popish Plot, but the bill presented against him was thrown out by the Grand Jury, which had been packed in his favour by a friendly sheriff, and he was liberated in November. An unscrupulous exercise of the power of the Court led to North (brother of the Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas, soon to become Lord Keeper) and Rich being sworn in as sheriffs in June 1682, and Shaftesbury, no longer being able to rely on his City friends, retired into hiding and entered on the illegal practices described in Russell's trial. The security afforded to the opponents of the Court was further diminished in 1683 by the suppression of the charter of the City by a writ of Quo Warranto, which, although it was too late to have any effect on Russell's conduct, may help to justify it. The position of the Country party thus appeared desperate. The King had contrived to overcome all constitutional means of opposition; Shaftesbury's unscrupulous policy had alienated most of his natural adherents; his violent disposition made it impossible for his remaining followers to take advantage of the difficulties which the King was preparing for himself and his successor; and by anticipating the crisis of 1688, Shaftesbury, Essex, and Russell brought down destruction on themselves. Lord Russell was tried at the Old Bailey on the 13th of July 1683 before the Lord Chief-Justice, Sir Francis Pemberton,[1] the Lord Chief-Baron, Mr. William Montague, and nine other judges. There appeared for the prosecution the Attorney-General, Sir Robert Sawyer[2], the Solicitor-General, Mr. Finch[3], Serjeant Jeffreys[4], Mr. North[5]. The charge against Lord Russell was that he was guilty of high treason in conspiring to depose and kill the King, and to stir up rebellion against him. To this he pleaded Not Guilty. He objected that he ought not to be arraigned and tried on the same day, to which it was replied that he had had more than a fortnight's notice of his trial and the facts alleged against him by having questions put to him when he was in custody in the Tower. On the first juror being called, Lord Russell objected that he was not a 40s. freeholder in the City. He was allowed to have counsel assigned to him to argue as to whether this was a good ground of objection; the counsel he chose were Pollexfen[6], Holt[7], and Ward. The question was whether the statute 2 Hen. V. c. 3, which enacted that in the case of capital offences the jurors must have lands of the yearly value of 40s., applied to trials for treason or to trials in the City. It was decided by all the judges that it did not,[8] the objection was overruled, and a jury was sworn without any challenges being made. _North_ then shortly opened the case. He alleged that in the previous October and November a council consisting of Russell, the Duke of Monmouth, Lord Grey,[9] Sir Thomas Armstrong, and one Ferguson, were plotting a rising in conjunction with the Earl of Shaftesbury. The Earl was anxious that the opportunity of the celebration of Queen Elizabeth's birthday on the 19th of November should be used for the purpose. The conspirators objected to this on the ground that Trenchard, who was to have headed a rising in the West, was not ready. On this Shaftesbury and Ferguson left the country, and the so-called council was re-organised by Armstrong and Grey being left out, and Lord Howard,[10] Lord Essex,[11] Colonel Algernon Sidney,[12] and Mr. Hampden,[13] being taken in. Frequent consultations were held at Russell's house, and Aaron Smith was despatched to Scotland to arrange a rising on the part of the malcontents there. _Rumsey_[14] was called, and being sworn deposed that at the end of October or the beginning of November Shaftesbury had sent for him to his lodgings in Wapping, where he was hiding, and told him to go to the house of one Sheppard, where he could find Monmouth, Russell, Grey, Armstrong, and Ferguson, and to ask what resolution they had come to as to the rising at Taunton. He took this message accordingly, and received an answer that Trenchard had promised 1000 foot and 300 horse, but had failed them. Most of this answer was delivered by Ferguson, but others, including Russell, were in the room at the time. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there nothing of my lord Shaftesbury to be contented? RUMSEY--Yes, that my lord Shaftesbury must be contented; and upon that he took his resolution to be gone. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Did you hear any such resolution from him? RUMSEY--Yes, my lord. Shaftesbury told him of the meeting; he was not there more than a quarter of an hour; he heard something of a declaration to be made, either there, or on a report of Ferguson's. JEFFREYS--To what purpose was the declaration? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--We must do the prisoner that right; he says he cannot tell whether he had it from him or Mr. Ferguson. There was some discourse begun by Armstrong as to the posture of the guards at the Savoy and at the Mews. Monmouth, Grey, and Armstrong, in Russell's presence, undertook to see the guards, with what care and vigilance they did guard themselves at the Savoy and Mews, whether they might be surprised or not. The rising was to be on the 19th of November. It was arranged by Shaftesbury that he himself was to go to Bristol, in what capacity it was not stated. JEFFREYS--If my lord Russell pleases to ask him any questions he may. LORD RUSSELL--I have very few questions to ask him for I know little of the matter; for it was the greatest accident in the world I was there, and when I saw that company was there I would have been gone again. I came there accidentally to speak with Mr. Sheppard; I had just come to town, but there was no discourse of surprising the guards, nor no undertaking of raising an army. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--We will hear you to anything by and by, but that which we desire to know of your lordship is, as the witnesses come, to know if you would have any particular questions asked of them. On being pressed by Russell, Rumsey repeated that Russell 'did discourse of the rising' at Taunton and consented to it. _Sheppard_ was called, and deposed that in October Ferguson came to him in Monmouth's name, and desired the conveniency of my house, for him and some other persons of quality to meet there. As soon as I had granted it, in the evening the duke of Monmouth, my lord Grey, my lord Russell, sir Thomas Armstrong, col. Rumsey and Mr. Ferguson came. Sir T. Armstrong desired me that none of my servants might come up, but they might be private; so what they wanted I went down for, a bottle of wine or so. He confirmed Rumsey's evidence as to the discourse about surprising the guards; Monmouth, Grey, and Armstrong went out to view them at the Mews; the next time they met Armstrong reported the guards were very remiss in their places, and not like soldiers, and the thing was feasible, if they had strength to do it. There were two meetings: he had notice of them; the company came in the evening; he saw no coaches; Lord Russell came both times. JEFFREYS--Do you remember that col. Rumsey at the first time had any discourse about any private business relating to my lord Russell? SHEPPARD--No, I do not remember it. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Besides the seizing of the guards did they discourse about rising? SHEPPARD--I do not remember any further discourse, for I went several times down to fetch wine, and sugar, and nutmeg, and I do not know what was said in my absence. He remembered that a paper was read 'somewhat in the nature of a proclamation,' setting forth the grievances of the nation 'in order to a rising.' It was read by Ferguson, but he could not say whether they were all present or not. Cross-examined by Lord Russell, he could not be positive as to the time of the meetings; they were at the time that Lord Shaftesbury was absent from his house, and he absented himself about Michaelmas day. LORD RUSSELL--I never was but once at your house, and there was no such design as I heard of. I desire that Mr. Sheppard may recollect himself. SHEPPARD--Indeed my lord I can't be positive in the times. My lord I am sure was at one meeting. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--But was he at both? SHEPPARD--I think so; but it was eight or nine months ago, and I can't be positive. LORD RUSSELL--I can prove I was then in the country. Col. Rumsey said there was but one meeting. COL. RUMSEY--I do not remember I was at two; if I was not, I heard Mr. Ferguson relate the debates of the other meeting to my lord Shaftesbury. LORD RUSSELL--Is it usual for witnesses to hear one another? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--I think your lordship need not concern yourself about that; for I see the witnesses are brought in one after another. LORD RUSSELL--There was no design. JEFFREYS--He hath sworn it. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Swear my lord Howard (which was done). Pray will your lordship give an account to the Court, what you know of a rising designed before my lord Shaftesbury went away, and afterwards how it was continued on. LORD HOWARD--My lord, I appear with some confusion. Let no man wonder that it is troublesome to me. My lord as to the question Mr. Attorney puts to me, this is the account I have to give: It is very well known to every one, how great a ferment was made in the city, upon occasion of the long dispute about the election of sheriffs; and this soon produced a greater freedom and liberty of speech one with another, than perhaps had been used formerly, though not without some previous preparations and dispositions made to the same thing. Upon this occasion among others, I was acquainted with captain Walcot[15], a person that had been some months in England, being returned out of Ireland, and who indeed I had not seen for eleven years before. But he came to me as soon as he came out of Ireland, and when these unhappy divisions came, he made very frequent applications to me; and though he was unknown himself, yet being brought by me, he soon gained a confidence with my lord Shaftesbury, and from him derived it to others. When this unhappy rent and division of mind was, he having before got himself acquainted with many persons of the city, had entered into such counsels with them, as afterwards had the effect, which in the ensuing narrative I shall relate to your lordship. He came to me, and told me, that they were now sensible all they had was going, that this force put upon them---- LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Pray my lord, raise your voice, else your evidence will pass for nothing. ONE OF THE JURY--We cannot hear my lord. LORD HOWARD--There is an unhappy accident happened that hath sunk my voice: I was but just now acquainted with the fate of my lord of Essex. My lord, I say, he came to me, and did acquaint me, that the people were now so sensible that all their interest was going, by that violence offered to the city in their elections, that they were resolved to take some course to put a stop to it, if it were possible: He told me there were several consults and meetings of persons about it, and several persons had begun to put themselves into a disposition and preparation to act; that some had furnished themselves with very good horses, and kept them in the most secret and blind stables they could. That divers had intended it, and for his own part he was resolved to imbark himself in it. And having an estate in Ireland, he thought to dispatch his son thither (for he had a good real estate, and a great stock, how he disposed of his real estate, I know not); but he ordered his son to turn his stock into money to furnish him for the occasion: This I take to be about August, his son was sent away. Soon after this the son not being yet returned, and I having several accounts from him wherein I found the fermentation grew higher and higher, and every day a nearer approach to action I told him I had a necessity to go into Essex to attend the concerns of my own estate; but told him how he might by another name convey letters to me, and gave him a little cant, by which he might blind and disguise the matter he wrote about when I was in the country. I received two or three letters from him, that gave me an account in that disguised style, but such as I understood, that the negotiation which he had with my correspondents was going on, and in good condition; and it was earnestly desired I would come to town; this was the middle of September. I notwithstanding, was willing to see the result of that great affair, upon which all men's eyes were fixed, which was the determination of the shrivalty about that time. So I ordered it to fall into town, and went to my own house Saturday night which was Michaelmas Day. On Sunday he came to me and dined with me, and told me (after a general account given me of the affairs of the times) that my lord Shaftesbury was secreted and withdrawn from his own house in Aldersgate Street; and that though he had a family settled, and had absconded himself from them, and divers others of his friends and confidents; yet he did desire to speak with me, and for that purpose sent him to shew me the way to his lodging: He brought me to a house at the lower end of Wood Street, one Watson's house, and there my lord was alone. He told me he could not but be sensible, how innocent soever he was, both he and all honest men were unsafe, so long as the administration of justice was in such hands as would accommodate all things to the humour of the court. That in the sense of this he thought it but reasonable to provide for his own safety by withdrawing himself from his own house into that retirement. That now he had ripened affairs to that head, and had things in that preparation, that he did not doubt but he should be able, by those men that would be in readiness in London, to turn the tide, and put a stop to the torrent that was ready to overflow. But he did complain to me, that his design, and the design of the public, was very much obstructed by the unhandsome deportment of the Duke of Monmouth, and my lord Russell, who had withdrawn themselves not only from his assistance, but from their own engagements and appointments: For when he had got such a formed force as he had in London, and expected to have it answered by them in the country, they did recede from it, and told him they were not in a condition or preparation, in the country, to be concurrent with him at that time. This he looked upon but as an artificial excuse, and as an instance of their intentions wholly to desert him: but notwithstanding there was such preparation made in London, that if they were willing to lose the honour of being concurrent with him, he was able to do it himself, and did intend speedily to put it into execution. I asked him what forces he had? He said he had enough. Says I, What are you assured of? Says he, There is above ten thousand brisk boys are ready to follow me, whenever I hold up my finger. Says I, How have you methoded this, that they should not be crushed, for there will be a great force to oppose you? Yes, he answered, but they would possess themselves of the gates; and these ten thousand men in 24 hours would be multiplied into five times the number, and be able to make a sally out, and possess themselves of Whitehall, by beating the guards. I told him this was a fair story, and I had reason to think a man of his figure would not undertake a thing that might prove so fatal, unless it were laid on a foundation that might give a prudent man ground to hope it would be successful. He said he was certain of it, but confessed it was a great disappointment that these lords had failed him. I told him, I was not provided with an answer at that time; that he well knew me, and knew the general frame and bent of my spirit. But I told him, I looked upon it as dangerous, and ought to be laid deep, and to be very well weighed and considered of: and did not think it a thing fit to be entered upon, without the concurrence of those lords. He did consent, with much ado, but, says he, you will find they will wave it, and give doubtful and deferring answers, but you will find this a truth. I went to Moor Park next day, where the Duke of Monmouth was, and told him the great complaint my lord Shaftesbury had made, that he failed him. Says he, I think he is mad; I was so far from giving him any encouragement, that I did tell him from the beginning, and so did my lord Russell, there was nothing to be done by us in the country at that time. I did not then own that I had seen my lord, but spake as if this were brought me by a third person, because he had not given me liberty to tell them where his lodging was. Says I, My lord, I shall be able to give a better account of this in a day or two: Shall I convey it to my lord, that you are willing to give a meeting? Yes, says he, with all my heart. This was the 2nd, 3rd, or 4th of Oct. I came to town on Saturday, and was carried to him on Monday; and I suppose this was Tuesday the 2nd of October. On Wednesday I think I went to him again (but it is not very material) and told him I had been with the duke of Monmouth and given him a punctual account of what I had from him; and the duke did absolutely disown any such thing, and told me, he never did give him any encouragement to proceed that way, because the countries were not in a disposition for action, nor could be put in readiness at that time. Says my lord Shaftesbury, It is false: they are afraid to own it. And, says he, I have reason to believe, there is some artificial bargain between his father and him, to save one another: for when I have brought him to action, I could never get him to put on, and therefore I suspect him: and, says he, several honest men in the city have puzzled me, in asking how the duke of Monmouth lived: says he, They puzzled me, and I could not answer the question; for I know he must have his living from the King; and says he, we have different prospects; we are for a Commonwealth and he hath no other design but his own personal interest, and that will not go down with my people now (so he called them), they are all for a commonwealth: and then, says he, It is to no purpose for me to see him; it will but widen the breach, and I dare not trust him to come hither. Says I, My lord, that's a good one indeed! dare not you trust him, and yet do you send me to him on this errand? Nay, says he, it is because we have had some misunderstanding of late; but I believe he is true enough to the interest. Says I, It is a great unhappiness to take this time to fall out, and I think it is so great a design, that it ought to be undertaken with the greatest strength and coalition in the kingdom. Says he, My friends are now gone so far, that they can't pull their foot back again without going further; for, says he, it hath been communicated to so many that it is impossible to keep it from taking air, and it must go on. Says he, We are not so unprovided as you think for; there are so many men, that you will find as brisk men as any in England. Besides we are to have 1000 or 1500 horse, that are to be drawn by insensible parties into town, that when the insurrection is, shall be able to scour the streets and hinder them from forming their forces against us. My lord, after great inlargement upon this head, and heads of the like nature, I told him I would not leave him thus, and that nothing should satisfy me, but an interview between him and the lords. No, I could not obtain it: but if I would go and tell them what a forwardness he was in, and that, if they would do themselves right, by putting themselves upon correspondent action in their respective places, and where their interest lay, well; otherwise he would go away without them: So I went again to the Duke of Monmouth, I spake to him only (I never spake to my lord Russell then, only we were together, but I had never come to any close conjunction of counsels in my life with him at that time). Says I to the duke, This man is mad, and his madness will prove fatal to us all; he hath been in a fright by being in the tower, and carries those fears about him that cloud his understanding. I think his judgment hath deserted him, when he goes about with those strange sanguine hopes that I can't see what should support him in the ground of them. Therefore says I, Pray will you give him a meeting? God-so says the duke, with all my heart, and I desire nothing more. Now I told him, I had been with my lord Shaftesbury, with other inlargements that I need not trouble your lordship with; well, says he, pray go to him, and try if it be possible to get a meeting; so I went to him and told him; Says I, This is a great unhappiness and it seems to be a great absurdity, that you are so forward to act alone in such a thing as this. Pray, says I, without any more to do, since you have this confidence to send for me, let me prevail with you to meet them, and give them an interview, or else you and I must break. I will no longer hold any correspondence, unless it be so. Says he, I tell you they will betray me. In short he did with much importunity yield that he would come out the next night in a disguise. By this time it was Saturday, I take it to be the 6th of Oct.: an almanac will settle that: so the next night being Sunday and the shops shut, he would come out in a concealment, be carried in a coach, and brought to his own house, which he thought then was safest. I came and gave the duke of Monmouth an account of it; the duke I suppose conveyed the same understanding to my lord Russell; and I suppose both would have been there accordingly, to have given the meeting: but next morning I found colonel Rumsey had left a note at my house, that the meeting could not be that day. Then I went to the duke of Monmouth and he had had the account before, that my lord Shaftesbury did apprehend himself to be in some danger in that house, and that the apprehension had occasioned him to remove; but we should be sure to hear from him in two or three days. We took it as a waiver, and thought he did from thence intend to abscond himself from us, and it proved so to me, for from that time I never saw him. But captain Walcot came to me, and told me, that he was withdrawn, but it was for fear his lodging might be discovered, but he did not doubt but in a week he would let me know where his lodging was: but told me within such a time, which I think was eight or ten days, there would be a rising; and I told the duke of Monmouth and I believe he told my lord Russell; and we believed his frenzy was now grown to that height, that he would rise immediately and put his design into execution: so we endeavoured to prevent it, upon which my lord Russell (I was told) and the duke of Monmouth, did force their way to my lord Shaftesbury's and did persuade him to put off the day of his rendezvous. I had not this from my lord Russell, for I had not spoke a word to him: but the duke told me my lord Russell had been with him (I had indeed an intimation, that he had been with him but the duke told me, says he, I have not been with him, but my lord Russell was, having been conveyed by colonel Rumsey). After this day was put off, it seems it was put off with this condition, that those lords and divers others should be in a readiness to raise the country about that day fortnight, or thereabouts; for there was not above a fortnight's time given: and, says the duke of Monmouth, we have put it off but now we must be in action, for there is no holding it off any longer. And says he, I have been at Wapping all night, and I never saw a company of bolder and brisker fellows in my life; and says he, I have been round the Tower and seen the avenues of it; and I do not think it will be hard, in a little time, to possess ourselves of it; but says he, they are in the wrong way, yet we are engaged to be ready for them in a fortnight, and therefore, says he, now we must apply ourselves to it as well as we can. And thereupon I believe they did send into the country and the duke of Monmouth told me he spake to Mr. Trenchard, who was to take particular care of Somersetshire, with this circumstance; Says he, I thought Mr. Trenchard had been a brisker fellow; for when I told him of it, he looked so pale, I thought he would have swooned, when I brought him to the brink of action; and said, I pray go and do what you can among your acquaintance; and truly I thought it would have come then to action. But I went the next day to him, and he said it was impossible, they could not get the gentlemen of the country to stir yet. LORD RUSSELL--My lord, I think I have very hard measure, here is a great deal of evidence by hearsay. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--This is nothing against you, I declare it to the jury. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--If you please, my lord, go on in the method of time. This is nothing against you, but it's coming to you, if your lordship will have patience, I assure you. LORD HOWARD--This is just in the order it was done. When this was put off, then they were in a great hurry; and Captain Walcot had been several times with me, and discoursed of it. But upon this disappointment they said, it should be the dishonour of the lords, that they were backward to perform their parts; but still they were resolved to go on. And this had carried it to the latter end of October. About the 17th or 18th captain Walcot came to me, and told me, now they were resolved positively to rise, and did believe that a smart party might perhaps meet with some great men[16]. Thereupon I told the duke of it; I met him in the street and went out of my own coach into his, and told him there was some dark intimation, as if there might be some attempt upon the king's person; with that he struck his breast with a great emotion of spirit, and said, God-so, kill the king! I will never suffer that. Then he went to the play-house to find sir Thomas Armstrong and send him up and down the city to put it off, as they did formerly; and it was done with that success, that we were all quieted in our minds, that at that time nothing would be done: but upon the day the king came from Newmarket, we dined together; the duke of Monmouth was one, and there we had a notion conveyed among us, that some bold action should be done that day; which comparing it with the king's coming, we concluded it was designed upon the king. And I remember my lord Grey, says he, By God, if they do attempt any such thing, it can't fail. We were in great anxiety of mind, till we heard the king's coach was come in, and sir Thomas Armstrong not being there, we apprehended that he was to be one of the party (for he was not there). This failing, it was then next determined (which was the last alarum and news I had of it), to be done upon the 17th of November, the anniversary of queen Elizabeth; and I remember it by this remark I made myself, that I feared it had been discovered, because I saw a proclamation a little before forbidding public bonfires without leave of my lord mayor. It made some impressions upon me that I thought they had got an intimation of our intention, and had therefore forbid that meeting. This therefore of the 17th of November being also disappointed, and my lord Shaftesbury, being told things were not ripe, in the country, took shipping and got away: and from that time I heard no more of him till I heard he was dead. Now, Sir, after this, we all began to lie under the same sense and apprehensions that my lord Shaftesbury did, that we had gone so far, and communicated it to so many, that it was unsafe to make a retreat; and this being considered, it was also considered, that so great an affair as that was, consisting of such infinite particulars, to be managed with so much fineness, and to have so many parts, it would be necessary, that there should be some general council, that should take upon them the care of the whole. Upon these thoughts we resolved to erect a little Cabal among ourselves, which did consist of six persons; and the persons were the duke of Monmouth, my lord of Essex, my lord Russell, Mr. Hambden junr., Algernone Sidney, and myself. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--About what time was this, when you settled this council? LORD HOWARD--It would have been proper for me in the next place to tell you that, and I was coming to it. This was about the middle of Jan. last (as near as I can remember); for about that time we did meet at Mr. Hambden's house. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Name those that met. LORD HOWARD--All the persons I named before; that was the duke of Monmouth, my lord of Essex, my lord Russell, col. Sidney; Mr. Hambden junr., and myself; when we met there, it was presently agreed what their proper province was, which was to have a care of the whole; and therefore it was necessary some general things should fall under our care and conduct which could not possibly be conducted by individual persons. The things that did principally challenge this care, we thought were these: Whether the insurrection was most proper to be begun in London, or in the country, or both at one instant. This stood upon several different reasons: It was said in the country; and I remember the Duke of Monmouth insisted upon it, that it was impossible to oppose a formed, well-methodized and governed force, with a rabble hastily got together; and therefore whatever number could be gathered in the city, would be suppressed quickly, before they could form themselves: therefore it would be better to begin it at such a distance from the town, where they might have an opportunity of forming themselves, and would not be subject to the like panic fear, as in the town, where half an hour would convey the news to those forces that in another half hour would be ready to suppress them. It was further suggested that if the meeting was remote from London, the King must either give an opportunity for a rising there by withdrawing troops, or else give the insurgents time to gather head. Other questions discussed were what counties and towns were the fittest for action, what arms were necessary, how the £20,000 or £30,000 which the Duke of Monmouth considered necessary for the rising were to be raised; lastly and chiefly how to 'order it, as to draw Scotland into a consent with us.' Another meeting was held ten days afterwards at Lord Russell's, when the same persons were present. It was then decided to send messengers to Lord Argyle 'to settle an understanding with him, and others to invite to England persons' that were judged most able to understand the state of Scotland, and give an account of it. Aaron Smith[17] was accordingly sent to Sir John Cochram[18], Lord Melvile[19], and Sir ---- Campbell, and received sixty guineas from Algernon Sidney for his expenses. It was agreed that the conspirators should not meet together again till Aaron Smith's return. His absence for a month caused some apprehensions; 'but if his letters had miscarried, it could have done no great hurt, for it carried only a kind of cant in it; it was under the disguise of a plantation in Carolina.' ATTORNEY-GENERAL--You are sure my lord Russell was there? LORD HOWARD--Yes, sir; I wish I could say he was not. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did he sit there as a cypher? What did my lord say? LORD HOWARD--Every one knows my lord Russell is a person of great judgment, and not very lavish in discourse. SERJEANT JEFFREYS--But he did consent? LORD HOWARD--We did not put it to the vote, but it went without contradiction, and I took it that all there gave their consent. SOLICITOR-GENERAL--The raising of money you speak of, was that put into in any way? LORD HOWARD--No, but every man was to put themselves upon thinking of such a way, that money might be collected without administering jealousy. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Were there no persons to undertake for a fund? LORD HOWARD--No, I think not. However it was but opinion, the thing that was said was jocosely, rather than anything else, that my lord of Essex had dealing in money, and therefore he was thought the most proper person to take care of those things; but this was said rather by way of mirth, than otherwise. Howard then withdrew to Essex to see after some private affairs; on returning to town he heard that Smith had returned with Sir John Cochram but did not see them. He then went to Bath and had nothing more to do with the conspiracy. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--My lord Russell, now if your lordship pleases, is the time for you to ask him any questions. LORD RUSSELL--The most he hath said of me, my lord, is only hearsay; the two times we met, it was upon no formed design, only to talk of news, and talk of things in general. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--But I will tell you what it is he testifies, that comes nearest your lordship, that so you may consider of it, if you will ask any questions. He says after my lord Shaftesbury went off (all before is but inducement, as to anything that concerns your lordship, and does not particularly touch you; after his going away he says) the party concerned with my lord Shaftesbury did think fit to make choice of six persons to carry on the design of an insurrection or rising, as he calls it, in the kingdom; and that to that purpose, choice was made of the Duke of Monmouth, my lord of Essex, your lordship, my lord Howard, colonel Sidney, and Mr. Hambden. LORD RUSSELL--Pray my lord, not to interrupt you, by what party (I know no party) were they chosen? LORD HOWARD--It is very true, we were not chosen by community, but did erect ourselves by mutual agreement, one with another, into this society. LORD RUSSELL--We were people that did meet very often. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Will your lordship please to have any other questions asked of my lord Howard? LORD RUSSELL--He says it was a formed design, when we met about no such thing. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--He says that you did consult among yourselves, about the raising of men, and where the rising should be first, whether in the city of London, or in more foreign parts, that you had several debates concerning it; he does make mention of some of the duke of Monmouth's arguments for its being formed in places from the city; he says you did all agree, not to do anything further in it, till you had considered how to raise money and arms: and to engage the kingdom of Scotland in this business with you, that it was agreed among you that a messenger should be sent into the kingdom of Scotland. Thus far he goes upon his own knowledge, as he saith; what he says after, of sending a messenger, is by report only. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--I beg your pardon, my lord. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--It is so, that which he heard concerning the sending of Aaron Smith. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Will you ask him any questions? LORD RUSSELL--We met, but there was no debate of any such thing, nor putting anything in method. But my lord Howard is a man that hath a voluble tongue, talks very well, and is full of discourse, and we were delighted to hear him. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--I think your lordship did mention the Campbells? LORD HOWARD--I did stammer it out, but not without a parenthesis, it was a person of the alliance, and I thought of the name of the Argyles. _Atterbury_ was called, and swore that Sir Hugh Campbell was in his custody; was captured 'making his escape out of a woodmonger's house, both he and his son'; he owned that he had been in London four days, and that he and his son and Bailey came to town together. _West[20] was then called and sworn._ ATTORNEY-GENERAL--That which I call you to, is to know whether or no, in your managery of this plot, you understand any of the lords were concerned, and which. MR. WEST--My lord, as to my lord Russell, I never had any conversation with him at all, but that I have heard this, that in the insurrection in November, Mr. Ferguson and colonel Rumsey did tell me that my lord Russell intended to go down and take his post in the West, when Mr. Trenchard had failed them. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--What is this? ATTORNEY-GENERAL--We have proved my lord privy to the consults; now we go about to prove the under-actors did know it. WEST--They always said my lord Russell was the man they most depended upon, because he was a person looked upon as of great sobriety. LORD RUSSELL--Can I hinder people from making use of my name? To have this brought to influence the gentlemen of the jury, and inflame them against me, is hard. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--As to this, the giving evidence by hearsay will not be evidence; what colonel Rumsey, or Mr Ferguson told Mr. West, is no evidence. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--It is not evidence to convict a man, if there were not plain evidence before; but it plainly confirms what the other swears: but I think we need no more. JEFFREYS--We have evidence without it, and will not use anything of garniture; we will leave it as it is, we won't trouble your lordship any further. I think, Mr. Attorney, we have done with our evidence. The Lord Chief-Justice then recapitulated the evidence given against Lord Russell, dwelling particularly on the traitorous character of Rumsey's message, Russell's privity to Trenchard's rising, the alleged written declaration, and the consultations as to the best method of effecting a rising, and finally called on Lord Russell to make his defence. LORD RUSSELL--My lord, I cannot but think myself mighty unfortunate, to stand here charged with so high and heinous a crime, and that intricated and intermixed with the treasons and horrid practices and speeches of other people, the king's counsel taking all advantages, and improving and heightening things against me. I am no lawyer, a very unready speaker, and altogether a stranger to things of this nature, and alone, and without counsel. Truly, my lord, I am very sensible, I am not so provided to make my just defence, as otherwise I should do. But, my lord, you are equal, and the gentlemen of the jury, I think, are men of consciences; they are strangers to me, and I hope they value innocent blood, and will consider the witnesses that swear against me, swear to save their own lives; for howsoever legal witnesses they may be accounted, they can't be credible. And for col. Rumsey, who it is notoriously known hath been so highly obliged by the king, and the duke, for him to be capable of such a design of murdering the king, I think nobody will wonder, if to save his own life, he will endeavour to take away mine; neither does he swear enough to do it; and then if he did, the time by the 13th of this king, is elapsed, it must be as I understand by the law, prosecuted within six months; and by the 25 Edw. III. a design of levying war is no treason, unless by some overt-act it appear.[21] And, my lord, I desire to know, what statute I am to be tried upon; for generals, I think, are not to be gone upon in these cases. The _Attorney-General_ replies that they are proceeding under the Statute of 25 Edward III.; that he does not contend that a design to levy war is treason, but to prepare forces to fight against the King is a design within the Statute to kill the King; 'to design to depose the King, to imprison the King, to raise the subjects against the King, these have been settled by several resolutions to be within that Statute, and evidences of a design to kill the King.'[22] A man cannot be convicted of treason by one witness only, but several witnesses to several acts which manifest the same treason are sufficient. JEFFREYS--If my lord will call his witnesses---- LORD RUSSELL--This is tacking of two treasons together; here is one in November by one witness, and then you bring in another with a discourse of my lord Howard, and he says the discourse passed for pleasure. The Lord Chief-Justice and Jeffreys point out that it has been settled that the two witnesses required in treason may be witnesses to different acts, and that if Lord Russell admits the facts his counsel may be heard on the point of law. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--My lord, to hear your counsel concerning this fact, that we cannot do, it was never done, nor will be done. If your lordship doubts whether this fact is treason or not, and desires your counsel may be heard to that, I will do it. SOLICITOR-GENERAL--Will your lordship please to call any witness to the matter of fact? LORD RUSSELL--It is very hard a man must lose his life upon hearsay. Colonel Rumsey says he brought a message which I will swear I never heard nor knew of. He does not say he spake to me, or I gave him any answer. Mr. Sheppard remembers no such thing; he was gone to and again. Here is but one witness, and seven months ago. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lord, if there is anything that is law, you shall have it LORD RUSSELL--My lord, colonel Rumsey, the other day before the king [the information of Rumsey is signed by the Duke of Abermarle and Sir Leoline Jenkins, Secretary of State] could not say that I heard it, I was in the room, but I came in late, they had been there a good while; I did not stay above a quarter of an hour tasting sherry with Mr. Sheppard. Here some of the judges desired that 25 Edw. III. c. 2 should be read, which was done. The material parts of it declare 'that whereas divers opinions have been before this time, in what case treason shall be said, and in what not ... when a man doth compass or imagine the death of our lord the king ... or if a man do levy war against our lord the king in his realm, or be adherent to the king's enemies in his realm, giving to them aid and comfort in the realm, or elsewhere, and thereof be provable attainted of open deed by people of their condition,' it is treason. On this the point of law is re-discussed with the same result as before. LORD RUSSELL--I do not know how to answer it. The points methinks must be quite otherwise, that there should be two witnesses to one thing at the same time. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Your lordship remembers, in my lord Stafford's case, there was but one witness to one act in England, and another to another in France. LORD RUSSELL--It was to the same point. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--To the general point, the lopping point. LORD RUSSELL--I can prove I was out of town when one of these meetings was; but Mr. Sheppard cannot recollect the day, for I was out of town all that time. I never was but once at Mr. Sheppard's and there was nothing undertaken of viewing the guards while I was there. Col. Rumsey, can you swear positively, that I heard the message, and gave any answer to it? LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE (to Col. Rumsey)--Sir, did my lord Russell hear you when you delivered the message to the company? Were they at the table, or where were they? COLONEL RUMSEY--When I came in they were standing at the fireside; but they all came from the fireside to hear what I said. LORD RUSSELL--Col. Rumsey was there when I came in. COLONEL RUMSEY--No, my lord. The duke of Monmouth and my lord Russell went away together; and my lord Grey, and sir Thomas Armstrong. LORD RUSSELL--The duke of Monmouth and I came together, and you were standing at the chimney when I came in; you were there before me. My lord Howard hath made a long narrative here of what he knew. I do not know when he made it, or when he did recollect anything; 'tis but very lately, that he did declare and protest to several people, that he knew nothing against me, nor of any Plot I could in the least be questioned for. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--If you will have any witnesses called to that, you shall, my lord. LORD RUSSELL--My lord Anglesey, and Mr. Edward Howard. My lord Anglesey stood up. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--My lord Russell, what do you ask my lord Anglesey? LORD RUSSELL--To declare what my lord Howard told him about me, since I was confined. LORD ANGLESEY--My lord, I chanced to be in town the last week; and hearing my lord of Bedford was in some distress and trouble concerning the affliction of his son, I went to give him a visit, being my old acquaintance, of some 53 years' standing, I believe; for my lord and I were bred together at Maudlin College in Oxon; I had not been there but a very little while, and was ready to go away again, after I had done the good office I came about; but my lord Howard came in, I don't know whether he be here. LORD HOWARD--Yes, here I am to serve your lordship. LORD ANGLESEY--And sat down on the other side of my lord of Bedford, and he began to comfort my lord; and the arguments he used for his comfort, were, my lord, you are happy in having a wise son, and a worthy person, one that can never sure be in such a Plot as this, or suspected for it, and that may give your lordship reason to expect a very good issue concerning him. I know nothing against him, or any body else, of such a barbarous design, and therefore your lordship may be comforted in it. I did not hear this only from my lord Howard's mouth, but at my own home on the Monday after, for I used to go to Totteridge for fresh air; I went down on Saturday, this happened to be on Friday (my lord being here, I am glad, for he cannot forget this discourse); and when I came to town on Monday I understood that my lord Howard upon that very Sunday had been church with my lady Chaworth. My lady has a chaplain it seems that preaches there and does the offices of the church; but my lady came to me in the evening. This I have from my lady---- LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--My lord, what you have from my lady is no kind of evidence at all. LORD ANGLESEY--I don't know what my lord is, I am acquainted with none of the evidence, nor what hath been done; But my lady Chaworth came to me, and acquainted me there was some suspicion---- JEFFREYS--I don't think it fit for me to interrupt a person of your honour, my lord, but your lordship knows in what place we stand here: What you can say of anything you heard of my lord Howard, we are willing to hear, but the other is not evidence. As the court will not let us offer hearsays, so neither must we that are for the king permit it. LORD ANGLESEY--I have told you what happened in my hearing. _Mr. Howard_ was then called, and after describing steps he took to prevail on Lord Howard to come over to the King's side, when 'I sometimes found my lord very forward and sometimes softened him'; and continuing-- LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Pray apply yourself to the matter you are called for. MR. HOWARD--This it may be is to the matter, when you have heard me: for I think I know where I am, and what I am to say. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--We must desire you not to go on thus. MR. HOWARD--I must satisfy the world, as well as I can, as to myself, and my family, and pray do not interrupt me. After this, my lord, there never passed a day for almost---- LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Pray speak to this matter. HOWARD--Sir, I am coming to it. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Pray, Sir, be directed by the Court. HOWARD--Then now, sir, I will come to the thing. Upon this ground I had of my lord's kindness, I applied myself to my lord in this present issue, on the breaking out of this Plot. My lord, I thought certainly, as near as I could discern him (for he took it upon his honour, his faith, and as much as if he had taken an oath before a magistrate), that he knew nothing of any man concerned in this business, and particularly of my lord Russell, whom he vindicated with all the honour in the world. My lord, it is true, was afraid of his own person, and as a friend and a relation I concealed him in my own house, and I did not think it was for such a conspiracy, but I thought he was unwilling to go to the Tower for nothing again;[23] so that if my lord has the same soul on Monday, that he had on Sunday, this cannot be true, that he swears against my lord Russell. LORD RUSSELL--Call Dr. Burnet.[24] LORD RUSSELL--Pray, Dr. Burnet, did you hear anything from my lord Howard, since the Plot was discovered, concerning me? DR. BURNET--My lord Howard was with me the night after the Plot broke out, and he did then, as he had done before, with hands and eyes lifted up to heaven, say he knew nothing of any Plot, nor believed any; and treated it with scorn and contempt. LORD HOWARD--My lord, may I speak for myself? JEFFREYS--No, no, my lord, we don't call you. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Will you please to have any other witnesses called? LORD RUSSELL--There are some persons of quality that I have been very well acquainted and conversed with. I desire to know of them, if there was anything in my former carriage to make them think me like to be guilty of this? My lord Cavendish. LORD CAVENDISH--I had the honour to be acquainted with my lord Russell a long time. I always thought him a man of great honour, and too prudent and wary a man to be concerned in so vile and desperate a design as this, and from which he would receive so little advantage; I can say nothing more, but that two or three days since the discovery of this plot upon discourse about Col. Rumsey my lord Russell did express something, as if he had a very ill opinion of the man, and therefore it is not likely he would entrust him with such a secret. LORD RUSSELL--Dr. Tillotson.[25] LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--What questions would you ask him, my lord? LORD RUSSELL--He and I happened to be very conversant. To know whether he did ever find anything tending to this in my discourse. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--My lord calls you as to his life, and conversation and reputation. DR. TILLOTSON--My lord, I have been many years last past acquainted with my lord Russell, I always judged him a person of great virtue and integrity, and by all the conversation and discourse I ever had with him, I always took him to be a person very far from any such wicked design he stands charged with. LORD RUSSELL--Dr. Burnet, if you please to give some account of my conversation. DR. BURNET--My lord, I have had the honour to be known to my lord Russell several years, and he hath declared himself with much confidence to me, and he always upon all occasions expressed himself against all risings; and when he spoke of some people would provoke to it, he expressed himself so determined against that matter that I think no man could do more. _Dr. Thomas Cox_ was then called and said that having seen a great deal of Lord Russell during the six weeks 'before this plot came out,' he had always found him against all kind of risings; he expressed distrust of Rumsey. He said, for my lord Howard, he was a man of excellent parts, of luxuriant parts, but he had the luck not to be much trusted by any party. The _Duke of Somerset_ spoke shortly as to Lord Russell's honour, loyalty, and justice. FOREMAN OF THE JURY--The gentlemen of the jury desire to ask my lord Howard something upon the point my lord Anglesey testified, and to know what answer he makes to lord Anglesey. LORD CHIEF-BARON--My lord, what say you to it, that you told his father that he was a discreet man, and he needed not to fear his engagement in any such thing? LORD HOWARD--My lord, if I took it right my lord Anglesey's testimony did branch itself into two parts, one of his own knowledge, and the other by hearsay; as to what he said of his own knowledge, when I waited upon my lord of Bedford, and endeavoured to comfort him concerning his son, I believe I said the words my lord Anglesey has given an account of, as near as I can remember, that I looked upon his lordship as a man of that honour, that I hoped he might be secure, that he had not entangled himself in anything of that nature. My lord, I can hardly be provoked to make my own defence, lest this noble lord should suffer, so willing I am to serve my lord, who knows I cannot want affection for him. My lord, I do confess I did say it; for your lordship well knows under what circumstances we were: I was at that time to outface the thing, both for myself and my party, and I did not intend to come into this place, and act this part. God knows how it is brought upon me, and with what unwillingness I do sustain it; but my duty to God, the king, and my country requires it; but I must confess I am very sorry to carry it on thus far. My lord, I do confess I did say so, and if I had been to visit my lord Pemberton, I should have said so. There is none of those that know my lord Russell, but would speak of my lord Russell, from those topics of honour, modesty and integrity, his whole life deserves it. And I must confess that I did frequently say, there was nothing of truth in this, and I wish this may be for my lord's advantage. My lord, will you spare me one thing more, because that leans hard upon my reputation; and if the jury believe that I ought not to be believed, for I do think the religion of an oath is not tied to a place, but receives its obligation from the appeal we therein make to God, and, I think, if I called God and angels to witness to a falsehood, I ought not to be believed now; but I will tell you as to that; your lordship knows that every man that was committed, was committed for a design of murdering the king; now I did lay hold on that part, for I was to carry my knife close between the paring and the apple; and I did say that if I were an enemy to my lord Russell, and to the Duke of Monmouth, and were called to be a witness, I must have declared in the presence of God and man, that I did not believe either of them had any design to murder the king. I have said this, because I would not walk under the character of a person that would be perjured at the expense of so noble a person's life, and my own soul. _Lord Clifford_, _Mr. Suton Gore_, _Mr. Spencer_, and _Dr. Fitz-Williams_ then all gave evidence as to Lord Russell's character in general terms. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--My lord, does your lordship call any more witnesses? LORD RUSSELL--No, my lord, I will be very short. I shall declare to your lordship, that I am one that have always had a heart sincerely loyal and affectionate to the king, and the government the best government in the world. I pray as sincerely for the king's happy and long life as any man alive; and for me to go about to raise a rebellion, which I looked upon as so wicked and unpracticable, is unlikely. Besides, if I had been inclined to it, by all the observation I made in the country, there was no tendency to it. What some hot-headed people have done there, is another thing. A rebellion cannot be made now as it has been in former times; we have few great men. I was always for the government, I never desired anything to be redressed, but in a parliamentary and legal way, I have always been against innovations and all irregularities whatsoever; and shall be as long as I live, whether it be sooner or later. Gentlemen, I am now in your hands eternally, my honour, my life, and all; and I hope the heats and animosities that are amongst you will not so bias you, as to make you in the least inclined to find an innocent man guilty. I call to witness heaven and earth, I never had a design against the king's life, in my life, nor never shall have. I think there is nothing proved against me at all. I am in your hands. God direct you. The _Solicitor-General_ then proceeds to sum up the case against Lord Russell. The treason alleged against the prisoner is conspiring the death of the King; the overt act proving the conspiracy is the assembling in council to raise arms against the King and raise a rebellion here. Rumsey was sent by Shaftesbury to Sheppard's house to ask for news of Trenchard's rising at Taunton; the message was delivered in Russell's presence and an answer was given as from them all that they were disappointed there, and were not ready to rise. Monmouth, Grey, and Armstrong went out to inspect the guards and reported that it was feasible to surprise them. Russell was present and discussed a rising with the rest; the rising was to be on the 19th of November. Sheppard speaks to Ferguson engaging his rooms on behalf of Monmouth; there was consequently a private meeting there which Russell attended. He confirms Rumsey as to the inspecting of the guards, and speaks to the reading of a paper, though he does not say that Russell was there when it was read. Lord Howard 'gives you an account of many things, and many things that he tells you are by hearsay. But I cannot but observe to you that all this hearsay is confirmed by these two positive witnesses.' Shaftesbury told Howard of the disappointment he had met with from noble persons who would not join with him; Howard went from Shaftesbury to Monmouth to expostulate with him; 'and Monmouth said he had always told him (? Howard or Shaftesbury) he would not engage at that time.' This, says the Solicitor-General, is confirmed by Rumsey's account of the delivery of his message. Then follows the abandonment of the rising on the 19th of November in consequence of the proclamation forbidding the usual rejoicings on that occasion, and Shaftesbury's departure, leading to the formation of the committee of six, of whom Lord Russell was one, and who at one meeting discussed the proper place for the rising and at another how best to obtain assistance from Scotland. Lord Russell states that he only came to Sheppard's house by accident, about some other business, but he came with Monmouth, and Monmouth came by appointment. Surely this designed and secret meeting must have been intended for the purposes for which it was used. Lord Russell objects that this evidence proves no more than a conspiracy to levy war, which is not treason within 25 Edw. III., and though it is treason within 13 Car. II., that statute does not apply because the prosecution has not taken place within six months of the offence. But the case is one of high treason under 25 Edw. III., because 'to conspire to levy war, is an overt-act to testify the design of the death of the King'; as to which see Lord Cobham's case, 1 Jac.[26] A conspiracy to levy war against the king's person tends to seizing the King, which has always been taken to be treason. It may be different in the case of a conspiracy to levy war by such an act as overthrowing all inclosures (which is levying war), which by construction only is against the King, but such cases are to be distinguished from the levying of war against the King himself; see the case of Dr. Story. As was seen in Plunket's[27] case, to invite a foreign invasion is to conspire the death of the King. Coke, in the passage before that relied on by Lord Russell, admits that this is the law. When Coke says that to levy war is not an overt act for compassing the death of the King (that is, is not evidence of such an intention), Sir Henry Vane's case shows he is wrong. As to the killing of the King, I am apt to think that was below the honour of the prisoner at the bar ... but this is equal treason; if they designed only to bring the King into their power, till he had consented to such things as should be moved in Parliament, it is equally treason as if they had agreed directly to assassinate him. Lord Howard, it is true, testified repeatedly to Lord Russell's innocence, but was not this the best way of concealing his own guilt? Surely Dr. Burnet would look on himself as the last person to whom conspirators would confess their crimes. _Jeffreys_ followed, recapitulating a few of the facts, but adding nothing to the Solicitor-General's argument. LORD CHIEF-JUSTICE--Gentlemen of the jury, the prisoner at the bar stands indicted before you of High treason in compassing and designing the death of the king, and declaring of it by overt-acts endeavouring to raise insurrections, and popular commotions, in the kingdom here. To this he hath pleaded, Not Guilty. You have heard the evidence that hath been against him; it hath been at large repeated by the king's counsel which will take off a great deal of my trouble in repeating it again. I know you cannot but take notice of it, and remember it, it having been stated twice by two of the king's counsel to you; 'tis long, and you see what the parties here have proved. There is first of all Col. Rumsey, he does attest a meeting at Mr. Sheppard's house, and you hear to what purpose he says it was; the message that he brought, and the return he had; it was to enquire concerning a rising at Taunton; and that he had in return to my lord Shaftesbury was, that Mr. Trenchard had failed them, and my lord must be contented; for it could not be that time. You hear that he does say, that they did design a rising; he saith there was a rising designed in November, I think he saith the seventeenth, upon the day of queen Elizabeth's birth.[28] You hear he does say there was at that meeting some discourse concerning inspecting the king's guards, and seeing how they kept themselves, and whether they might be surprised, and this he says was all in order to a rising. He says, that at this my lord Russell was present. Mr. Sheppard does say, that my lord Russell was there; that he came into this meeting with the duke of Monmouth and he did go away with the duke of Monmouth he believes. He says there was some discourse of a rising or insurrection that was to be procured within the kingdom: but he does not tell you the particulars of any thing, he himself does not. My lord Howard afterwards does come and tell you of a great discourse he had with my lord Shaftesbury, in order to a rising in the city of London; and my lord Shaftesbury did value himself mightily upon 10,000 men he hoped to raise; and a great deal of discourse, he had with my lord Shaftesbury. This he does by way of inducement to what he says concerning my lord Russell. The evidence against him is some consults that there were by six of them, who took upon them, as he says, to be a council for the management of the insurrection, that was to be procured in this kingdom. He instances in two that were for this purpose, the one of them at Mr. Hambden's house, the other at my lord Russell's house. And he tells you at these meetings, there was some discourse of providing treasure, and of providing arms; but they came to no result in these things. He tells you that there was a design to send for some of the kingdom of Scotland, that might join with them in this thing. And this is upon the matter, the substance of the evidence, that hath been at large declared to you by the king's counsel, and what you have heard. Now gentlemen, I must tell you some things it lies upon us to direct you in. My lord excepts to these witnesses, because they are concerned, by their own shewing, in this design. If there were any, I did direct (some of you might hear me) yesterday, that that was no sufficient exception against a man's being an evidence in the case of treason, that he himself was concerned in it; they are the most proper persons to be evidence, none being able to detect such counsels but them. You have heard my lord Russell's witnesses that he hath brought concerning them, and concerning his own integrity and course of life, how it has been sober and civil, with a great respect to religion, as these gentlemen do all testify. Now the question before you will be, Whether upon this whole matter you do believe my lord Russell had any design upon the king's life, to destroy the king, or take away his life, for that is the material part here. It is used and given you (by the king's counsel) as an evidence of this, that he did conspire to raise an insurrection, and to cause a rising of the people, to make as it were a rebellion within the nation, and to surprise the king's guards, which, say they, can have no other end, but to seize and destroy the king; and 'tis a great evidence (if my lord Russell did design to seize the king's guards, and make an insurrection in the kingdom) of a design to surprise the king's person. It must be left to you upon the whole matter: you have not evidence in this case as there was in the other matter that was tried in the morning or yesterday,[29] against the conspirators to kill the king at the Rye. There was a direct evidence of a consult to kill the king, that is not given you in this case: This is an act of contriving rebellion, and an insurrection within the kingdom, and to seize his guards, which is urged an evidence, and surely is in itself an evidence, to seize and destroy the king. Upon this whole matter, this is left to you. If you believe the prisoner at the bar to have conspired the death of the king and in order to that, to have had these consults, that these witnesses speak of, then you must find him guilty of this treason that is laid to his charge. Then the Court adjourned till four o'clock in the afternoon, when the Jury brought the said Lord Russell in guilty of the said High Treason. On July 14th Lord Russell was brought up before the Recorder for sentence, and, demanding to have the indictment read, pleaded that no intention to kill the King had been proved. The Recorder, however, pointed out that the point had already been taken, and that he was bound by the verdict of the jury. He then condemned the prisoner in the usual way to be drawn, hanged, and quartered. This sentence was commuted to beheading, and was carried out on 21st July. Lord Russell was accompanied from Newgate to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where the execution took place, by Tillotson and Burnet. He spoke a few words on the scaffold, expressing his affection for the Protestant religion, and denying knowledge of any plot against the King's life, or the government. He left a paper of considerable interest from a general point of view justifying his action in relation to the Popish Plot and the Exclusion Bill. As to his trial, he asserts that he never saw Sheppard but once, and then there was no undertaking as to seizing the guards and no one appointed to view them. It may have been discoursed of then and at other times, but he never consented to it, and once at Shaftesbury's he strongly protested against it. He had an intention to try some sherry when he went to Sheppard's; but when he was in town the duke of Monmouth came to me and told me he was extremely glad I had come to town, for my lord Shaftesbury and some hot men would undo us all, if great care be not taken; and therefore for God's sake use your endeavours with your friends to prevent anything of this kind. He told me there would be company at Mr. Sheppard's that night, and desired me to be at home in the evening, and he would call me, which he did: And when I came into the room I saw Mr. Rumsey by the chimney, although he swears he came in after; and there were things said by some with much more heat than judgment, which I did sufficiently disapprove, and yet for these things I stand condemned. It is, I know, inferred from thence, and was pressed to me, that I was acquainted with these heats and ill designs, and did not discover them; but this is but misprision of treason at most. So I die innocent of the crime I stand condemned for, and I hope nobody will imagine, that so mean a thought could enter into me, as to go about to save myself by accusing others; the part that some have acted lately of that kind has not been such as to invite me to love life at such a rate.... I know I said but little at the trial, and I suppose it looks more like innocence than guilt. I was also advised not to confess matter of fact plainly, since that must certainly have brought me within the guilt of misprision[30]. And being thus restrained from dealing frankly and openly, I chose rather to say little, than to depart from ingenuity, that by the grace of God I had carried along with me in the former parts of my life; so could easier be silent, and leave the whole matter to the conscience of the jury, than to make the last and solemnest part of my life so different from the course of it, as the using little tricks and evasions must have been. Lord Russell's attainder was reversed by a private Act of 1 Will. and Mary on the ground that the jury were not properly returned, that his lawful challenges to them for want of freehold were refused, and that he was convicted 'by partial and unjust constructions of the law.' FOOTNOTES: [1] Sir Francis Pemberton was born 1625, entered Emmanuel College 1640, entered the Inner Temple 1645, was called 1654, was made a bencher 1671, a serjeant 1675, and was imprisoned by the House of Commons for an alleged breach of privilege in the same year. He was made a Judge of the King's Bench in 1679, and took part as such in several trials connected with the Popish Plot; he was discharged in 1680, returned to the bar, and replaced Scroggs as Chief-Justice of the King's Bench in 1681. He was moved to the Common Pleas in 1683, to allow Sir Edmund Saunders, who had advised in the proceedings against the City of London, to act as judge in the case. He was dismissed from his office of judge in the same year, about five weeks after Lord Russell's trial. Returning to the bar, he helped to defend the Seven Bishops, but was imprisoned by the Convention Parliament for a judgment he had given six years before against Topham, the serjeant-at-arms, who had claimed to be without his jurisdiction. He bore on the whole a high character for independence and honesty; and it is curious to learn that he lived to advise the Earl of Bedford whether Lord Russell's attainder would prevent his son succeeding to the earldom. [2] Sir Robert Sawyer was born in 1633, entered Magdalene College, Cambridge, in 1648, where he was chamber-fellow with Pepys, joined the Inner Temple and went the Oxford circuit. He was elected to the House of Commons for Chipping Wycombe in 1673, and assisted in drafting the Exclusion Bill. He appeared for the Crown in most of the State Trials of this period. He afterwards led in the defence of the Seven Bishops, took part in the Convention Parliament, and was expelled from the House on account of his conduct in Armstrong's case. He was re-elected and became Chief-Justice of the King's Bench in 1691, and died in 1692. [3] Heneage Finch, first Earl of Aylesford, was born about 1647: he was educated at Westminster and Christ Church. He entered the Inner Temple, became Solicitor-General in 1679, being elected to the House of Commons for the University of Oxford in the same year. He was deprived of office in 1686, and defended the Seven Bishops. He sat in the House of Commons in 1685, in all Parliaments from the Convention Parliament (1689) till he became a peer in 1703, under the title of Baron Guernsey. He was made Earl of Aylesford on the accession of George I. (1714), and died in 1719. [4] See vol. i. p. 240. [5] Francis North, Lord Guilford (1637-1685), the third son of the fourth Lord North, was educated at various Presbyterian schools and St. John's College, Cambridge. He was called to the bar in 1661, and with the help of the Attorney-General, Sir Geoffrey Palmer, soon acquired a large practice. After holding various provincial posts, he became Solicitor-General in 1671. He entered Parliament in 1673, and became Attorney-General the same year, becoming Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas in 1675. He always strongly supported Charles II.'s government, temporising during the Popish Plot, and being chiefly responsible for the execution of Colledge. He became Lord Keeper in 1682, and was raised to the peerage in 1683: but during his tenure of office was much vexed by intrigues, particularly by the conduct of Jeffreys, who had succeeded him in the Common Pleas. He is now chiefly remembered on account of the very diverting and interesting life of him written by his brother Roger. [6] Pollexfen. See Note in Alice Lisle's trial, vol. i. p. 241. [7] Sir John Holt (1642-1710) was called to the bar in 1663. He appeared for Danby on his impeachment in 1679, and was assigned to be counsel for Lords Powys and Arundell of Wardour, who were impeached for participation in the Popish Plot in 1680, but against whom the proceedings were stopped after Stafford's conviction. He appeared for the Crown in several trials preceding that of Lord Russell, and having expressed an opinion in favour of the Quo Warranto proceedings against the City of London was appointed Recorder, knighted, and called as a serjeant in 1685. He was deprived of the recordership after a year on refusing to pass sentence of death on a deserter, a point which owed its importance to Charles II.'s attempts to create a standing army; but as he continued to be a serjeant, he was unable thenceforward to appear against the Crown. He acted as legal assessor to the Convention called after the flight of James II., as a member of the House of Commons took a leading part in the declaration that he had abdicated, and was made Chief-Justice in 1689. [8] This decision and unspecified 'partial and unjust constructions of law' were the professed ground on which Russell's attainder was subsequently reversed: see _post_, p. 56. Sir James Stephen (_Hist. Crim. Law_, vol. i. p. 412) expresses an opinion that the law upon the subject at the time was 'utterly uncertain.' [9] Lord Grey was the eldest son of the second Baron Grey of Werk. He succeeded his father in 1675: he voted for Stafford's conviction, and was a zealous exclusionist. He was convicted of debauching his sister-in-law, Lady Henrietta Berkeley, in 1682, and consequently took no part in Russell's plot. He was arrested in connection with the Rye House Plot, but escaped to Holland, whence he returned to take part in Monmouth's rising. He was captured after Sedgemoor, but his life was spared on his being heavily fined and compelled to give evidence against his friends. He left England, but returned with William III., during whose reign he filled several offices. He was created Earl of Tankerville in 1695, and died in 1701. [10] Lord Howard, the third Lord Howard of Escrick, was born about 1626. He entered Corpus College, Cambridge. He served in Cromwell's Life-guards. As a sectary he seems to have favoured the Restoration. He was committed to the Tower for secret correspondence with Holland in 1674. After succeeding to the peerage he furthered the trial of his kinsman Stafford. After giving evidence in this trial (see p. 15), he gave similar evidence against Algernon Sidney, was pardoned, and died in obscurity at York in 1694. [11] The Earl of Essex was the son of the Lord Capel who was one of Charles I.'s most devoted adherents and lost his life after his vain defence of Colchester in 1648. The younger Lord Capel was made Earl of Essex at the Restoration. Though opposed to the Court party by inclination, he served on various foreign missions, and was Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland from 1672 to 1677. On his return to England he associated himself with the Country party, and on Danby's fall was placed at the head of the Treasury Commission, and thereafter followed Halifax and Sunderland in looking to the Prince of Orange for ultimate assistance rather than Shaftesbury, who favoured the Duke of Monmouth. He left the Treasury in 1679, supported Shaftesbury in 1680 on the Exclusion Bill, and appeared as a 'petitioner' at Oxford in 1680. He voted against Stafford. He was arrested as a co-plotter with Russell on Howard's information, and committed suicide in the Tower on the day of his trial (see p. 16). [12] Algernon Sidney (1622-1683) was the son of the second Earl of Leicester, and commanded a troop in the regiment raised by his father, when he was Lord-Lieutenant in Ireland, to put down the Irish rebellion of 1641. He afterwards came over to England, joined the Parliamentary forces, and was wounded at Marston Moor. He continued serving in various capacities, returning for a time to Ireland with his brother, Lord Lisle, who was Lord-Lieutenant. He was appointed one of the commissioners to try Charles I., but took no part in the trial. He was ejected from Parliament in 1653, and adopted a position of hostility to Cromwell. He remained abroad after the Restoration, though not excepted from the Act of Indemnity, and lived a philosophic life at Rome and elsewhere. He tried to promote a rising against Charles in Holland in 1665, and opened negotiations with Louis XIV. during the French war. He returned to England in 1677 to settle his private affairs, and stayed on making friends with the leaders of the Opposition, and vainly trying to obtain a seat in the House of Commons. He quarrelled with Shaftesbury, who denounced him as a French pensioner (which he probably was), and seems to have had no connection with his plots. He was arrested on 27th June, tried by Jeffreys on 7th November, condemned, and executed on 7th December 1683. [13] John Hampden (1656-1696) was the second son of Richard Hampden. After travelling abroad in his youth he became the intimate friend of the leaders of the Opposition on his return to England in 1682. He was arrested with them and tried in 1684, when he was imprisoned on failing to pay an exorbitant fine. After Monmouth's rising he was tried again for high treason. As Lord Grey was produced as a second witness against him, Lord Howard, who had testified before, being the first, he pleaded guilty, implicating Russell and others by his confession. He was pardoned, and lived to sit in Parliament after the Revolution; but falling into obscurity failed to be elected for his native county in 1696, and committed suicide. [14] Rumsey had been an officer in Cromwell's army, and had served in Portugal with distinction. He obtained a post by Shaftesbury's patronage; and with West, a barrister, was responsible for the Rye House Plot. According to his own account, he was to kill the King, whilst Walcot was to lead an attack on the guards. He appeared as a witness in the trials of Walcot and Algernon Sidney, as well as in the present one. His last appearance before the public was as a witness against Henry Cornish, one of the leaders of the opposition of the City to the Court party, whom he and one Goodenough accused of participation in Russell's plot, and who was tried and executed in 1685. He had offered to give evidence against Cornish before, in 1683, but the second witness necessary to prove treason was not then forthcoming. The unsatisfactory nature of Rumsey's evidence led to Cornish's property being afterwards restored to his family, while, according to Burnet, 'the witnesses were lodged in remote prisons for their lives.' Cornish was arrested, tried and executed within a week. [15] Walcot was an Irish gentleman who had been in Cromwell's army. He frequented West's chambers, where he met West and Rumsey, who were the principal witnesses against him. Rumsey's story was that though Walcot objected to killing the King, he promised to attack the guards. He was tried and convicted earlier on the same day. [16] The following passages seem to give a true account of the measure of the complicity of Russell and his friends with the Rye House Plot. [17] Aaron Smith is first heard of as an obscure plotter in association with Oates and Speke. He was prosecuted in 1682 for supplying seditious papers to Colledge, and sentenced to fine and imprisonment. He managed to escape, however, before sentence was pronounced, and was arrested in connection with the present trial, when, as nothing could be proved against him, he was sentenced for his previous offence. After the Revolution he was appointed solicitor to the Treasury; but failing to give a good account of various prosecutions which he set on foot, he was dismissed in 1697. [18] Sir John Cochram or Cochrane was the second son of William Cochrane, created Earl of Dundonald in 1689. He escaped to Holland at the time of Russell's trial, took part in Argyle's insurrection in 1685, turned approver, and farmed the poll tax after the Revolution, but was imprisoned in 1695 on failing to produce proper accounts. [19] George Melville was the fourth baron and the first Earl of Melville. He supported the Royalist cause in Scotland, and tried to induce a settlement with the Covenanters before the battle of Bothwell Bridge. He escaped from England after the discovery of the Rye House Plot, and appeared at the Court of the Prince of Orange. After the Revolution he held high offices in Scotland till the accession of Anne, when he was dismissed. He died in 1707. [20] West was a barrister at whose chambers in the Temple Rumsey, Ferguson, and other plotters used to meet, and it was alleged that the Rye House Plot was proposed: said by Burnet to have been 'a witty and active man, full of talk, and believed to be a determined atheist.' [21] As to what is treason under 25 Edward III., see _post_, p. 36. Under 13 Car. II. c. 1 it is treason, _inter alia_, to devise the deposition of the King; but the prosecution must be within six months of the commission of the offence. [22] The question was, 'What is included in the expressions "Imagine the King's death" and "Levying war against the King"?' The Attorney-General was evidently placing a gloss on them, which was perhaps justified from a wider point of view than a merely legal one. However that may be, the same process was continued till it culminated in the theory of 'constructive treason,' according to which it was laid down in 1794 that a man who intended to depose the King compassed and imagined his death. The matter was eventually decided in 1795 by a statute which made such an intent and others of the same kind treason of themselves. See further Stephen's _History of Criminal Law_, vol. ii. pp. 243-283. [23] He had been twice sent to the Tower: once in 1674 in consequence of the discovery of a secret correspondence with Holland; once in 1681 on a false charge by Edward Fitzharris of writing the _True Englishman_, a pamphlet advocating the deposition of Charles II. and the exclusion of the Duke of York, which was in fact written by Fitzharris, it is suggested with the purpose of imputing its authorship to the Whigs. It is no doubt the second of these occasions that is referred to. [24] Burnet had at this time retired into private life, having lost the Court favour which he had gained at an earlier period. He had been an intimate friend of Stafford, and was living on terms of the closest intimacy with Essex and Russell at the time of their arrest. After Russell's execution he left the country, and eventually found his way to the Hague just before the Revolution, where he performed services for William and Mary requiring the utmost degree of confidence. He landed at Torbay with William, soon became Bishop of Salisbury, and until the end of William's life remained one of his most trusted councillors. He retained a position of great influence under Anne, and died in 1715. In relation to his evidence in this case, it is interesting to read in his history that Russell was privy to a plot for promoting a rebellion in the country and for bringing in the Scotch. He says further: 'Lord Russell desired that his counsel might be heard to this point of seizing the guards; but that was denied unless he would confess the fact, and he would not do that, because as the witnesses had sworn it, it was false. He once intended to have related the whole fact just as it was; but his counsel advised him against it'; in fact Russell admitted that he knew of a traitorous plot, and did not reveal it. 'He was a man of so much candour that he spoke little as to the fact; for since he was advised not to tell the whole truth, he could not speak against that which he knew to be true, though in some particulars it had been carried beyond the truth.' See too _post_, p. 55. [25] John Tillotson (1630-1694) was the son of a weaver of Sowerby. He entered Clare Hall in 1647, and became a a fellow of the same college in 1651. He received an early bias against Puritanism from Chillingworth's _Religion of Protestants_, and his intercourse with Cudworth and others at Cambridge. He became tutor to the son of Prideaux, Cromwell's Attorney-General in 1656; he was present at the Savoy Conference in 1661, and remained identified with the Puritans till the passing of the Act of Uniformity in 1662; afterwards he became curate of Cheshunt in Hertfordshire and rector of Keddington in Suffolk. In 1664 he was known as a celebrated preacher, and was appointed preacher in Lincoln's Inn. In 1678 and 1680 he preached sermons to the House of Commons and the King respectively, exhorting the former to legislation against Popery, and pointing out to the latter that whilst Catholics should be tolerated, they should not be allowed to proselytise. He attended Russell on the scaffold, and with Burnet was summoned before the Council on a suspicion of having helped to compose Russell's published speech. He acquired great influence after the Revolution; and having exercised the archiepiscopal jurisdiction of the province of Canterbury during Sancroft's suspension, became himself archbishop in 1691. [26] Henry Brooke, the eighth Lord Cobham, after losing Court favour on the death of Elizabeth, was accused in 1603 of plotting with Aremberg, the Spanish ambassador, to place Arabella Stuart on the throne, and to kill the King. His evidence contributed largely to the conviction of Sir Walter Raleigh of the same treason, and he was tried and convicted the next day. He was kept in prison till 1617, when he was allowed to go to Bath on condition that he returned to prison; but he was struck by paralysis on his way back and died in 1619. See vol. i. pp. 19-57. [27] Oliver Plunket (1629-1681) was Roman Catholic bishop of Armagh and titular primate of Ireland. He attained these positions in 1669; in 1674 he went into hiding when the position of the Catholics in England drew attention to their presence in Ireland. He was arrested, on a charge of complicity with the Popish Plot in 1678, and eventually tried in the King's Bench for treason in 1681 by Sir Francis Pemberton, when the law was laid down as stated above. He was convicted, hung, beheaded and quartered. [28] Rumsey says the 19th, Howard the 17th. The 17th was the anniversary of the Queen's accession. [29] Thomas Walcot and William Hone, tried for and convicted of participation in the Rye House Plot. [30] See _ante_, p. 42. THE EARL OF WARWICK March 28, 1699. About eleven of the clock the Lords came from their own house into the court erected in Westminster hall, for the trials of Edward, earl of Warwick and Holland, and Charles lord Mohun[31], in the manner following. The lord high steward's gentleman attendants, two and two. The clerks of the House of Lords, with two clerks of the crown in the Courts of Chancery and King's Bench. The masters of Chancery, two and two. Then the judges. The peers' eldest sons, and peers minors, two and two. Four serjeants at arms with their maces, two and two. The yeoman usher of the house. Then the peers, two and two, beginning with the youngest barons. Then four serjeants at arms with their maces. Then one of the heralds, attending in the room of Garter, who by reason of his infirmity, could not be present. And the gentleman usher of the Black Rod, carrying the white staff before the lord high steward. Then the lord chancellor, the lord high steward, of England, alone. When the lords were seated on their proper benches, and the lord high steward on the wool-pack; the two clerks of the crown in the courts of Chancery and King's Bench, standing before the clerk's table with their faces towards the state; The clerk of the crown in Chancery having his majesty's commission to the lord high steward in his hands, made three reverences towards the lord high steward, and the clerk of the crown in Chancery on his knees presented the commission to the lord high steward, who delivered it to the clerk of the crown in the King's bench (then likewise kneeling before his grace) in order to be opened and read; and then the two clerks of the crown making three reverences, went down to the table; and the clerk of the crown in the King's Bench commanded the serjeant at arms to make proclamation of silence; which he did in this manner. SERJEANT-AT-ARMS--O yes, O yes, O yes, My lord high steward his grace does straitly charge and command all manner of persons here present, to keep silence, and hear the king's majesty's commission to his grace my lord high steward of England directed, openly read, upon pain of imprisonment. Then the lord high steward[32] asked the peers to be pleased to stand up uncovered, while the King's commission was read. And the peers stood up, uncovered, and the King's commission was read in Latin, by which it was set out that the Grand Jury of the County of Middlesex had found a true bill of murder against the Earl of Warwick and Lord Mohun, which the peers were commissioned to try. Proclamation that all persons there present should be uncovered, was then made, and the return of _certiorari_, bringing the indictment before the House of Lords, was read in Latin. Order was then made that the judges might be covered, and the governor of the tower was ordered to produce the earl of Warwick; and he was brought to the bar by the deputy-governor, having the axe carried before him by the gentleman gaoler, who stood with it at the bar, on the right hand of the prisoner, turning the edge from him. The lord high steward then informed the prisoner that he had been indicted of murder by the Grand Jury for the county of Middlesex, on which indictment he would now be tried; and proceeded-- Your lordship is called to answer this charge before the whole body of the house of peers as assembled in parliament. It is a great misfortune to be accused of so heinous an offence, and it is an addition to that misfortune, to be brought to answer as a criminal before such an assembly, in defence of your estate, your life, and honour. But it ought to be a support to your mind, sufficient to keep you from sinking under the weight of such an accusation, that you are to be tried before so noble, discerning, and equal judges, that nothing but your guilt can hurt you. No evidence will be received, but what is warranted by law; no weight will be laid upon that evidence, but what is agreeable to justice; no advantage will be taken of your lordship's little experience in proceedings of this nature; nor will it turn to your prejudice, that you have not the assistance of counsel in your defence, as to the fact (which cannot be allowed by law), and their lordships have already assigned you counsel if any matter of law should arise. After a little more to the same effect the indictment was read, first in Latin, then in English, and the earl of Warwick pleaded Not Guilty. The indictment was then opened by Serjeant Wright,[33] to the effect that the prisoner was accused of murdering Richard Coote on the 30th of October, by stabbing him, together with Lord Mohun, Richard French, Roger James, and George Dockwra. The _Attorney-General_[34] then opened the case, as follows:-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL--May it please your lordships, I am of counsel in this cause for the king against this noble lord, Edward earl of Warwick and Holland, the prisoner at the bar, who stands indicted by the grand jury of the County of Middlesex, has been arraigned, and is now to be tried before your lordships for the felonious killing and murdering of Mr. Coote, in the indictment named; the evidence to make good this charge against this noble lord, it comes to my turn to open to your lordships. My lords, the case, as to the fact, according to my instructions, is this: Upon Saturday, the 29th of October last, at night, my lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, Mr. French, Mr. Dockwra, and Mr. Coote, the unfortunate gentleman who was killed, met together at one Locket's who kept the Greyhound-tavern in the Strand, and there they staid till it was very late; about twelve of the clock at night, or thereabouts, a messenger was sent by the company to fetch another gentleman, Mr. James; and Mr. James coming to them, in what condition your lordships will be told by the witnesses; about one of the clock in the morning, on Sunday, the 30th of October, they all came down out of the room where they had been so late, to the bar of the house, and there, as the witnesses will tell your lordships, swords were drawn, and the chairs were called for, and two chairs which were nearest at hand came, and two of the company went into those chairs; who they were, and what past at that time, the witnesses will tell your lordships; those that got into those chairs came out again, and more chairs were called for. But I must acquaint your lordships, that my lord Mohun, when the two gentlemen that went into the chairs ordered the chairmen to take them up, and carry them away, spoke to them to stop and go no further, for there should be no quarreling that night, and that he would send for the guards and secure them, and after this they came out of the chairs again; it will appear there were swords drawn amongst all of them, and some wounds given: more chairs being called for, and brought, this noble lord that is here at the bar, my lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, and the other four gentlemen, went all into the chairs, and gave the chairmen directions, whither they should carry them, at leastwise the foremost had directions given them, and the rest were to follow them; it was a very dark night, but at last they came all to Leicester-square; and they were set down a little on this side the rails of the square, and when the chairmen had set them down they went away; but immediately some of them heard my lord of Warwick calling for a chair again, who came towards the rails, and there they found two of the gentlemen, that had been carried in some of the other chairs, holding up Mr. Coote between them, and would have had the chairmen carried him away to a surgeon's, but they found he was dying, and so would not meddle with him; afterwards my lord of Warwick and Mr. French were carried by two of the chairs to Mr. Amy's, the surgeon at the Bagnio in Long-acre, where Mr. French being wounded, was taken care of particularly by the recommendation of my lord of Warwick, and the master of the house was called up, it being very late; Mr. Coote's sword was brought to that place, but by whom it was brought we cannot exactly say. While my lord of Warwick and captain French were there, and my lord of Warwick had given orders for the denying of himself, and forbid the opening of the door, there came the other two gentlemen, Mr. James and Mr. Dockwra, and upon their knocking at the door they were let in by my lord's order, after he had discovered who they were, looking through the wicket. Mr. James had his sword drawn, but it was broken. My lord of Warwick's hand was slightly wounded, and his sword bloody up to the hilt when he came in, as will be proved by the testimony of the servants in the House. There was a discourse between my lord, Mr. James and Mr. Dockwra, about going into the country; but before they went, the swords were all called for to be brought to them, and upon enquiry, there was no blood found upon Mr. French's sword, but a great deal upon my lord of Warwick's, of which great notice was taken at that time. Mr. Coote, who was killed, had received one wound in the left side of his breast, half an inch wide, and five deep, near the collar bone; he had likewise another wound upon the left side of his body; both which your lordships will hear, in the judgment of the surgeon, were mortal wounds, and the evidence will declare the nature of them. My lords, the evidence does chiefly consist of, and depend on circumstances, the fact being done in the night, and none but the parties concerned being present at it; we shall lay the evidence before your lordships, as it is, for your judgment, and call what witnesses we have on behalf of the king, against this noble peer the prisoner at the bar, and take up your lordships' time no further in opening; and we shall begin with Samuel Cawthorne; he is a drawer at the tavern where those lords and gentlemen were together, and he will give you an account of the time they came there, how long they staid, what happened in the house during their being there, and what time they went away. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Give him his oath. (Which the clerk did.) ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lords, I doubt the witness is so far off, that it will be difficult for him to hear the questions that we are to ask him, unless we could have him nearer to us. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Mr. Attorney, my lords seem to be of opinion that it will be more for your advantage and theirs that the witnesses stand at the distance they do; which will oblige you to raise your voice so loud, that they may hear the witnesses and you too. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Is your name Samuel Cawthorne? CAWTHORNE--Yes, my lord. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Where do you live? CAWTHORNE--With Mr. Locket at Charing-cross. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you live with him at the Greyhound tavern in the Strand the latter end of October last? CAWTHORNE--Yes, I did. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Well, pray will you acquaint my lords with the time when my lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, and Mr. Coote were at that house, how long they stayed, what happened while they were there, and when they went away? CAWTHORNE--It was Saturday night, the 29th of October last. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray tell my lords the whole of your knowledge in the matter. CAWTHORNE--There came my lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, captain Coote, capt. French, and captain Dockwra, the 29th of October last, in the evening, to my master's house at the Greyhound tavern in the Strand. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How long were they there, and what time of night came they in? CAWTHORNE--About 8 o'clock at night, my lord Warwick, my lord Mohun, capt. French, and capt. Coote, came in. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What day do you say it was? CAWTHORNE--Saturday, the 29th of October last. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How long did they continue there? CAWTHORNE--It was between one and two the next morning before they went away. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was any body sent for to come to them there? CAWTHORNE--Yes, Mr. James. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What time was that? CAWTHORNE--About twelve of the clock. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did he stay with them till they went away? CAWTHORNE--Yes. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What did you observe pass in the company while they were there? CAWTHORNE--I did not observe any thing of quarrel, not so much as an angry word amongst them, till they came down to the bar and were going away; when they came down to the bar they ordered me to call them chairs, or coaches; and there were no coaches to be had, and so I went for chairs, and two chairs came; for the porter that went to call the coaches was a great while before he came back; and, as I said, I going for chairs, there came two; but that they said was not enough; so more chairs were called for, and at length there were more chairs gotten; in the first three chairs, my lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, and captain Coote went away in; and my lord Warwick and my lord Mohun bid the chairmen carry them home. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Were there then any other chairs at the door? CAWTHORNE--There were two more chairs at the door, and another was called for. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you hear any directions given where they should carry them? CAWTHORNE--My lord Warwick and my lord Mohun bid them carry them home. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you hear my lord Warwick or my lord Mohun particularly, and which, say whither they would be carried? CAWTHORNE--I did hear my lord Mohun say, captain Coote should go and lie with him, or he would go and lie with capt. Coote that night, for there should be no quarrelling. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did they upon that go away? CAWTHORNE--Mr. French and Mr. Coote were in chairs before my lord Mohun or my lord Warwick, or any of the rest. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What then happened upon their going into the chairs? CAWTHORNE--My lord Mohun came out to them and swore there should be no quarrel that night, but he would send for the guards and secure them. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What happened then? CAWTHORNE--Upon that, both of them came out of their chairs and came into the house, and there they came to the bar three of them in the passage by the bar, and three of them behind that passage. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, will you tell what did really pass throughout the whole transaction? What was done after they came in again into the house? CAWTHORNE--After that, I was bid to call for six chairs, if I could get no coaches, and so I did; and when I had brought what chairs I could get, and returned to the bar I heard the swords clash; when the swords were drawn I cannot say, nor by whom, it might be by all the six, for aught I know, because I was in the street to call the chairs, and when I came back to the house, I was in hopes all had been quieted, for their swords were putting up: and when they went away in the chairs, I did hope they went away friendly. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, how did they go away? who went together? CAWTHORNE--My lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, and captain Coote went in the first three chairs, them three together, and bid the chairmen go home; the sixth chair was not then come. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--When that chair came, pray what directions were given to it? CAWTHORNE--I did not hear them give the chairmen any directions at all. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Do you know any thing more that was done after this time? CAWTHORNE--No, my lord, not after they went away; after I returned with the chairs, it was in two minutes' time that they went away. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lords, I suppose he knows no more of the matter. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Will you then ask him no more questions, Mr. Attorney? ATTORNEY-GENERAL--No, my lords, unless this noble lord shall ask him any questions, upon which we shall have occasion to examine him. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord, has your lordship any questions to ask this witness? For now is your time, the king's counsel having done examining him. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire to ask him, whether I did not bid the chairmen go home? LORD HIGH STEWARD--If your lordship please to propose your question to me, I will require an answer to it from the witness, and it will be the better heard by my lords. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire to know of this man, whether, when I went away in the chair from his master's house I did not bid the chairmen go home? LORD HIGH STEWARD--Witness, you hear my lord's question, what say you to it? CAWTHORNE--Yes; my lord of Warwick did bid the chairmen go home. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I have another question to ask him. Whether he knows of any quarrel there was between me and Mr. Coote at that time, or any other time; because we both used to frequent that house? CAWTHORNE--No, my lords, I never heard any angry words between my lord Warwick and Mr. Coote in my life. [Then the lords towards the upper end of the House complaining that they did not hear his Grace, the Lord High Steward was pleased to repeat the question thus:] LORD HIGH STEWARD--When my lord of Warwick bid the chairmen go home, or at any other time, did you observe that there had been any quarrel between his lordship and Mr. Coote? EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked, since we both used that house, Whether that night, when I went away, or before or after, I had any quarrel with Mr. Coote? LORD HIGH STEWARD--The question my lord desires you, that are the witness, to answer, is, Whether you did hear any quarrelling or angry words to pass between my lord Warwick and Mr. Coote that night before or after they came down, or when they went away, or at any other time? CAWTHORNE--No, my lord, I never heard any angry words pass between them then, nor ever at any time before in all my life, but I always looked upon them to be very good friends. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire he may be asked, Whether Mr. Coote did not come to that house in my company, and whether he did not frequently come to that house? CAWTHORNE--Yes; they used to be there every day almost, and they came that night together in company. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire he may be asked, whether I have not been frequently in his company there? CAWTHORNE--Yes; I say very frequently, every day almost, sometimes twice a-day. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Would your lordship ask him any other question? EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked this question, whether he knows of any particular kindness between Mr. Coote and me? LORD HIGH STEWARD--Do you know of any particular kindness between my lord Warwick and Mr. Coote, the gentleman that was killed? CAWTHORNE--Yes, my lord, there was always a great kindness between them, as I observed: it ever was so, and I never heard angry words pass between them, but they were very good friends constantly; I waited upon them generally when they were at my master's house, which was every day almost. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire to know of this witness, whether he does not remember, or can name, some particular kindnesses that passed between Mr. Coote and me? LORD HIGH STEWARD--Can you specify any particular instances of kindness that passed between my lord Warwick and Mr. Coote? CAWTHORNE--Yes; my lord of Warwick used generally to pay the reckoning for Mr. Coote, and he did so at this time. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked, between whom he apprehended the quarrel to be at this time? LORD HIGH STEWARD--You say, friend, there were swords drawn and a quarrelling at the bar; can you tell between whom the quarrel was? CAWTHORNE--My lord Warwick, my lord Mohun, and capt. Coote, were all on one side, and the other three were on the other side. EARL OF WARWICK--Who were the two persons that it was apprehended the quarrel was between? I desire he may be asked. LORD HIGH STEWARD--You say, there were three on the one side, and three on the other; pray, between whom did you apprehend the quarrel to be? CAWTHORNE--I believe the quarrel was between Mr. Coote and Mr. French. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire to know of this witness, what words he heard Mr. Coote say after he and Mr. French returned into the house and came out of the chairs. LORD HIGH STEWARD--What do you say to the question my lord proposes? CAWTHORNE--I heard Mr. Coote say, he would laugh when he pleased, and he would frown when he pleased, God damn him. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire to know, who he thinks those words were addressed to? LORD HIGH STEWARD--To whom did Mr. Coote speak these words? CAWTHORNE--Whether he spoke them particularly to Mr. French or to the other two gentlemen who were on the other side of the bar, I cannot directly tell. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire to know of him, whether Mr. Coote was not one of the three that was on the outside of the bar? CAWTHORNE--Yes, my lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, and capt. Coote, were of the outside of the bar. EARL OF WARWICK--Was capt. Coote with me in the beginning of the night at that house? CAWTHORNE--Yes, he came at the beginning of the night with my lord of Warwick. EARL OF PETERBOROUGH--My lords, I desire to ask this witness one question. LORD HIGH STEWARD--I think it is proper, my lords, in point of method, to let both sides have done before any questions be asked by any of my noble lords. EARL OF PETERBOROUGH--I did apprehend my lord of Warwick had done. LORD HIGH STEWARD--No, my lord, not as yet; pray, my lord of Warwick, what other questions has your lordship to ask of this witness? EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked particularly this question, whether he perceived any quarrel particularly between me and capt. Coote when we went out of the house? LORD HIGH STEWARD--You hear the question, did you perceive any quarrel between my lord Warwick and Mr. Coote before they went out of the house? CAWTHORNE--No, I did not; nor ever saw any quarrel between them in my life. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire to know who paid the reckoning that night? CAWTHORNE--The reckoning was called for before I came in to take it; and though I think my lord of Warwick paid for Mr. Coote, yet I cannot so directly tell, because it was collected before I came into the room to receive it. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord, have you any thing more to ask this witness? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord, at present, that I think of. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord Peterborough, your lordship desired to ask a question, will you please to propose it now? The Earl of Peterborough reminded the witness that he had said that there were two sides, and that Coote and Lord Warwick were on the same side. He asked what Cawthorne meant by this, and he explained that all six had their swords drawn; that Mohun, Warwick, and Coote were on one side of the bar, and the three captains, James, French, and Dockwra on the other: the cause of quarrel must have occurred above stairs, but he heard nothing pass between them. LORD HIGH STEWARD--But you have not given a satisfactory answer to that question which the noble lord, my lord Peterborough, asked you, What reason you had to apprehend that the noble lord the prisoner at the bar, and capt. Coote were of a side? CAWTHORNE--My lord Mohun came to the chairside, when capt. Coote and capt. French were got into the two first chairs, and told capt. Coote, that there should be no quarrel that night but that they three, my lord Warwick, my lord Mohun, and he, should go home together; and I took them three to be of a side, because they were on the outside of the bar together; and when they all went away, their three chairs went away first, all three together. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Is that all the reason you can give why you say, they were three and three of a side? CAWTHORNE--Yes, my lord, I did apprehend it so. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--If my noble lords have done with their questions I desire to ask this witness another question; my lords, I think this person says, that there was a quarrel at the bar of the house, and swords drawn, and as he apprehended, three were on the one side, and three on the other; but if I take him right, I do not see that he has given your lordships any manner of satisfaction, what reason he had to apprehend there were three and three of a side; or, which will be very material in this case, if your lordships can get to the knowledge of it, which three were on the one side, and which three were on the other; or indeed, whether there were three and three of a side, as your lordships will have reason by-and-bye to enquire a little further into that matter. My lords, I desire he may be asked this plain question, What words or other passages he did perceive, that made him apprehend there was a quarrel between them, and they were three and three of a side? CAWTHORNE--I apprehended it from the words that Mr. Coote said, That he would laugh when he pleased, and frown when he pleased. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, my lord, I desire he may be asked, who those words were spoken to, and who they were applied to? CAWTHORNE--They were spoke to Mr. James, Mr. French, and Mr. Dockwra, who were within side of the bar. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did he apply those words to all those particular persons? CAWTHORNE--Yes, as I thought, for they three were within the bar; my lord Warwick, my lord Mohun, and Mr. Coote, were without the bar. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, my lord, I desire he may be asked this question. Was that before the swords were drawn, or afterwards? CAWTHORNE--It was before. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Then I desire he may be asked, whether the swords were drawn upon those words? CAWTHORNE--No, my lord; the time of drawing the swords was when I went out to call chairs and coaches; and I know not who drew the swords first, or when they were drawn; but when I came back I found them all drawn, and I heard them clashing. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Upon the oath you have taken, was those words that you speak of Mr. Coote's that he would laugh when he pleased, and frown when he pleased, before the swords were drawn, or after the swords were drawn? CAWTHORNE--Before the swords were drawn; for I did not see the swords drawn till I came back. In answer to Lord Wharton, the witness said that Mohun and Warwick had threatened to send for a file of musketeers, and Mohun had done all he could to pacify the quarrellers, and he 'particularly had his finger pricked with endeavouring to cross their swords, and keeping them from fighting; which was all he got from it.' His hand was bloody; but the witness did not see him hurt, as he was outside at the time. He received their reckoning just before they came down to the bar and stayed there two or three minutes afterwards. It was after Coote came out of his chair that he heard him speak the words he had deposed to; no reply was made to them. Mohun, Warwick, and James had all tried to stop the quarrel and threatened to send for the guard; this was before the swords were drawn downstairs. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, my lord, let him be asked this question, Was it after they were three on the one side, and three on the other, that my lord Mohun and my lord Warwick spoke those words? CAWTHORNE--I apprehend the words were spoke by Mr. Coote, That he would laugh when he pleased, and frown when he pleased, before the swords were drawn. LORD HIGH STEWARD--But that which my lords desire to know is, What the time was when my lord Warwick and my lord Mohun declared their desire to part them and make them friends; whether before or after the swords drawn? CAWTHORNE--Before and after; for I was absent when the swords were drawn. EARL RIVERS--He says, that after my lord Mohun and my lord Warwick threatened to send for the musqueteers, they promised to be quiet. I desire to know who he means by they? CAWTHORNE--Mr. James called to me, and said, I need not go and call for the guards, for the quarrel was over. There is one thing more that I forgot, my lord: After my lord Mohun and my lord Warwick were gone away in their chairs, and Mr. Coote, I heard Mr. Dockwra say to capt. James and capt. French, they did not care a farthing for them, they would fight them at any time. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Who were together then? CAWTHORNE--Capt. James, Mr. French, and Mr. Dockwra, after my lord Mohun and my lord Warwick were gone with capt. Coote. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Then Mr. French was with them? Mr. Dockwra said so? CAWTHORNE--Yes, my lord. LORD WHARTON--If I apprehend him aright, as to what he says now, my lord of Warwick, my lord Mohun, and capt. Coote, were gone away at that time. CAWTHORNE--Yes, they were gone away in the three first chairs, which my lord Mohun bid go home. LORD WHARTON--Who does he say spoke those words? LORD HIGH STEWARD--You hear my noble lord's question, who spoke those words? Repeat them again. CAWTHORNE--When my lord Warwick, my lord Mohun, and capt. Coote, were gone, I heard Mr. Dockwra say to Mr. French and Mr. James, We don't care a farthing for them, we will fight them at any time. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--I desire to know, whether this witness testified any thing of this matter when he was examined before the coroner? CAWTHORNE--No; I forgot those words when I was examined before the coroner. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How soon after your examination did you recollect yourself as to what you now speak? CAWTHORNE--The next day after. He had not mentioned the words he now said were spoken by Dockwra either at the inquest or at the trial at the Old Bailey. _Thomas Browne was sworn._ LORD HIGH STEWARD--What question do you ask this witness, Mr. Attorney? ATTORNEY-GENERAL--That he would acquaint your lordships, whether he carried Mr. Richard Coote, the person that was slain, upon the 29th or 30th of October, from the Greyhound tavern in the Strand, and to what place he carried him? LORD HIGH STEWARD--You hear the question; pray speak so loud that my lords may all hear what you say. BROWNE--My Lords, I was between the hours of one and two in the morning, on Sunday the 30th of October last, with my fellows and our chair, at the Buffler's Head Tavern at Charing-cross, and I heard some people at Locket's, at the Greyhound in the Strand, calling coach coach, a pretty while; but there were no coaches in the street, nor that came to them; when they could not get coaches then they called out for chairs; and we coming to the door with our chair, there were four other chairs there, and six gentlemen stood in the passage; and then it was said, there was not chairs enough, and there wanted one more, and they stood discoursing; and the first man came into my chair, who was capt. Coote, and my lord of Warwick he got into another; When the door of the chair was shut up, we asked whither we should go; but my lord Mohun came and bid open the chair again; and we did so, and he returned into the house, and there was some discourse between them standing at the bar in the entry. Mr. Coote came out again and came into my chair, and my lord Mohun and my lord of Warwick went into two others; Mr. Coote bid me carry him into Leicester fields, and to make all the haste I could; my lord of Warwick and my lord Mohun being in the next chairs, asked him, Whither are you a-going, and called out twice, and he said, To Leicester fields; pray do not, says my lord of Warwick, but come along with us, and let it alone till to-morrow; but he bid us go on; and as we were turning up St. Martin's Lane, by the Cross Keys tavern, my lord Mohun, and my lord Warwick called out to us to stop, and their chairs came up to the back door of the Cross Keys tavern, and there all the three chairs were set on a-breast in St. Martin's Lane, and while they were talking together, there came by three chairs on the other side of the way; and Mr. Coote bid us take up and make all the haste we could to get before them into Leicester fields, so taking up the chair again, Mr. Coote bid us make haste, and if we could go no faster, he swore, damn him, he would run his sword in one of our bodies: There were two chairs before me, and my lord Mohun and my lord Warwick followed in two chairs after me; and when we came to the corner of Leicester fields, at Green street end, all the three chairs were set down a-breast again, and Mr. Coote put his hand in his pocket, and took out half a guinea to pay, and said he had no silver; and my lord of Warwick spoke to my lord Mohun, who took out three shillings out of his pocket, who said, there was for my lord Warwick, captain Coote, and himself; and when they were gone out, I took my box and my pipe, and filled my pipe, and took the lanthorn and lighted it, and by that time I had lighted my pipe, I heard a calling out, Chair, chair, again, towards the upper end of the square; so I took my chair, and there was one of the chairs that was not gone; and so we came up to the upper end of the fields, and they called to us to bring the chairs over the rails; we told them we did not know how to do that, for we should not be able to get them back again; at last we did get over the rails, and made up close to the place where we heard the noise, for we could see nothing, it being a very dark night; and when we came up close to them, by our lanthorn there were two gentlemen holding up Mr. Coote under their arms, and crying out, My dear Coote, My dear Coote! ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, who were those two gentlemen? BROWNE--I did not know them, one was in red cloaths, and the other had gold lace, and they would have had me have taken Mr. Coote into my chair; but seeing him bloody, and not able to help himself, I said I would not spoil my chair, and so would not meddle with him; but they said they would make me any satisfaction for my chair, and desired me to take him in; but he gave himself a spring from them, and we found he was too heavy for us to lift over the rails, and all we could do could not make him sit in the chair, but the chair was broken with endeavouring to place him there; and they said if we would carry him to a surgeon's, they would give us £100 security; but we finding it impossible, the watch was called for, but nobody would come near, for they said it was out of their ward, and so they would not come anigh me; and I staid about half an hour with my chair broken, and afterwards I was laid hold upon, both I and my partner, and we were kept till next night eleven a-clock; and that is all the satisfaction that I have had for my chair and every thing. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, my lord, I desire he may recollect himself; for we do apprehend it is very material, who it was that desired to take Mr. Coote into the chair. BROWNE--I cannot tell who they were, it was so very dark I could only see their cloaths. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you see the earl of Warwick there? BROWNE--No, Sir, he was not there; one of them, I tell you, had officers' cloaths on, red lined with blue, and the other had gold lace on; there was nobody there that held him up but them two. MARQUIS OF NORMANBY--He says he saw two persons holding up Mr. Coote; it would be very well to have that matter very well settled, who those two persons were; I desire to know how he is sure my lord of Warwick was not one of them two? BROWNE--I know my lord of Warwick very well, and I am sure he was neither of the two. DUKE OF LEEDS--I would know what light he had to discern it so well by, that he can be sure my lord of Warwick was not there; for he says it was a very dark night, and yet he describes the particular persons that held Mr. Coote up. BROWNE--Yes, my lord, I am sure my lord of Warwick was none of them. DUKE OF LEEDS--How could you distinguish in so dark a night, the colours of people's cloaths? BROWNE--With the candle that I had lighted in my lanthorn. DUKE OF LEEDS--He could not know any of the persons unless he held a lanthorn to their faces, or knew them very well before. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord Warwick, will your lordship ask this witness any questions? EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked, Whether I did not bid him stop at St. Martin's-lane end, and do all that I could to hinder Mr. Coote from going any further, but to go home? BROWNE--The earl of Warwick, and my lord Mohun, as they turned up the lane, asked Mr. Coote, whither he was going? And when he said to Leicester-fields, they desired him to let it alone till to-morrow; and my lord Mohun said he should go home with him; but the other bid us go on, and said he would not go to his lodgings, but that they would make an end of it that night; still they called to him again, Dear Coote, let us speak a word with you; and as the chairs came to the back-door of the Cross-keys tavern, there they stood all of a breast, and they both of them spoke to him, and stood a pretty while there, and in the mean time three chairs passed by on the other side; he commanded us to take up, and carry him away to Leicester-fields immediately, and overtake the other chairs, or he would run one of us into the body. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Would your lordship ask him any more questions? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lord, I observe, he says they discoursed some time together while they stopped in St. Martin's-lane; I desire that he may be asked, Whether he can tell what that discourse was? BROWNE--I could not well hear, they whispered together, but I could hear my lord Mohun, and my lord of Warwick, desire capt. Coote to go home, and let the business alone till another time. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--I desire he may explain himself, what that business was that they would have put off till to-morrow. BROWNE--I know not what it was; I heard of no anger betwixt them, but they were as good friends, for anything I know to the contrary, as ever they were in their lives or as ever I see any men. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Our next witness is William Crippes. [Who was sworn.] LORD HIGH STEWARD--What do you ask this man, Mr. Attorney? ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, will you give my lords here an account who you carried to Leicester-fields, the 29th or 30th of October, and what happened in your knowledge at that time? CRIPPES--Captain Coote was the first man that went into the chair when we came to the Greyhound tavern; afterwards he came out again, and when we took him up the second time, he was the first man that set out; and he bid us carry him to Leicester-fields; and when we came to the corner of St. Martin's-lane, we turned up that way; and my lord of Warwick, and my lord Mohun, called to us, being in chairs behind, to know whither we were going, and desired to speak with captain Coote; and he said he was going to Leicester-fields; and when they asked, what to do? He said, to end the business: they desired him to put it off till to-morrow; and while they were discoursing about it in St. Martin's-lane, there passed by other three chairs, which, when captain Coote saw, he bid us take up and overtake them, and go faster, or he would run one of us into the body: so we went on, and at the lower end of Leicester-fields we set him down; and the other two gentlemen, my lord Warwick and my lord Mohun, were there set down, and went lovingly together, for any thing that I saw, up the pavement of the square, towards the upper end; and in a little time we heard a noise of calling for chairs towards the upper end, and when we came there with the chair, we were bid to lift over the chair within the rails; and when we said it was hard to be done, they insisted upon it, and we did come in; and when we came there we saw two gentlemen holding up captain Coote, and would have had us taken him into the chair; we saw there was a great deal of blood, but I never heard how it came, and they would have had us carried him to a French surgeon's, and proffered any money. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lord, I desire to know, who they were that desired him to be carried to the surgeon? LORD HIGH STEWARD--You hear the question, what say you? CRIPPES--I cannot tell, my lord; one of them had something of lace upon him, but it was so dark that I could hardly see my hand, and therefore I cannot tell who they were; and when there was an objection made, that the chairs would be spoiled, they said we need not question our chair, they would give us £100 security to answer any damages, if we would but carry him; so we endeavoured to put him into the chair, but could not; and so we called out to the watch, to have had some help; but they said it was none of their ward, and so they would not come to us; so the gentlemen went away, and we left them, and went and called a surgeon, who, when he came, said, he was a dead man, and we were secured till the next day. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, my lord, I desire he may be asked, Were there not other chairs in that place at the time? CRIPPES--There was one in the Field besides, and no more that I could see; they all went away but us two. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What distance of time was there between their setting down in Leicester-fields, and their calling the chairs again? CRIPPES--Not a quarter of an hour. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What became of the three chairs that passed by you in St. Martin's-lane? CRIPPES--They got before us; but what became of them afterwards I cannot tell. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did they come from the same place, the tavern in the Strand that you were at? CRIPPES--Yes, I believe they did, my lord; for capt Coote bid us follow them, and threatened us if we did not make greater haste. ATTORNEY--GENERAL--Do you know my lord of Warwick? CRIPPES--Yes, he had whitish cloaths on; and none but he had such clothes on as those were. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Will your lordship ask this witness any questions? EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked, Whether I did not bid him stop? and, whether I did not say, they should not go to quarrel that night? ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lord, I desire to know of him, directly and downright, Whether my lord of Warwick was not one of them that held him when he was within the rails of the fields? CRIPPES--No, he was not; he was neither of them; for the one of them was too big for him, and the other was too little for my lord Mohun. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Now we call the chairman that carried the earl of Warwick into Leicester-fields, James Crattle. (He was sworn.) ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Will you tell my lords what you know of any person that you carried the 29th or 30th of October last, from the Greyhound tavern in the Strand, and who it was, and whither you carried him? CRATTLE--I was going along Charing-cross, between one and two in the morning, the 30th of October, last, and I heard a chair called for at Locket's at the Dog tavern; and thither I and my partner went, and we took up the gentleman, and carried him to Leicester-fields. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Who was that gentleman? CRATTLE--It was my lord of Warwick. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What time of night do you say it was? CRATTLE--It was about one or two in the morning. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What day of the week was it? CRATTLE--It was Saturday night and Sunday morning. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Whither did you carry him? CRATTLE--Into Green-street, towards the lower end of Leicester-square. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What chairs were there more there? CRATTLE--There was one that captain Coote was in, and another that my lord Mohun was in, and we went away all together. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Were there no other chairs? CRATTLE--I did not know who went in the other chairs, but there were three other chairs that passed by us at St Martin's-lane, and we followed after them to Leicester-fields. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray what became of you after you had set down your fare? CRATTLE--We were discharged and paid; the other three went up towards my lord of Leicester's; but we were coming away, and in a little time we heard the noise of calling chairs! chairs! again, and there were two chairs did come up, Thomas Browne's and ours; my lord of Warwick called our chair, and we took him into it, and he bid us carry him to the Bagnio in Long-acre; and when we came there we knocked at the door, and his hand was bloody, and he asked us if we had any handkerchief to bind up his hand. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any other chairs at the door of the Bagnio, at the same time when you came there? CRATTLE--Yes, there was another chair there at the door at the same time, and we set down both together. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray whence came that chair? CRATTLE--Indeed, I do not know. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Who were the chairmen that carried that chair? CRATTLE--Indeed, my lord Mohun and my lord Warwick were the only persons that I knew of all the company. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What sort of gentleman was the other, that went out of the other chair into the house? CRATTLE--He was a pretty tall man; when he was in we went away; I only can say, I saw my lord of Warwick go into the house. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you take any notice of any sword that my lord of Warwick had in his hand at that time? CRATTLE--No; I cannot say I did take any notice of any sword, only that there was a handkerchief desired. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, did you hear no noise at all in the field, till you heard chairs called for again? CRATTLE--No; I cannot say I heard any noise in the field. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you apprehend there was any fighting? CRATTLE--No, I knew nothing at all of it; but upon the calling of chairs again, and my lord Warwick coming along, we took him in, and he bid us go to the Bagnio, and thither we went. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lord, we have done with this witness. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord Warwick, will you ask this witness any questions? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord. _Gibson_, the other chairman who carried the Earl of Warwick, was then called, and gave substantially the same evidence as the last witness. _Applegate_ carried Lord Mohun to Leicester Fields, and corroborated the account of the journey thither given by the other witnesses. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What then happened afterwards, can you tell? APPLEGATE--I cannot tell whether I had lighted my pipe, or was just lighting it, when I heard chairs called again; upon which we run up with our chairs towards the upper end of the fields, and there I did see my lord of Warwick within the rails, who bid us put over our chair into the fields; but we told him, if we did, we could not get it over again; and so we went with our chair to the corner of the fields; and when we came there, there came out captain French, who bid us open our chairs, and let him in, for he did believe he was a dead man; and upon that we did take him in, and he bid us carry him with all the speed we could to the Bagnio in Long-acre, and my lord of Warwick got into another chair behind; so we went to Long-acre; and when we came to the door of the Bagnio and captain French came out of the chair, he was so weak that he fell down upon his knees; and when he came out, I asked who should pay me, and desired to be discharged; and the earl of Warwick said, Damn ye, call for your money to-morrow; so they both went in at the Bagnio door together. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, who called for the chair first, captain French, or my lord of Warwick, in the fields? APPLEGATE--I cannot tell; but when I brought up my chair, I first saw my lord of Warwick, and he would have had me lifted the chair over the rails, and I told him we could not get it over again, and so went up to the upper end of the fields. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--If you first spoke with my lord of Warwick, why did you not carry my lord of Warwick? APPLEGATE--Indeed I cannot tell; but I suppose it was because he did not come so soon out of the fields as captain French, or did not come the same way. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, do you remember anything that happened just at their carrying capt. French away? APPLEGATE--Before he went into the chair, he stopped and would have pulled off his cloaths, but we would not let him. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you see any sword capt. French had? APPLEGATE--I did see no sword that I can say directly was a sword; but capt. French had something in his hand, but what it was I cannot tell. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What was it that he said to you, when he first went into the chair? APPLEGATE--He desired to be carried to the Bagnio; for he said he believed he was a dead man. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray friend, recollect yourself, if you heard him say any thing at all when he first went into the chair at the Greyhound tavern? APPLEGATE--I did not hear him mention any thing at all. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray what did you hear my lord of Warwick say at that time? APPLEGATE--Truly, I cannot say I heard him mention any thing at all neither; but I did hear my lord Mohun say, when he could not prevail, in St. Martin's-lane, with captain Coote to go home, that if they did go he would go and see it. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--If they did go; who did he mean by they? APPLEGATE--My lord Warwick and captain Coote that were in the other chairs; there was nobody else to speak to. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any talk of fighting or quarrelling? APPLEGATE--No, indeed, I do not know of any difference there was between them. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord Warwick, will your lordship ask this witness any questions? EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked, Whether I did not endeavour to put off the going into Leicester-fields, and to have all things let alone till to-morrow. APPLEGATE--My lord, I cannot say any thing of that; but I did hear my lord Mohun beg heartily of captain Coote to go home, and let the business alone till another time; and indeed I think, I never heard a man beg more heartily for an alms at a door, than he did, that they might not go into the fields then; but I cannot say that I heard any thing that my lord of Warwick said about it. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Will your lordship ask him any other questions? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord. Catro, who was the second chairman who carried Lord Mohun's chair, corroborated Applegate's evidence. Palmer, Jackson, and Edwards were three chairmen who had helped to carry French, James, and Dockwra to Leicester Fields; but they had nothing to add to the evidence already given. _Pomfret_ was a servant at the Bagnio in Long Acre. In answer to the Attorney-General he said:-- My lord, on Sunday the 30th of October last, between two and three in the morning, there came to my master's door the earl of Warwick, and knocked at the door, and there was capt. French with him; and when they were let in, my lord of Warwick told me that capt. French was wounded, and he himself had a wound, and he desired that my master might be called up for to dress the wounds; especially, because capt. French was very much wounded; which accordingly was done in about a quarter of an hour after they were brought in. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did he desire to be concealed when he was come in? LORD HIGH STEWARD--Of whom do you speak, Mr. Attorney? ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lord of Warwick. POMFRET--He did desire, that if any body asked for him, it should be said he was not there. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray in what condition did my lord of Warwick seem to be in at that time? POMFRET--He seemed to be very much concerned at that time, and his right hand, in which he had his sword, and which was drawn, was very much bloody. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was the sword bloody that he had in his hand? POMFRET--The blade was bloody; but whether it was all over bloody, I cannot tell; there was besides some blood upon the shell; it was very near all over bloody, as I remember. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, friend, consider what you swore at the Coroner's Inquest about the blood upon the sword. POMFRET--Indeed I cannot say it was bloody all along the blade; but there was blood upon the shell, and there was blood upon the inside: it was so, to the best of my remembrance. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What condition was Mr. French's sword in? POMFRET--He had a drawn sword in his hand, but I did not perceive it had any blood upon it; it was a large blade. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How do you know what sort of sword Mr. French's was, and in what condition it was? POMFRET--He desired me to take notice of it next morning, and I did so; and there was no blood upon it. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How came you to be desired to take notice of what passed there about the swords? POMFRET--My lord, there was three of them the next day, and one, it was said, was Mr. Coote's, and another of them was my lord of Warwick's, which I do believe was bloody from the point upwards, very near; but I cannot directly say but that was afterwards. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Who brought in that sword that you say was Mr. Coote's? POMFRET--To the best of my remembrance, capt. Dockwra brought it in; it was almost half an hour after my lord Warwick and capt. French came in to the house, when they came thither. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--They, who do you mean? POMFRET--Captain James and he. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Were they let in presently? POMFRET--No, my lord of Warwick had desired that they might be private there; but when they knocked at the door, my lord of Warwick desired to know who they were; and when it was understood that they were Mr. James and Mr. Dockwra, they were let in by my lord's order. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, which of all the four brought in any sword in a scabbard? POMFRET--It was captain Dockwra. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, did they appear to be all of a party? POMFRET--They were glad to see one another; and they talked a pretty while together; but indeed I cannot say I heard what they talked. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, do you remember my lord of Warwick's sword, and what there was upon it? POMFRET--It was a steel sword, water-gilt, and as near as I can remember, there was blood upon it for the most part from the point upward. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--And what did appear upon Mr. French's sword? POMFRET--There was water and dirt, but there was no blood at all. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How long did they stay there? POMFRET--They all continued about half an hour; and then went away, all but Mr. French, who staid there. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What then became of the others? POMFRET--Mr. James, Mr. Dockwra, and my lord of Warwick went away; and my lord of Warwick desired particularly, that we would all take care of Mr. French, for he was his particular friend; and Mr. French continued there till Sunday about one of the clock. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any discourse at that time about Mr. Coote? POMFRET--Not that I heard of, one word. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any notice taken of any quarrel that happened between any body, and who? POMFRET--No, indeed, I did not hear them take notice of any quarrel at all between any body. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--You say Mr. French, when he came into your house, was wounded, and there was care particularly taken of him because he was wounded. POMFRET--Yes; my lord of Warwick desired to take care of him. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Then pray, was there no discourse how he came to be wounded? POMFRET--Indeed I do not know how he came to be wounded; nor did I hear one word of discourse about it; indeed I cannot say any thing who wounded him. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray will you recollect yourself, and tell my lords what sort of handle had my lord of Warwick's sword when you saw it? POMFRET--It had a steel handle. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, can you tell whether the shell was open or close? POMFRET--I cannot tell justly; I saw it, and that was all. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--If I apprehend you, you say my lord had a wound in his hand. POMFRET--Yes, my lord, he had so. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, in what hand was it that he was wounded? POMFRET--To the best of my remembrance, it was in his right hand. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, did there appear much blood there? POMFRET--Yes, my lord, indeed there did. SERJEANT WRIGHT--You talk of Mr. James and Mr. Dockwra's swords; pray in what condition were they? POMFRET--Mr. Dockwra's sword was by his side, and not drawn. SERJEANT WRIGHT--What did you observe of captain James's sword? POMFRET--His sword was naked, and he had lost his scabbard; but how that came I cannot tell; and there was dirt on one side of the sword; and he said he had left his scabbard behind him. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any blood upon his sword? POMFRET--No, there was no blood that I did see upon it. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray did you see any blood upon Mr. Dockwra's sword? POMFRET--No, indeed, I did not see Mr. Dockwra's sword, it was in the scabbard by his side. Warwick's was 'a pretty broad sword': he did not take notice what length or breadth the other swords were of; French's sword was not a broad sword; he saw the swords at about three in the morning. James broke his sword on the floor after he came in. _Goodall_, a servant in the Bagnio, and his wife were called. They spoke to Warwick coming in with his sword drawn in his hand and bloody; his hand was wounded. There was blood on the hilt of his sword, which was a close one. French may have come in with Warwick; James and Dockwra came in half an hour afterwards. Warwick gave orders that nobody was to be admitted; but he opened the door for James and Dockwra when they knocked and he saw who they were. Warwick, James, and Dockwra went away in a little time, Warwick ordering that particular care should be taken of French, who was his friend. _Henry Amy_, the surgeon who lived at the Bagnio, was called, and said that he was called up at two in the morning of the 20th of October to attend the lord Warwick and captain French. The latter was seriously wounded, the former on the first joint of his fore-finger. While French's wound was being dressed there was a knocking at the door; Warwick ordered that nobody should be admitted, but when he found it was James and Dockwra ordered that they should be let in. They and Warwick went away in a little time, the latter telling the witness to take particular care of French. Warwick's sword was very bloody; French called for his sword the next morning, when the witness saw it, and it was a little dirty, but not with blood. There was no talk of any quarrel; the witness asked no questions; he did not then hear anything about Coote being killed. French's sword was a middle-sized one; it was not a broad blade. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Mr. Attorney, who is your next witness? ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Captain Loftus Duckinfield. (Who was sworn). ATTORNEY-GENERAL--This gentleman will acquaint your lordships what discourse past between these gentlemen the next day; pray, Sir, acquaint my lords what you heard about Mr. Coote's death, and when and where. CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Early in the morning I was told of this accident. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--By whom? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--One of the company, I cannot tell who, I think they were all together then, my lord of Warwick, capt. James, capt. Dockwra, and nobody else. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What was their discourse? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--They said, they believed captain Coote was killed. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did they tell you by whom? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--By Mr. French, every body did say he was his adversary. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What account was given of the action? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--They said it was done in the dark, and capt. French was his adversary. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any notice taken of any duel? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Yes, there was, between those two, and the other persons on both sides; and it was said my lord of Warwick was friend to Mr. Coote, and my lord Mohun. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Who were on the other side? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Mr. Dockwra and Mr. James. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any discourse, who actually fought? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--It was said, that capt. French fought with capt. Coote, as they believed, and Mr. James with my lord of Warwick. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you see my lord of Warwick's sword? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Some time of the day I did; but I cannot tell whether it was in the morning, or no. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--In what condition was it? Was it bloody or not? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--It was a steel sword. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How long did they stay with you? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--About half an hour. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did they come publicly? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--We went away in a hackney coach together. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, what discourse was there about consulting to go into the country together? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--That might be discoursed, but by whom I cannot tell. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did my lord of Warwick talk of going into the country? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Whether the company talked of it, or my lord of Warwick in particular, and the rest assented to it, I cannot well tell. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Whither did they go? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--I cannot directly tell. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What time of the day was it? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--It was about six of the clock. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Cannot you tell whither they went? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Capt. James and capt. Dockwra went to the Ship and Castle in Cornhill about five o'clock or six, as near as I can remember. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Can you tell what time my lord of Warwick went away? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--No, I cannot tell what time he went away, not directly. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Can you tell of any agreement amongst them, whither they were to go? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--No I cannot. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What discourse or concern did you observe past between them, concerning capt. Coote? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--My lord of Warwick shewed a great deal of concern for his friend Mr. Coote. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Had you any notice of Mr. Coote's death amongst you? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--We had notice before we went away; but I cannot tell whether it was before my lord of Warwick was gone. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was it after the discourse of going into the country, or before? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Indeed, I cannot directly say when it was. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, what reason was there for their going into the country before he was dead? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--They believed he was dead. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Cannot you tell the reason why they would go into the country? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--No, indeed, I cannot tell the reason. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you observe my lord of Warwick's sword? Was there any blood upon it? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--I cannot say his sword was bloody at the point; the whole blade and shell was bloody, to the best of my remembrance. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What sort of a sword was it? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--It was a pretty broad blade, a hollow blade, and a hollow open shell. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any discourse concerning capt. French? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--Yes, they thought he was very ill wounded. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Was there any, and what, discourse who should give my lord of Warwick his wound? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--It was said, they believed capt. James gave my lord his wound. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, was there any blood upon Mr. James's sword, or was he wounded? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--I saw no wound upon capt. James, that I know of. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Do you believe that my lord Warwick's sword was bloodied with the hurt of his own hand, or any otherwise? CAPTAIN DUCKINFIELD--I cannot tell; it was a cut shell, and the outside bloody as well as the in. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord Warwick, will your lordship ask this witness any questions? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Mr. Attorney, if you have any other witness, pray call them. Another Witness was produced, that belonged to the Ship and Castle in Cornhill. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--This man will give you an account what passed at his house at that time, and between whom; pray, will you tell my lords who was at your house the 30th of October last, and what past there then? WITNESS--My lord of Warwick, capt. James and capt. Dockwra; and when my lord of Warwick came in I thought my lord was in a very great concern, and called for pen, ink and paper, and I feared there was some quarrel in hand; but they said no, the quarrel was over, and says my lord of Warwick, I am afraid poor Coote is killed. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you observe any desire to be private? WITNESS--No, indeed, I cannot tell that. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--How long did they continue there? WITNESS--About six a-clock my lord of Warwick, and capt. James, and capt. Dockwra, and capt. Duckinfield went away. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Can you tell who went with my lord Warwick? WITNESS--No, indeed, I cannot tell who went with my lord Warwick; there came in a gentleman in black, whom I knew to be my lord of Warwick's steward, and he came and spoke some words to my lord of Warwick, about a quarter of an hour after they came in, and then they went away, for after that I did not hear any further discourse. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--What became of the rest of the company? WITNESS--They went away; I do not know what became of them, nor whither they went; some of them went in and out of one room into another several times, two or three times, and came out again. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--My lord, we have done with the witness. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord Warwick, will you ask him any questions? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord. _Mr. Salmon_, the surgeon who, by the coroner's orders, examined Coote's wounds, was called. There were two wounds: one on the left breast, near the collar-bone, running down four or five inches. He could not guess what sort of a sword made it; the wound was about half an inch broad. There was another wound under the last rib on the left side, an inch broad, six inches deep. They were both mortal. In answer to Lord Warwick, he said that neither could be given by a sword run up to the hilt. He could not say that they must have been given by the same weapon: but they might have been. _Stephen Turner_, Coote's servant, identified his master's sword; he believed he fenced with his right hand, but had never seen him fence at all. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire he may be asked, whether he has not observed a particular kindness and friendship between his master and me? TURNER--Yes, my lord; I have several times waited upon my master, when my lord and he was together, and they were always very civil and kind one to another; and I never heard one word of any unkindness between them. EARL OF WARWICK--Whether he knows of any quarrel that was between us? TURNER--No, I never did. EARL OF WARWICK--Whether he did not use to lie at my lodgings sometimes? LORD HIGH STEWARD--You hear my lord's question: what say you? Did your master use to lie at my lord of Warwick's lodgings at any time? TURNER--Yes; very often. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray call Pomfret again, and let him see the sword. [Then he came in, and two swords were shewn him.] ATTORNEY-GENERAL--I desire he may acquaint your lordships what he knows of those two swords. POMFRET--These two swords were brought in by some of the company that came to my master's house; and when they were shewn to captain French in the morning he owned this to be his, and the other to be Mr. Coote's; and he desired that notice might be taken, that his sword was dirty but not bloody; and there was some blood upon the other. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Who brought in Mr. Coote's sword? POMFRET--Indeed I cannot tell. _White_, the coroner, was called, and said that he had asked Salmon whether the two wounds on Coote's body were given by the same weapon, and he said he could not say. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--We have done with our evidence, until we hear what my lord of Warwick says to it. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord of Warwick, will you ask this witness any questions? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Make proclamation for silence. CLERK OF THE CROWN--Serjeant at arms, make proclamation. SERJEANT-AT-ARMS--O yes, O yes, O yes! His grace, my lord high steward of England, does strictly charge and command all manner of persons here present to keep silence, upon pain of imprisonment. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord of Warwick, the king's counsel have made an end of giving evidence for the king; now is the proper time for you to enter upon your defence. EARL OF WARWICK--May it please your grace, and you my noble lords, my peers. I stand here before your lordships, accused of the murder of Mr. Coote, of which I am so innocent, that I came and voluntarily surrendered myself so soon as I heard your lordships might be at leisure to try me; and had sooner done it, but that the king was not then here, nor your lordships sitting, and had no mind to undergo a long confinement; and now I think I might well submit it to your lordships' judgment, even on the evidence that has been offered against me, whether there hath been any thing proved of malice prepense, or my being any actor therein, so as to adjudge me guilty. And I think I may with humble submission to your lordships say, that my innocence appeareth even from several of the witnesses who have been examined against me, which I will not trouble your lordships to repeat, but submit to your memory and observation. But, my lords, the safety of my life does not so much concern me in this case, as the vindication of my honour and reputation from the false reflections to which the prosecutor has endeavoured to expose me; and I shall therefore beg your lordships' patience to give a fair and full account of this matter: in which the duty I owe to your lordships, and to justice in general, and the right I owe to my own cause in particular, do so oblige me, that I will not in the least prevaricate, neither will I conceal or deny any thing that is true. My lords, I must confess I was there when this unfortunate accident happened, which must be a great misfortune in any case, but was more so to me in this, because Mr. Coote was my particular friend; and I did all I could to hinder it, as your lordship may observe by the whole proceedings. It was on the Saturday night when my lord Mohun and I, and several other gentlemen, met at Locket's, where the same company used often to meet; and in some time after several of us had been there, Mr. Coote came unexpectedly, and for some time he and we were very friendly, and in good humour, as we used to be with each other; but then there happened some reflecting expressions from Mr. Coote to Mr. French, who thereupon called for the reckoning; and it being paid, we left the upper room, and I proposed to send three bottles of wine to my own lodging, and to carry him thither to prevent the quarrel. But while the company stopped to call for a glass of ale at the bar below, Mr. Coote (whose unfortunate humour was sometimes to be quarrelsome) did again provoke Mr. French to such degree, that they there drew their swords; but we then prevented them of doing any mischief: then Mr. Coote still insisting to quarrel further with Mr. French, my lord Mohun and I proposed to send for the guards to prevent them: but they had got chairs to go towards Leicester-fields; and my lord Mohun and I, as friends to Mr. Coote, and intending to prevent any hurt to him, did follow him in two other chairs; and as he was going up St. Martin's-lane, stopped him, and I extremely there pressed him to return and be friends with Mr. French, or at least defer it, for that the night was very dark and wet; and while we were so persuading of him, Mr. French in one chair, and Mr. James and Mr. Dockwra in two other chairs past by us (which we guessed to be them), on which Mr. Coote made his chairmen take him up again, and because the chairmen would not follow Mr. French faster, threatened to prick him behind; and when we were gone to Green-street and got out of our chairs, Mr. Coote offered half a guinea to be changed to pay for all our three chairs, but they not having change, he desired lord Mohun to pay the three shillings, which he did. And in a few minutes after, Mr. Coote and Mr. French engaged in the fields, whither I went for the assistance and in defence of Mr. Coote, and received a very ill wound in my right hand; and there this fatal accident befel Mr. Coote from Mr. French whom Mr. Coote had dangerously wounded, and I must account it a great unhappiness to us all who were there: but so far was I from encouraging of it, that I will prove to your lordships that I did my utmost endeavours to prevent it; so far from any design upon him, that I exposed my own life to save his; so far from prepense malice, that I will, by many witnesses of good quality and credit, prove to your lordships a constant good and uninterrupted friendship from the first of our acquaintance to the time of his death; which will appear by many instances of my frequent company and correspondence with him, often lending him money, and paying his reckonings; and about two months before his death lent him an hundred guineas towards buying him an ensign's place in the guards, and often, and even two nights before this, he lodged with me, and that very night I paid his reckoning. And when I have proved these things, and answered what has been said about the sword and what other objections they have made, I doubt not but that I shall be acquitted to the entire satisfaction of your lordships, and all the world that hear it. Before I go upon my evidence, I will crave leave further to observe to your lordships, that at the Old Bailey, when I was absent, Mr. French, James, and Dockwra, have been all tried on the same indictment now before your lordships; and it was then opened and attempted, as now it is, to prove it upon me also; and by most of them the same witnesses who have now appeared; and they were thereupon convicted only of manslaughter, which could not have been, if I had been guilty of murder. And on that trial it plainly appeared that Mr. French was the person with whom he quarrelled, and who killed him. And now I will call my witnesses. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Will your lordship please to go on to call your witnesses, for the proof of what you have said; that is the method, and then you are to make such observations as you please. EARL OF WARWICK--My first witness is capt. Keeting, who was with me at Locket's, but went away before capt. Coote or any of them came; and he will tell you I was with him a while. [Then captain Keeting stood up.] LORD HIGH STEWARD--Capt. Keeting, you are not upon your oath, because the law will not allow it. In cases of this nature the witnesses for the prisoner are not to be upon oath; but you are to consider that you speak in God's presence, who does require the truth should be testified in all causes before courts of judicature; and their lordships do expect, that in what evidence you give here, you should speak with the same regard to truth as if you were upon oath; you hear to what it is my lord of Warwick desires to have you examined, what say you to it? CAPTAIN KEETING--My lord, I will tell your lordship all the matter I know of it. I met with my lord of Warwick that evening at Tom's Coffee-house, and we continued there till about eight at night; I went away to see for a gentleman that owed me money, and afterwards I went to Locket's; and while I was there, the drawer came up and told me, my lord of Warwick desired to speak with me; and when he came up into the room, he said he was to meet with my lord Mohun there, and capt. Coote, and he asked me if I knew where capt. French and capt. James were; I told him I dined with capt. Coote at Shuttleworth's; and in a while after, capt. Coote came in, and about an hour and an half, I think, I continued there, and capt. French came in; capt. Dockwra and we drank together for an hour and an half, and they admired, about ten o'clock that my lord Mohun was not come; and I payed my reckoning, not being very well, and away I went home; Mr. James came in just before I went away; but there was no quarrelling, nor any thing like it before I went away. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked, Whether we did not usually meet there as friends, especially capt. Coote and I? CAPTAIN KEETING--Captain Coote and my lord of Warwick used to be almost every day together at that place. EARL OF WARWICK--Pray, did he ever know or observe any difference or quarrel between capt. Coote and me? CAPTAIN KEETING--No, my lord, I never saw any thing but the greatest friendship between my lord of Warwick and captain Coote that could be; I was with them, and saw them together almost every day. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Have you any thing further to examine this witness to? EARL OF WARWICK--No, my lord, I have no further question to ask him. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Who is your next witness, my lord? EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I suppose I shall not need to trouble you to examine the chairmen over again; your lordships have heard what they can say: I desire colonel Stanhope may be called. [Who it seems stood by the Chair of State, and it was some while before he could get round to come to the place the witnesses were to stand.] LORD HIGH STEWARD--While this witness gets round, if your lordship has any other witness ready to stand up, pray let him be called. EARL OF WARWICK--To prove the kindness between capt. Coote and me, I desire col. Blisset may be called. [Who stood up.] LORD HIGH STEWARD--What is it your lordship asks this witness or calls him to? EARL OF WARWICK--To testify what he knows of any kindness or unkindness between capt. Coote and me; whether he has not been often in our company? LORD HIGH STEWARD--Have you been often in company with my lord of Warwick and capt. Coote? COLONEL BLISSET--Yes, my lord, I was very well acquainted with both of them for a twelve-month past before this accident and I have often been in their company, and always observed that there was a great deal of friendship and kindness between them. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may tell any particular instance that he knows or can remember. COLONEL BLISSET--I remember when capt. Coote had his commission in the regiment of guards, he was complaining of the streightness of his circumstances; he was to pay for his commission 400 guineas, and said he had but 300 for to pay for it: and my lord of Warwick did then say to him, do not trouble yourself about that, or let not that disturb you, for I will take care you shall have 100 guineas, and he said he would give order to his steward to pay him so much; and I was told afterwards that he did so. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire he may tell, if he knows of any other particular instances of my friendship to Mr. Coote? COLONEL BLISSET--Once when he was arrested by his taylor for £13, my lord lent him five guineas, and used very frequently to pay his reckoning for him. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire he may tell, if he knows any thing else; and whether he has not lain at my lodgings, and particularly but some small time before this accident happened. COLONEL BLISSET--About ten days before this unhappy accident happened, I was at my lord of Warwick's lodgings, and when I came there I found capt. Coote a-dressing himself; and I asked him how that came to pass, and they told me they had been up late together, and that he had sent home for his man to dress himself there, upon which I did observe that they had been a-rambling together over night; and there was a very great familiarity between them. EARL OF WARWICK--Did you observe any quarrel between us? COLONEL BLISSET--No, none at all; I never knew of any quarrel between my lord of Warwick and capt. Coote, but I observed there was a particular kindness between them; and a great deal of friendship I know my lord of Warwick shewed to him, in paying of reckonings for him, and lending him money when he wanted. EARL OF WARWICK--My lord, I desire he may be asked, whether he does not know that capt. Coote was straitened for money? COLONEL BLISSET--I did hear capt. Coote say, that he had not received any thing from his father for 13 months, and his father was angry with him, and would not send him any supply, because he would not consent to cut off the entail, and settle two or three hundred pounds upon a whore he had. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, Sir, will you consider with yourself, and though you are not upon your oath, answer the questions truly, for you are obliged to speak the truth, though you are not sworn, whenever you come to give your testimony in a court of judicature; pray, acquaint my noble lords here, whether you did never hear my lord Warwick complain of capt. Coote? COLONEL BLISSET--No, I never did hear him complain of him. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you never hear the least word of any quarrel between them? COLONEL BLISSET--No, indeed, I did never hear of any quarrel between them. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Did you never hear of any unkindness at all? COLONEL BLISSET--No, indeed, my lord, not I: I never so much as heard of the least unkindness whatsoever. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Well then, my lord, who do you call next? EARL OF WARWICK--Now colonel Stanhope is here, I desire he may be asked the same question, whether he does not know the particular friendship that was between capt. Coote and me, and what instances he can give of it? LORD HIGH STEWARD--You are to consider, Sir, though you are not upon your oath you are in a great court, and under no less restriction to testify the truth, and nothing but the truth: You hear what my noble lord asks you. COLONEL STANHOPE--My lord, I have known my lord of Warwick and capt Coote for about a twelve-month, and I did perceive that they did always profess a great kindness for one another. EARL OF WARWICK--I desire to know of him, whether he observed any particular friendship between capt. Coote and me, much about the time of this business? COLONEL STANHOPE--About eight or ten days before this unhappy accident, I went to wait upon my lord of Warwick twice at his lodgings: Once I found capt. Coote there, one of them was in bed, and the other was dressing of himself; I thought they were very good friends that were so familiar, and I had good reason to think so, because of that familiarity: Both the times that I was there, when I found them together, was within eight days before the accident happened. EARL OF WARWICK--The next witness I shall call will be Mr. Disney. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--But before colonel Stanhope goes, I desire to ask him this question, whether he did never hear or know of any unkindness between my lord of Warwick and capt. Coote? COLONEL STANHOPE--No, indeed I did not; I always thought them to be very good friends. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Will your lordship go on to your next witness? EARL OF WARWICK--Yes, my lord, there he is, Mr. Disney; I desire he may be asked what he knows of any expressions of kindness and friendship between me and capt. Coote. _Disney_ spoke to Lord Warwick lending Coote 100 guineas towards the price of his commission; he had observed great kindness between the two, and had several times seen Lord Warwick pay Coote's reckoning. _Colonel Whiteman_ was then called. He had constantly seen Lord Warwick and Coote together; they dined together almost every day for half a year's time almost; and as to this time, when this business had happened, I went to my lord of Warwick, being sent for by him, and found him at a private lodging, where he expressed a great deal of concern for the death of his dear friend Mr. Coote; and he shewed me the wound he had received in his hand, and he desired he might be private, and he told me he believed people would make worse of it than it was, because he did not appear; but he did but intend to keep himself out of the way till he could be tried; and I took what care I could to get him a convenience to go to France. ATTORNEY-GENERAL--Pray, what reason did he give for his going away? COLONEL WHITEMAN--The king being at that time out of England, and so the parliament not sitting, he said he did not love confinement, and had rather be in France till the parliament should meet, and he might have a fair trial, which he thought he should best have in this House. He had never seen any unkindness or quarrel between them. _Edmund Raymund_, Lord Warwick's steward, knew of the loan of 100 guineas by him to Coote, and provided the money paid on that occasion. Lord Warwick then stated that he wished to call French as a witness, and desired that counsel might be heard on his behalf as to whether he could be guilty of the death of a man on whose side he was fighting equally with those who were fighting on the other side, and who had already been convicted of manslaughter. After a brief discussion, it was decided that counsel should be heard on the question whether French was a competent witness. The facts were that he had been indicted for murder, and convicted of manslaughter; he claimed the benefit of clergy,[35] which was allowed him; the burning on his hand was respited, and a pardon remitting the burning altogether had been delivered to the Lord High Steward under the Privy Seal, but had not passed the Great Seal. Lord Warwick had accordingly to maintain that French was a good witness without having been burnt on his hand, or having been pardoned. The _Attorney-General_ first proceeded to argue that an allowance of clergy did not make a felon convict a competent witness.[36] It did not discharge him from his offence, set him _rectus in curia_, and 'make him in all respects a person fit to have the benefit and privileges of a "probus et legalis homo"' till he had passed through those methods of setting himself right in the eye of the law, that the law had prescribed. The burning in the hand under the statute of Henry VII. was not a punishment; it only showed that the branded person was not to have his clergy again. Purgation was abolished by the statute of Elizabeth, but satisfaction was not made to the law, the convict was not fully discharged from its operation, and his credit was not restored, till he was branded or pardoned. Till then 'the conviction remains upon him,' and he was not capable of being a witness. _The Solicitor-General_, Sir John Hawles,[37] followed to the same effect, and, by the order of the Court _Powys_[38] was then heard on behalf of the prisoner. He agreed with the Attorney-General that the branding under the statute of Henry VII. was only for the purpose of showing that the branded man has had his clergy once, and was not a punishment; the punishment still remained to be inflicted by the process of purgation. But purgation was abolished after the Reformation by the statute of Elizabeth 'because it was only an outward appearance and shew of purgation, and was often the occasion of very great perjuries.' The Court had power to imprison the convicted man for a year; but that was not any more a punishment and a means of restoring a man to credit than was the branding.[39] 'What we insist on is this, that the allowance of clergy sets him right in court, since purgation is abolished, and is the same thing as if he had undergone the ceremonial parts of a formal purgation'; the prisoner was to have the same benefit of his clergy as purgation would have given him before the statute, and on being allowed his clergy is to be in the same condition as if he had undergone purgation or been pardoned. The respiting of the burning of the hand till the king's pardon could be obtained was not to put him in a worse condition than he would have been in had he been actually burnt. Cases were quoted, one of which was afterwards fairly distinguished, and it was urged that the burning was only a condition precedent to the accused getting out of prison, not to his being restored to his credit. _Serjeant Wright_ replied for the Crown. He admitted that a pardon would restore a convict to credit as a witness, and that an allowance of clergy, followed by a burning of the hand, would have the same effect: now that purgation was abolished, the burning had taken its place; 'that is the very terms of the statute on which he is to be discharged; that must actually be done before he can be put into the same condition that he was in before the conviction, and consequently make him capable of being a witness.' One of the cases quoted by Powys was distinguished, and Hale was quoted to support the argument for the Crown. _Lord Chief-Justice Treby_[40] was then called on for his opinion, and gave it that French was not a competent witness. He had not yet actually been pardoned, for pardons were not operative till they had passed the Great Seal. By his conviction he had forfeited his liberty, his power of purchasing chattels or holding land, and his credit. These losses formerly might be restored by purgation; but purgation was now replaced by burning in the hand. The imprisonment under the statute was not a necessary condition to a restoration of credit, because it was 'a collateral and a new thing'; the party was not imprisoned 'by virtue of his conviction, but by a fresh express order of the judges, made upon the heinousness of the circumstances appearing on the evidence. They may, and generally do, forbear to commit at all; and when they do, it may be for a month or two, at their discretion.' In any case the burning was a condition precedent to a restoration to credit. 'To me the law is evident. A peer shall have this benefit without either clergy or burning. A clerk in orders, upon clergy alone, without burning. A lay-clerk, not without both.' _Lord Chief-Baron Ward_[41] and _Nevill, J._,[42] expressed themselves as of the same opinion; and it was decided that French should not be admitted as a witness. It was then suggested that counsel should be heard on the point whether, supposing that Lord Warwick had been on Coote's side in the fight, he was guilty of his death; but it was decided that as there was still a question whether the facts were as alleged this could not be done. Lord Warwick was then invited to sum up his evidence, 'which is your own work, as not being allowed counsel as to matter of fact,' and to make any observations he liked. He preferred, however, to say nothing. _The Solicitor-General_ then proceeded to sum up for the Crown, and since he could not be heard by some lords at the upper end of the house, the _Duke of Leeds_ moved either that 'any person that has a stronger voice should sum up the evidence,' or that 'you will dispense with the orders of the house so far, as that Mr. Solicitor may come to the clerk's table, or some other place within the house, where he may be heard by all.' _The Earl of Rochester_ opposed the second alternative on the ground that 'in point of precedent many inconveniences' would occur were such a course adopted. _The Earl of Bridgewater_ suggested that the difficulty might be met by sending the guard to clear the passages about the court, which was accordingly done, apparently with success. _The Solicitor-General_ then continued his summing up the evidence; his only original comment on the case being that as there was no evidence as to whose hand it was by which Coote was wounded, 'until that can be known, every person that was there must remain under the imputation of the same guilt, as having a hand, and contributing to his death.' Then the lords went back to their own house in the same order they came into the court in Westminster Hall, and debated the matter among themselves, what judgment to give upon the evidence that had been heard; and in about two hours' time they returned again into the court, erected upon a scaffold in Westminster-hall; and after they were seated in their places, the Lord High Steward being seated in his chair before the throne, spoke to the Lords thus: LORD HIGH STEWARD--Will your lordships proceed to give your judgment? LORDS--Ay, Ay. Then the Lord High Steward asked this question of every one of the lords there present, beginning with the puisne baron, which was the lord Bernard. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord Bernard, is Edward Earl of Warwick guilty of the felony and murder whereof he stands indicted, or not guilty? The lord Bernard stood up in his place uncovered, and laying his right hand upon his breast pronounced his judgment thus: LORD BERNARD--Not Guilty of murder, but Guilty of manslaughter, upon my honour. The same question was asked severally of all the lords, who in the same form delivered the same opinion. Then the Lord High Steward reckoned up the number of peers present, and the opinions that were given, and announced that there were 93 present, and that they had all acquitted lord Warwick of murder, but had found him guilty of manslaughter. Lord Warwick was then called in, the judgment was announced to him, and he was asked what he had to say why judgment of death should not be pronounced against him according to law. And he claimed the benefit of his peerage, under the statute of Edward the 6th. LORD HIGH STEWARD--My lord, your lordship has demanded the benefit of your peerage upon the statute of Edward the 6th, and you must have it by law; but I am directed by their lordships to acquaint you that you cannot have the benefit of that statute twice; therefore, I am likewise directed by their lordships to say that they hope you will take a more than ordinary care of your behaviour for the future, that so you may never hereafter fall into such unfortunate circumstances as you have been now under; my lords hope this will be so sensible a warning, that nothing of this kind will ever happen to you again; your lordship is now to be discharged. LORD HIGH STEWARD--Is it your lordships' pleasure to adjourn to the House of Lords? LORDS--Ay, Ay. LORD HIGH STEWARD--This House is adjourned to the House of Lords. Then the lords went in procession, in the same order that they came into the court. The next day Lord Mohun was tried on a similar indictment before the same court. And most of the same witnesses having given the same evidence again, he was acquitted and discharged. He then expressed himself thus: LORD MOHUN--My lords, I do not know which way to express my great thankfulness and acknowledgment of your lordships' great honour and justice to me; but I crave leave to assure your lordships, that I will endeavour to make it the business of the future part of my life, so to behave myself in my conversation in the world, as to avoid all things that may bring me under any such circumstances, as may expose me to the giving your lordships any trouble of this nature for the future. Then proclamation was made dissolving the Commission, and the Court adjourned. * * * * * As is well known, the duel described in this trial is the original of that described in _Esmond_ between Lord Castlewood and Lord Mohun; it may therefore be of interest to transcribe a few passages out of the latter work, premising only that there seems to be some faint relationship between Captain Macartney, Lord Mohun's second in his duel with Lord Castlewood, and the Lord Macartney who afterwards assisted him in the same capacity in his final meeting with the Duke of Hamilton. Lord Castlewood, as will be remembered, had come up to London to fight Lord Mohun, really on account of his relations with Lady Castlewood, nominally as the result of a quarrel at cards, which it was arranged should have all the appearance of taking place. Lord Castlewood, Jack Westbury, and Harry Esmond all meet together at the 'Trumpet,' in the Cockpit, Whitehall. When we had drunk a couple of bottles of sack, a coach was called, and the three gentlemen went to the Duke's Playhouse, as agreed. The play was one of Mr. Wycherley's--_Love in a Wood_. Harry Esmond has thought of that play ever since with a kind of terror, and of Mrs. Bracegirdle, the actress who performed the girl's part in the comedy. She was disguised as a page, and came and stood before the gentlemen as they sat on the stage, and looked over her shoulder with a pair of arch black eyes, and laughed at my lord, and asked what ailed the gentleman from the country, and had he had bad news from Bullock fair? Between the acts of the play the gentlemen crossed over and conversed freely. There were two of Lord Mohun's party, Captain Macartney, in a military habit, and a gentleman in a suit of blue velvet and silver, in a fair periwig with a rich fall of point of Venice lace--my Lord the Earl of Warwick and Holland. My lord had a paper of oranges, which he ate, and offered to the actresses, joking with them. And Mrs. Bracegirdle, when my lord Mohun said something rude, turned on him, and asked him what he did there, and whether he and his friends had come to stab anybody else, as they did poor Will Mountford? My lord's dark face grew darker at this taunt, and wore a mischievous, fatal look. They that saw it remembered it, and said so afterward. When the play was ended the two parties joined company; and my Lord Castlewood then proposed that they should go to a tavern and sup. Lockit's, the 'Greyhound,' in Charing Cross was the house selected. All three marched together that way, the three lords going a-head.' At the 'Greyhound' they play cards, and Esmond tries in vain to quarrel with Mohun himself. My Lord Mohun presently snuffed a candle. It was when the drawers brought in fresh bottles and glasses and were in the room--on which my Lord Viscount said, 'The Deuce take you, Mohun, how damned awkward you are. Light the candle, you drawer.' 'Damned awkward is a damned awkward expression, my lord,' says the other. 'Town gentlemen don't use such words--or ask pardon if they do.' 'I'm a country gentleman,' says my Lord Viscount. 'I see it by your manner,' says my Lord Mohun. 'No man shall say damned awkward to me.' 'I fling the words in your face, my lord,' says the other; 'shall I send the cards too?' 'Gentlemen, gentlemen! before the servants?' cry out Colonel Westbury and my Lord Warwick in a breath. The drawers go out of the room hastily. They tell the people below of the quarrel upstairs. 'Enough has been said,' says Colonel Westbury. 'Will your lordships meet to-morrow morning?' 'Will my Lord Castlewood withdraw his words?' asks the Earl of Warwick. 'My lord Castlewood will be ---- first,' says Colonel Westbury. 'Then we have nothing for it. Take notice, gentlemen, there have been outrageous words--reparation asked and refused.' 'And refused,' says my Lord Castlewood, putting on his hat. 'Where shall the meeting be? and when?' 'Since my lord refuses me satisfaction, which I deeply regret, there is no time so good as now,' says my Lord Mohun. 'Let us have chairs, and go to Leicester Field.' 'Are your lordship and I to have the honour of exchanging a pass or two?' says Colonel Westbury, with a low bow to my Lord of Warwick and Holland. 'It is an honour for me,' says my lord, with a profound congée, 'to be matched with a gentleman who has been at Mons and Namur.' 'Will your Reverence permit me to give you a lesson?' says the captain. 'Nay, nay, gentlemen, two on a side are plenty,' says Harry's patron. 'Spare the boy, Captain Macartney,' and he shook Harry's hand for the last time, save one, in his life. At the bar of the tavern all the gentlemen stopped, and my Lord Viscount said, laughing, to the bar-woman, that those cards set people sadly a-quarrelling; but that the dispute was over now, and the parties were all going away to my Lord Mohun's house, in Bow Street, to drink a bottle more before going to bed. A half-dozen of chairs were now called, and the six gentlemen stepping into them, the word was privately given to the chairmen to go to Leicester Field, where the gentlemen were set down opposite the 'Standard Tavern.' It was midnight, and the town was a-bed by this time, and only a few lights in the windows of the houses; but the night was bright enough for the unhappy purpose which the disputants came about; and so all six entered into that fatal square, the chairmen standing without the railing and keeping the gate, lest any persons should disturb the meeting. All that happened there hath been matter of public notoriety, and is recorded, for warning to lawless men, in the annals of our country. After being engaged for not more than a couple of minutes, as Harry Esmond thought (though being occupied at the time with his own adversary's point, which was active, he may not have taken a good note of time) a cry from the chairmen without, who were smoking their pipes, and leaning over the railings of the field as they watched the dim combat within, announced that some catastrophe had happened, which caused Esmond to drop his sword and look round, at which moment his enemy wounded him in the right hand. But the young man did not heed this hurt much, and ran up to the place where he saw his dear master was down. My Lord Mohun was standing over him. 'Are you much hurt, Frank?' he asked in a hollow voice. 'I believe I'm a dead man,' my lord said from the ground. 'No, no, not so,' says the other; 'and I call God to witness, Frank Esmond, that I would have asked your pardon, had you but given me a chance. In--in the first cause of our falling out, I swear that no one was to blame but me, and--and that my lady----' 'Hush!' says my poor Lord Viscount, lifting himself on his elbow and speaking faintly. 'Twas a dispute about the cards--the cursed cards. Harry, my boy, are you wounded too? God help thee! I loved thee, Harry, and thou must watch over my little Frank--and--and carry this little heart to my wife.' And here my dear lord felt in his breast for a locket he wore there, and, in the act, fell back fainting. We were all at this terrified, thinking him dead; but Esmond and Colonel Westbury bade the chairmen come into the field; and so my lord was carried to one Mr. Aimes, a surgeon, in Long Acre, who kept a bath, and there the house was wakened up, and the victim of this quarrel carried in. FOOTNOTES: [31] Charles, fifth Baron Mohun (1675?-1712), was the eldest son of the fourth baron, who died from a wound received in a duel when his son was about two years old. He fought his first duel in 1692, breaking out of his lodgings, where he was confined in consequence of a quarrel over dice, for the purpose, with the assistance of the Earl of Warwick of the present case, the grandson of the Lord Holland of the Civil War. This encounter ended in both combatants being disarmed. Two days later he abetted in the murder of Mountfort, an actor. One Captain Hill was in love with Mrs. Bracegirdle, the famous actress, and supposed that he had cause to be jealous of the attentions she received from Mountfort, the equally eminent actor. Accordingly Hill and Mohun formed a plan (estimated to cost £50 in all) to carry off the lady as she came out of the theatre: and providing themselves with a coach-and-six and a body of soldiers set out on the enterprise. They missed Mrs. Bracegirdle at the theatre, but found her by chance coming out of a house in Drury Lane where she had supped. The attempt to carry her off in the coach failed, owing to the vigorous resistance made by her friends. Hill and Mohun, however, were allowed to escort her to her lodgings in Howard Street, where they saw her safely home. Mountfort lived in Norfolk Street, at the bottom of Howard Street; and as he was passing down the latter some two hours later, he was accosted by Mohun in a more or less friendly way; but while they were talking together, he was attacked and killed by Hill, who did not give him time to draw his sword. Hill fled, but Mohun was tried by his peers in Westminster Hall, January 1692-93. The trial excited great interest partly owing to the youth of the prisoner, and on a question being raised as to the degree of complicity necessary to constitute his guilt, he was acquitted. A report of the trial will be found in _State Trials_, xii. 950. There are also some picturesque references to it in Chapter xix. of Macaulay's _History_. Mohun fought another duel in 1694, served for two years in Flanders, returned to England, and fought a duel with Captain Bingham in St. James's Park, which was interrupted by the sentries. The same year he was present at the death of Captain Hill, in the Rummer Tavern. The present case occurred in 1698, and seems to have closed his career as a rake. He was sent under Lord Macclesfield on a mission to present the Electress-Dowager Sophia with a copy of the Act of Succession, and he frequently took part in debates in the House of Lords. After Lord Macclesfield's death he became entangled in a long course of litigation with the Duke of Hamilton; and on their meeting in Master's Chambers, remarks passed between them which led to a duel, when both were killed. The Tories suggested that the Whigs had arranged the duel in order to get rid of Mohun because they were tired of him, and Hamilton, because they wanted to prevent his projected embassy to France. [32] John Lord Somers (1651-1716) was born at Whiteladies, near Worcester, educated at Trinity College, Oxford, and called in 1676. He appeared as junior counsel in the trial of the Seven Bishops, at the instance of Pollexfen (see vol. i. p. 241), and took a conspicuous part in the settlement of the monarchy after the Revolution, being an influential member of the Committee which drafted the Declaration of Rights. He became Solicitor-General in 1689, and Attorney-General in 1692, in which capacity it is curious to notice that he conducted the prosecution of Lord Mohun for the murder of Mountfort (see _ante_, p. 60). He became William III.'s first Lord Keeper in 1692-3, and Lord Chancellor in 1697. During all this time he was one of William's most trusted advisers, and was consulted by him on the most confidential questions relating to foreign policy. He was also familiar with the leading literary and scientific men of his time, being responsible for Addison's pension, and receiving the dedication of the _Tale of a Tub_ from Swift. He also conferred favours on Rymer and Madox. He resigned the Great Seal in 1700 after a motion for his perpetual exclusion from the presence of the King had been defeated by a small majority in the House of Commons; having already lost the King's confidence by the position he adopted in regard to William's propositions for a standing army, and attracted the hostility of the country partly by his opposition to the bill for the resumption of the grants of forfeited Irish estates. He played a conspicuous part in the reign of Queen Anne as the head of the Whig junto formed at the beginning of that reign, but never resumed office. [33] Sir Nathan Wright (1653-1721), born of an Essex family, was educated at Emmanuel College, and was called in 1677. He was junior counsel for the Crown in the trial of the Seven Bishops, and opened the pleadings. He became Serjeant in 1692. On the retirement of Lord Somers in 1700, a difficulty was found in providing a successor, and eventually the post of Lord Chancellor was offered to, and accepted by, Wright. He enjoyed no reputation, good or bad, as a judge, except that he was very slow, and generally considered unfit for the place. After holding office for five years he was dismissed on the accession to power by the Whigs in 1705. Speaking of his appointment as Lord Chancellor, Lord Campbell says, 'The occasional occurrence of such elevations seems wisely contrived by Providence to humble the vanity of those who succeed in public life, and to soften the mortification of those who fail.' [34] Thomas Lord Trevor (1659?-1730) was the son of a Secretary of State of Charles II. He was called in 1680, became a bencher in 1689, Solicitor-General in 1692, Attorney-General in 1695. He refused to succeed Lord Somers in 1700; but in 1701 succeeded Sir George Treby as Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas. He was re-appointed by Queen Anne, and was one of the twelve peers created by her in 1711 to create a majority in the House of Lords. He was removed from office in 1714 on the accession of George I.; but leaving the Tory party, which he had joined in Anne's reign, became Lord Privy Seal in 1726, and President of the Council in 1730, but died six weeks afterwards. He enjoyed a reputation as a good judge; but is chiefly remembered for his proper conduct of Crown prosecutions as Attorney-General after the Revolution. [35] Benefit of clergy was originally the right of the clergy to be exempt from the jurisdiction of the lay courts, and to be handed over to the ordinary to make 'purgation.' This the accused clerk did by swearing to his own innocence and producing twelve compurgators who swore to the same effect. He was then 'usually acquitted' by a jury of twelve clerks; but otherwise he was degraded and put to penance. The right itself was gradually restricted: partly by a construction of the Statute of Westminster the First (1275), by which it was held to be necessary that the clerk should be indicted before he could claim his benefit; partly by the practice prevailing in the time of Henry VI. that he must first be convicted. Meanwhile its scope had been largely increased by its extension in 1360 to all lay clerks, who were taken to mean persons capable of reading. The law, however, which was applicable to the present case depended on two statutes, 4 Henry VII., c. 13, and 18 Elizabeth, c. 7; by the former any person allowed his clergy was to be branded, and was not to be allowed it again unless he was actually in orders; by the latter purgation was abolished, and any person taking benefit of clergy was to be discharged from prison subject to the power of the judge to imprison him for a year. By a statute of Edward _VI._ also, a peer ('though he cannot read') was allowed a privilege equivalent to benefit of clergy, but was not to be branded. A certain number of offences were excluded from benefit of clergy during earlier times, and a great number during the eighteenth century, at the beginning of which the privilege was extended to all prisoners. Finally, the system was abolished in 1827. How this system, occupying as it did an important position in the criminal procedure of this country till a comparatively modern date, impresses a lawyer of the present day, may best be described in the words of Sir James Stephen:--'Of this branch of the law, Blackstone characteristically remarks that the English legislature "in the course of a long and laborious process, extracted by noble alchemy rich medicines out of poisonous ingredients." According to our modern views it would be more correct to say that the rule and the exception were in their origin equally crude and barbarous, that by a long series of awkward and intricate changes they were at last worked into a system which was abolished in a manner as clumsy as that in which it was constructed' (_History of the Criminal Law_, vol. i. p. 458).... 'The result of this was to bring about, for a great length of time, a state of things which must have reduced the administration of justice to a sort of farce. Till 1487 any one who knew how to read might commit murder as often as he pleased, with no other result, than that of being delivered to the ordinary to make his purgation, with the chance of being delivered to him _absque purgatione_. That this should have been the law for several centuries seems hardly credible, but there is no doubt that it was. Even after 1487, a man who could read could commit murder once with no other punishment than that of having M. branded on the brawn of his left thumb, and if he was a clerk in orders he could, till 1547, commit any number of murders apparently without being branded more than once' (_Ibid._, vol. i. p. 462). [36] Convicted felons were incompetent as witnesses till the passing of Lord Denman's Act in 1843. [37] Sir John Hawles (1645-1716) was born in Salisbury of a Dorsetshire family. He was educated at Winchester and Queen's College, Oxford. In 1689 he sat in the House of Commons for Old Sarum; he succeeded Sir Thomas Trevor as Solicitor-General in 1695 and so remained till 1702. He afterwards represented various western boroughs in Parliament, most of them Cornish. He was one of the managers of Sacheverell's impeachment in 1710. He died at Upwinborne. [38] Sir Thomas Powys (1649-1719), of a Shropshire family, was educated at Shrewsbury, and was called in 1673. He became Solicitor-General in 1686, and as a supporter of the dispensing power became Attorney-General in 1687. As such he conducted the prosecution of the Seven Bishops. He frequently appears for the defence in State Trials during the reign of William III. He represented Ludlow in Parliament from 1701 to 1713, was made a Serjeant at the beginning of Anne's reign, and a Judge of the Queen's Bench in 1713. He was, however, removed from the bench on the accession of George I. [39] To a modern practitioner to whom benefit of clergy is merely an archæological puzzle, it would seem that the proper argument was that the imprisonment was a punishment, and that as French had not been imprisoned he was quit of the law; but two centuries make a great deal of difference in arguments on points of law. [40] Sir George Treby (1644-1700), the son of a Devon gentleman, entered Exeter College in 1661, and was called in 1671. He represented his native town of Plympton in the House of Commons in both Parliaments in 1679, and was a manager in the impeachment of Lord Stafford. He succeeded Jeffreys as Recorder of London in 1680, but was removed after the success of the _Quo Warranto_ proceedings. He sat in the Oxford Parliament of 1681, and resumed his seat as Recorder after the arrival of the Prince of Orange. He afterwards re-entered Parliament, succeeded Pollexfen as Solicitor-General in 1689, as Attorney-General in the same year, and as Lord Chief-Justice of the Common Pleas in 1692. [41] Edward Ward was called in 1670, and was engaged to assist Lord Russell in his trial. He was a candidate for the office of Sheriff of London in the famous election of 1683 (_ante_, pp. 3, 15). He refused a judgeship at the Revolution; became Attorney-General in 1693, and Chief Baron in 1695. He died in 1714. He was an ancestor of the late Mr. G. Ward Hunt. [42] Sir Edward Nevill was called in 1658. He was knighted in 1681, on presenting an address to Charles II. as Recorder of Bath. He became Serjeant in 1684, and a Baron of the Exchequer in 1685. He was dismissed six months afterwards for refusing to support the royal assumption of the dispensing power. Fosse gives a striking extract from his evidence before Parliament in 1689, to show how the power of the Executive was actually brought to bear on the Stewart judges. He was restored to his office after the Revolution, removed to the Common Pleas in 1691, and died in 1705. SPENCER COWPER AND OTHERS Spencer Cowper,[43] a barrister; Ellis Stephens and William Rogers, attorneys; and John Marston, a scrivener, were indicted at the Hertford Summer Assizes in 1699 for the murder of Sarah Stout, on the 13th of the previous March. They were tried at the same Assizes, before Baron Hatsell,[44] on the 16th of July. The indictment alleged that they had murdered Sarah Stout by strangling her, and had then thrown her body into the Priory River to conceal the body. To this, all the prisoners pleaded Not Guilty. _Jones_ appeared for the prosecution; Cowper defended himself, and practically the other prisoners as well. The prisoners agreed that Cowper's challenges should be taken to be the challenges of all of them; and enough jurors were then challenged to exhaust the panel. Accordingly, after some discussion, Jones was called upon to show cause for his challenges. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--Call Daniel Clarke. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Jones, if you can say any juryman hath said anything concerning the cause, and given his verdict by way of discourse, or showed his affection one way or the other, that would be good cause of challenge. JONES--My lord, then we should keep you here till to-morrow morning. HATSELL, BARON--If there hath been any great friendship between any juryman and the party, it will look ill if it is insisted upon. COWPER--My lord, I do not insist upon it, but I profess I know of no friendship, only that Mr. Clarke in elections hath taken our interest in town; I know I have a just cause, and I am ready to be tried before your lordship and any fair jury of the county; therefore I do not insist upon it. A jury was then sworn, and _Jones_ opened the case for the prosecution. JONES--May it please your lordship, and you gentlemen that are sworn, I am of counsel for the king in this cause, and it is upon an indictment by which the gentlemen at the bar stand accused for one of the foulest and most wicked crimes almost that any age can remember; I believe in your county you never knew a fact of this nature; for here is a young gentlewoman of this county strangled and murdered in the night time. The thing was done in the dark, therefore the evidence cannot be so plain as otherwise might be. After she was strangled and murdered, she was carried down into a river to stifle the fact, and to make it supposed she had murdered herself; so that it was indeed, if it prove otherwise, a double murder, a murder accompanied with all the circumstances of wickedness and villainy that I remember in all my practice or ever read of. This fact, as it was committed in the night time, so it was carried very secret, and it was very well we have had so much light as we have to give so much satisfaction; for we have here, in a manner, two trials; one to acquit the party that is dead, and to satisfy the world, and vindicate her reputation, that she did not murder herself, but was murdered by other hands. For my part, I shall never, as counsel in the case of blood, aggravate; I will not improve or enlarge the evidence at all; it shall be only my business to set the fact as it is, and to give the evidence, and state it as it stands here in my instructions. My lord, for that purpose, to lead to the fact, it will be necessary to inform you, that upon Monday the 13th of March, the first day of the last assizes here, Mr. Cowper, one of the gentlemen at the bar, came to this town, and lighted at Mr. Barefoot's house, and staid there some time, I suppose to dry himself, the weather being dirty, but sent his horse to Mrs. Stout's, the mother of this gentlewoman. Some time after he came thither himself, and dined there, and staid till four in the afternoon; and at four, when he went away, he told them he would come and lodge there that night, and sup. According to his word he came there, and had the supper he desired; after supper Mrs. Stout, the young gentlewoman, and he sat together till near eleven o'clock. At eleven o'clock there was orders given to warm his bed, openly to warm his bed in his hearing. The maid of the house, gentlemen, upon this went up stairs to warm his bed, expecting the gentleman would have come up and followed her before she had done; but it seems, while she was warming his bed, she heard the door clap together; and the nature of that door is such, that it makes a great noise at the clapping of it to, that any body in the house may be sensible of any one's going out. The maid upon this was concerned, and wondered at the meaning of it, he promising to lie there that night; she came down, but there was neither Mr. Cowper nor Mrs. Stout; so that we suppose, and for all that we can find and learn, they must go out together. After their going out, the maid and mother came into the room; and the young gentlewoman not returning, nor Mr. Cowper, they sat up all night in the house, expecting what time the young gentlewoman would return. The next morning, after they had sat up all night, the first news of this lady was, that she lay floating and swimming in water by the mill dam. Upon that there was several persons called; for it was a surprize how this should come to pass. There she lay floating with her petticoats and apron, but her night rail and morning gown were off, and one of them not found till some time after; and the maid will give you an account how it came to be found. This made a great noise in the country; for it was very extraordinary, it happening that from the time the maid left Mr. Cowper and this young gentlewoman together, she was not seen or heard of till next morning, when she was found in this condition, with her eyes broad open, floating upon the water. When her body came to be viewed, it was very much wondered at; for in the first place, it is contrary to nature, that any persons that drown themselves should float upon the water. We have sufficient evidence, that it is a thing that never was; if persons come alive into the water, then they sink; if dead, then they swim; that made some more curious to look into this matter. At first, it was thought that such an accident might happen, though they could not imagine any cause for this woman to do so, who had so great prosperity, had so good an estate, and had no occasion to do an action upon herself so wicked and so barbarous, nor cannot learn what reason she had to induce her to such a thing. Upon view of the body, it did appear there had been violence used to the woman; there was a crease round her neck, she was bruised about her ear; so that it did seem as if she had been strangled either by hands or a rope. Gentlemen, upon the examination of this matter, it was wondered how this matter came about, it was dark and blind. The coroner at that time, nor these people, had no evidence given, but the ordinary evidence, and it passed in a day. We must call our witnesses to this fact, that of necessity you must conclude she was strangled, and did not drown herself. If we give you as strong a proof as can be upon the nature of the fact, that she was strangled, then the second matter under that enquiry will be, to know who, or what persons, should be the men that did the fact. I told you before, it was, as all wicked actions are, a matter of darkness, and done in secret to be kept as much from the knowledge of men as was possible. Truly, gentlemen, as to the persons at the bar, the evidence of the fact will be very short, and will be to this purpose. Mr. Cowper was the last man unfortunately in her company; I could wish he had not been so with all my heart; it is a very unfortunate thing, that his name should upon this occasion be brought upon the stage: but then, my lord, it was a strange thing, here happens to be three gentlemen; Mr. Marson, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Stephens. As to these three men, my lord, I do not hear of any business they had here, unless it was to do this matter, to serve some interest or friend that sent them upon this message; for, my lord, they came to town (and in things of this nature it is well we have this evidence; but if we had not been straightened in time, it would have brought out more; these things come out slowly), these persons, Mr. Stephens, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Marson, came to town here on the thirteenth of March last, the assize day. My lord, when they came to town, they came to an house, and took lodgings at one Gurrey's; they took a bed for two, and went out of their lodging, having taken a room with a large bed in it; and afterwards they went to the Glove and Dolphin, and then about eight o'clock one Marson came to them there; in what company they came, your lordship and the jury will know by and by; they staid there, my lord, at the Glove from eight to eleven, as they say. At eleven these three gentlemen came all into their lodging together to this Gurrey's. My lord, when they came in, it was very observable amongst them, unless there had been a sort of fate in it, first, That they should happen to be in the condition they were; and, secondly, fall upon the discourse they did at that time; for, my lord, they called for fire, and the fire was made them; and while the people of the house were going about, they observed and heard these gentlemen talk of Mrs. Sarah Stout; that happened to be their discourse; one said to the other, Marson, she was an old sweetheart of yours: Ay, saith he, but she cast me off, but I reckon by this time a friend of mine has done her business. Another piece of discourse was, I believe a friend of mine is even with her by this time. They had a bundle of linen with them, but what it was is not known, and one takes the bundle and throws it upon the bed; well, saith he, her business is done, Mrs. Sarah Stout's courting days are over; and they sent for wine, my lord; so after they had drank of the wine they talked of it, and one pulled out a great deal of money; saith one to another, what money have you spent to-day? Saith the other, thou hast had 40 or 50 pounds for thy share: Saith the other, I will spend all the money I have, for joy the business is done. My lord, this discourse happened to be among them; which made people of the house consider and bethink themselves; when the next day they heard of this Mrs. Stout's being found in the water, this made them recollect and call to mind all these discourses. My lord, after these gentlemen had staid there all night, next morning, truly, it was observed (and I suppose some account will be given of it) that Mr. Cowper and they did meet together, and had several discourses, and that very day went out of town; and I think as soon as they came to Hoddesden, made it all their discourse and business to talk of Mrs. Stout. My lord, we will call our witnesses, and prove all these facts that I have opened to your lordship; and then I hope they will be put to give you some account how all these matters came about. _Call Sarah Walker_ (_who was sworn_). JONES--Mrs. Walker, pray give an account to my lord and the jury, of Mr. Cowper's coming to your house the 13th of March, and what was done from his coming there at night to his going out? WALKER--May it please you, my lord, on Friday before the last assizes, Mr. Cowper's wife sent a letter to Mrs. Stout, that she might expect Mr. Cowper at the assize time; and therefore we expected Mr. Cowper at that time, and accordingly provided; and as he came in with the judges, she asked him if he would alight? He said no; by reason I come in later than usual, I will go into the town and show myself, but he would send his horse presently. She asked him, how long it would be before he would come, because they would stay for him? He said, he could not tell, but he would send her word; and she thought he had forgot, and sent me down to know, whether he would please to come? He said, he had business, and he could not come just then; but he came in less than a quarter of an hour after, and dined there, and he went away at four o'clock: and then my mistress asked him, if he would lie there? And he answered yes, and he came at night about 9; and he sat talking about half an hour, and then called for pen, ink and paper, for that, as he said, he was to write to his wife; which was brought him, and he wrote a letter; and then my mistress went and asked him, what he would have for supper? He said milk, by reason he had made a good dinner; and I got him his supper, and he eat it; after she called me in again, and they were talking together, and then she bid me make a fire in his chamber; and when I had done so, I came and told him of it, and he looked at me, and made me no answer; then she bid me warm the bed, which accordingly I went up to do as the clock struck eleven, and in about a quarter of an hour I heard the door shut, and I thought he was gone to carry the letter, and staid about a quarter of an hour longer, and came down, and he was gone and she; and Mrs. Stout the mother asked me the reason why he went out when I was warming his bed? and she asked me for my mistress, and I told her I left her with Mr. Cowper, and I never saw her after that nor did Mr. Cowper return to the house. She sat up all night; she next saw Sarah Stout when she had been taken out of the water the next morning. On being pressed, she was certain that it was a quarter after eleven by their clock when Cowper left the house; their clock was half an hour faster than the town clock. COWPER--Pray, what account did you give as to the time before my lord chief-justice Holt? WALKER--I gave the account that it was eleven, or quarter of an hour after. COWPER--In her depositions there is half an hour's difference; for then she said it was half an hour after ten. HATSELL, BARON--Which clock was earliest, yours or the town clock? WALKER--Ours was half an hour faster than theirs. COWPER--How came you to know this? WALKER--By reason that dinner was dressed at the cook's, and it was ordered to be ready by two o'clock, and it was ready at two by the town clock, and half an hour after two by ours. COWPER--When you came down and missed your mistress, did you enquire after her all that night? WALKER--No, Sir, I did not go out of the doors; I thought you were with her, and so I thought she would come to no harm. COWPER--Here is a whole night she gives no account of. Pray, mistress, why did not you go after her? WALKER--My mistress would not let me. COWPER--Why would she not let you? WALKER--I said I would see for her? No, saith she, by reason if you go and see for her, and do not find her, it will make an alarm over the town, and there may be no occasion. COWPER--Did your mistress use to stay out all night? WALKER--No, never. COWPER--Have not you said so? WALKER--I never said so in my life. COWPER--Pray, Mrs. Walker, did you never take notice that your mistress was under melancholy? WALKER--I do not say but she was melancholy; she was ill for some time; and I imputed it to her illness, and I know no other cause. COWPER--Have you not often told people that your mistress was a melancholy person, upon your oath? WALKER--I have said she hath been ill, and that made her melancholy. The witness admitted that she had bought poison twice within the last six months; she bought it at her own instance, and not at the order of Mrs. Stout, or of Mrs. Crooke. She asked for white mercury. She bought it to poison a dog with; the dog used to come about the house and do mischief. It was another maid who gave it to the dog; she swore at the inquest that she had given it because she had seen it given; it was given in warm milk which did not seem discoloured. HATSELL, BARON--You said just now your mistress was ill, and that made her melancholy; what illness was it? WALKER--My lord, she had a great pain in her head. HATSELL, BARON--How long had she been troubled with it? WALKER--Ever since last May was twelve months was the beginning of it. JONES--Did you ever find her in the least inclined to do herself a mischief? WALKER--No, I never did. COWPER--You bought poison twice, did you give all the poison you bought to the dog? WALKER--Yes. COWPER--The first and the last? WALKER--Yes, the whole. COWPER--How much did you buy? WALKER--I am not certain how much I bought. COWPER--Pray, what mischief did it do the dog? WALKER--I cannot tell, he may be alive till now for aught I know. COWPER--What mischief did the dog do? WALKER--A great deal, he threw down several things and broke them. JONES--Did Mr. Cowper, upon your oath, hear Mistress Stout give you order to make his fire, and warm his bed? WALKER--He knows best, whether he heard it or no; but he sat by her when she spake it. JONES--Did she speak of it so as he might hear? WALKER--Yes, she did; for he was nearer than I. JONES--And did not he contradict it? WALKER--Not in the least. JONES--Was it the old or young woman that gave you the order? WALKER--The young woman. COWPER--Pray did the dog lap it, or did you put it down his throat, upon your oath? WALKER--No, he lapt it, upon my oath. JONES--Did Mr. Cowper send for his horse from your house the next day? WALKER--I cannot say that; I was not in the way. JONES--Did he come to your house afterwards? WALKER--No, I am sure he did not. JONES--Was the horse in your stable when it was sent for? WALKER--Yes, sir. JONES--And he did not come to your House again, before he went out of town? WALKER--No, sir. JONES--Do you know which way he went out of town? WALKER--No, Sir. HATSELL, BARON--Did Mr. Cowper use to lodge at your house at the assizes? WALKER--No, my lord, not since I came there; the sessions before he did. COWPER--Where did you come to invite me to dinner? WALKER--At Mr. Barefoot's. COWPER--Then you knew I was to lodge there? HATSELL, BARON--Who wrote the letter on Friday, that Mr. Cowper would lodge there? WALKER--I know not who wrote it, his wife sent it. JONES--Did he tell you he would lodge there that night before he went away? WALKER--When he went from dinner he said so. _James Berry_ could not remember exactly which day it was that Sarah Stout was found in his mill; but he went out at six o'clock to shoot a flush of water and saw something floating in the water, and on going to see what it was, saw that it was part of her clothes. He did not see her face; no part of her body was above the water, only part of her clothes. The water might be about five foot deep and she might be about five or six inches under the water. She lay upon her side; when she was taken out her eyes were open. JONES--Was she swelled with water? BERRY--I did not perceive her swelled; I was amazed at it; and did not so much mind it as I should. JONES--But you remember her eyes were staring open? BERRY--Yes. JONES--Did you see any marks or bruises about her? BERRY--No. COWPER--Did you see her legs? BERRY--No, I did not. COWPER--They were not above the water? BERRY--No. COWPER--Could you see them under the water? BERRY--I did not so much mind it. COWPER--Did she lie straight or double, driven together by the stream? BERRY--I did not observe. COWPER--Did you not observe the weeds and trumpery under her? BERRY--There was no weeds at that time thereabouts. JONES--Was the water clear? BERRY--No, it was thick water. JONES--Was there anything under her in the water to prevent her sinking? BERRY--No, I do not know there was; she lay on her right side, and her right arm was driven between the stakes, which are within a foot of one another. JONES--Did anything hinder her from sinking? BERRY--Not that I saw. COWPER--Mr. Berry, if I understand you right, you say her arm was driven between the stakes, and her head between the stakes; could you perceive her right arm, and where was her left arm? BERRY--Within a small matter upon the water. HATSELL, BARON--Did you see her head and arm between the stakes? BERRY--Yes, her arm by one stake and her head by another. JONES--Did her arm hang down or how? BERRY--I did not mind so much as I might have done. _John Venables_ and _Leonard Dell_ corroborated Berry's account of the position of the body, the latter asserting that the right arm did not reach to the ground. _Dell_ also helped to carry the body to land, but saw no bruises. HATSELL, BARON--When you took her out of the water, did you observe her body swelled? DELL--We carried her into the meadow, and laid her on the bank-side, and there she lay about an hour, and then was ordered to be carried into the miller's. HATSELL, BARON--Did you observe that any water was in the body? DELL--None at all that I could see; but there was some small matter of froth came from her mouth and nostrils. JURYMAN--My lord, I desire to know whether her stays were laced. DELL--Yes, she was laced. COWPER--How was she taken out of the water? DELL--My lord, we stood upon the bridge, I and another man, where she lay, and he laid hold of her and took her out. JONES--And did you not perceive she was hung? DELL--No, my lord. _John Ulfe_ saw Mrs. Stout when she was taken out of the water; she lay there on one side; there was nothing at all to hold her up; she lay between a couple of stakes, but the stakes could not hold her up. _Katherine Dew, Edward Blackno, William Edmunds, William Page, William How, and John Meager_ all gave the same account of the position and state of the body, Dew and Ulfe adding that her shoes and stockings were not muddy. JONES--Now, my lord, we will give an account how she was when she was stript, and they came to view the body. Call John Dimsdale, junior. (Who was sworn.) DIMSDALE--My lord, I was sent for at night on Tuesday the last assizes. COWPER--My lord, if your lordship pleases, I have some physicians of note and eminency that are come down from London; I desire that they may be called into Court to hear what the surgeons say. HATSELL, BARON--Ay, by all means. COWPER--My lord, there is Dr. Sloane, Dr. Garth, Dr. Morley, Dr. Gilstrop, Dr. Harriot, Dr. Wollaston, Dr. Crell, Mr. William Cowper, Mr. Bartlett, and Mr. Camlin. [Who respectively appeared in Court.] JONES--Give an account how you found Mrs. Stout. HATSELL, BARON--You are a physician, I suppose, Sir? DIMSDALE[45]--A surgeon, my lord. When I was sent for to Mrs. Stout's, I was sent for two or three times before I would go; for I was unwilling after I heard Mrs. Stout was drowned; for I thought with myself, what need could there be of me when the person was dead? but she still sent; and then I went with Mr. Camlin, and found a little swelling on the side of her neck, and she was black on both sides, and more particularly on the left side, and between her breasts up towards the collar-bone; and that was all I saw at that time, only a little mark upon one of her arms, and I think upon her left arm. JONES--How were her ears? DIMSDALE--There was a settling of blood on both sides the neck, that was all I saw at that time. JONES--How do you think she came by it? DIMSDALE--Truly I only gave an account just as I say now to the gentlemen at that time, I saw no more of it at that time, but about six weeks after the body was opened by Dr. Phillips---- COWPER--My lord, he is going to another piece of evidence and I would ask him---- JONES--Let us have done first; how was her ears? DIMSDALE--There was a blackness on both ears, a settling of blood. JONES--Call Sarah Kimpson. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Cowper, now you may ask him anything, they have done with him. COWPER--I would ask him, whether he was not employed to view these particular spots he mentions at the Coroner's inquest? DIMSDALE--I was desired to look upon the face and arms, and breast, because they said there was a settling of blood there. COWPER--When you returned to the Coroner's inquest, what did you certify as your opinion? DIMSDALE--I did certify that there was a settling of blood; but how it came I could not tell. COWPER--I ask you, Sir, did not you say it was no more than a common stagnation usual in dead bodies? DIMSDALE--I do not remember a word of it. COWPER--Sir, I would ask you; you say the spot was about the collar-bone; was it above or below? DIMSDALE--From the collar-bone downwards. COWPER--Had she any circle about her neck? DIMSDALE--No; not, upon my oath. _Sarah Kimpson_ saw the body examined; she saw a great bruise behind the ear, as big as her hand, and another under her collar-bone. JONES--Did you see nothing about her neck? KIMPSON--Nothing round her neck; on the side of her neck there was a mark. JONES--Was there any other part bruised? KIMPSON--Only her left wrist, and her body was very flat and lank. She saw the body the day it was found; it was not swollen; she did not see any water about it. She had seen a child which was drowned in the same place about ten weeks before; it was drowned at night and found the next morning; it was found at the bottom of the river, the eyes were shut, and the body was very much swelled. _Sarah Peppercorn_ saw the body of Sarah Stout when it was brought to Mrs. Stout's house. She saw bruises on the head and near the ear. Mrs. Stout asked her whether her daughter had been with child, and she said she had not; she was a midwife. _Elizabeth Husler_ was sworn. JONES--Had you the view of the body of Mrs. Sarah Stout the day you heard she was drowned? HUSLER--She was not drowned, my lord; I went thither and helped to pull off her clothes. JONES--In what condition was her body? HUSLER--Her body was very lank and thin, and no water appeared to be in it. There was no water about her mouth and nose; there were bruises at the top of the collar-bone and upon both her ears. _Ann Pilkington_ saw the body, and gave the same evidence as to its general condition as the other witnesses. COWPER--Had she any circle about her neck? PILKINGTON--No, not that I did see. COWPER--Pray, did you not make some deposition to that purpose that you know of? PILKINGTON--Sir, I never did, and dare not do it. COWPER--It was read against me in the King's Bench, and I will prove it; was not Mr. Mead with you at the time of your examination? PILKINGTON--Yes. COWPER--Did he not put in some words, and what were they? PILKINGTON--Not that I know of. COWPER--But you never swore so, upon your oath? PILKINGTON--No, I do not believe I did; if I did it was ignorantly. JONES--Here is her examination, it is 'cross her neck.' _Mr. Coatsworth_, a surgeon, was called and deposed that in April he had been sent for, by Dr. Phillips, to come to Hertford to see the body of Mrs. Stout, who had been six weeks buried. Various parts of the body were examined; the woman had not been with child; the intestines and stomach were full of air, but there was no water in them, or the breast, or lobes of the lungs; there was no water in the diaphragm. Then I remember I said, this woman could not be drowned, for if she had taken in water, the water must have rotted all the guts; that was the construction I made of it then; but for any marks about the head or neck, it was impossible for us to discover it, because they were so rotten. The inspection was made on the 28th of April, and the woman was drowned on the 13th of March. The doctor had offered to examine the skull, to see if it had been injured, 'but they did not suspect a broken skull in the case, and we did not examine it.' All the other parts were sound. JONES--Call John Dimsdale. COWPER--My lord, I would know, and I desire to be heard to this point; I think where the Coroner's inquest have viewed the body, and the relations have been heard, and the body buried, that it is not to be stirred afterwards for any private inspection of parties, that intend to make themselves prosecutors; but if it is to be taken up, it is to be done by some legal authority; for if it should be otherwise, any gentleman may be easily trepanned: for instance, if they should have thought fit, after the Coroner's view, to have broken the skull into a hundred pieces, this was a private view altogether among themselves. Certainly, if they intended to have prosecuted me, or any other gentleman upon this evidence, they ought to have given us notice, that we might have had some surgeons among them, to superintend their proceedings. My lord, with submission, this ought not to be given in evidence. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Cowper, I think you are not in earnest; there is no colour for this objection: if they did take up the body without notice, why should not that be evidence? unless you think they had a design to forswear themselves. COWPER--Had you a _Melius Inquirendum_, or any lawful warrant for making this inspection? COATSWORTH--No, there was not. HATSELL, BARON--Suppose they did an ill thing in taking up the body without some order, though I do not know any more ill in taking up that body than any other; but, however, is that any reason why we should not hear this evidence? COATSWORTH--Mr. Camblin, sir Wm. Cowper's surgeon, was there by. _Mr. Dimsdale, senior_, a surgeon, was sworn and deposed that he had been sent for on the 28th of April by Mrs. Stout, to view the body of her daughter. Finding her head so much mortified, down to her neck, we thought all the parts were seized, and had a consultation, whether we should open her or not; but Mrs. Stout was very enraged, because a great scandal had been raised, that her daughter was with child; and she said she would have her opened to clear her reputation. The body was examined, with the same result that the other witness had described, no water being found either in the stomach or the lungs. After this we had a consultation, to consider whether she was drowned or not drowned; and we were all of opinion that she was not drowned; only Mr. Camblin desired he might be excused from giving his opinion whether she was drowned or not; but all the rest of us did give our opinions that she was not drowned. The grounds for this opinion were the absence of water from the lungs and intestines; and this was a sign which would show whether she had been drowned or not weeks after her death. In answer to Cowper he admitted that he had never seen a body opened which had been drowned six weeks. If a body had been drowned a fortnight, the bowels would be so rotten that it would be impossible to come near it. _John Dimsdale, junior_, believed that the body had not been drowned, and signed a certificate to that effect after looking at the body; he believed it, because he found no water in the body. He had seen the child that was drowned the morning after it was drowned, and had found abundance of water in the body then. _Dr. Dimsdale_ saw the body after it was opened, and on finding no water in the thorax or abdomen, signed the certificate. Had the woman been drowned he would have expected to find water in the thorax. COWPER--Is it possible there should be water in the thorax according to your skill? DIMSDALE--Yes, we did think there would have been, if she had been drowned. He would have expected to find traces of it after six weeks. COWPER--Pray by what passage does the water go into the thorax? DIMSDALE--It will be very difficult for me to describe the manner here; but we should have found some in the stomach and intestines. COWPER--Pray, sir, how should it go into the thorax? DIMSDALE--By the lymphæduct, if carried by any means. No water would come into a body after it was dead, but he questioned whether or not it might come into the windpipe. COWPER--Sir, I would ask you, was you not angry that Mr. Camblin would not join with you in opinion? DIMSDALE--No. COWPER--Did you not tell him that you were a graduate physician, and was angry he would not join you? DIMSDALE--Suppose I did? HATSELL, BARON--But did you so or no? DIMSDALE--Yes, my lord, we had some words about it. JONES--Swear Dr. Coatsworth. (Which was done.) Now, my lord, we call these gentlemen that are doctors of skill, to know their opinions of them that are found floating without water in them, how they came by their death. DR. COATSWORTH--I have not seen many drowned bodies to make observation upon; but it is my opinion, that every body that is drowned, is suffocated by water passing down the windpipe into the lungs upon respiration; and at the same time, the water pressing upon the gullet, there will be a necessity of swallowing a great part of it into the stomach; I have been in danger of being drowned myself, and I was forced to swallow a great quantity of water. If a person was drowned, and taken out immediately, as soon as the suffocation was effected, I should not wonder if there were but little water in the stomach and guts; but if it lay in the water several hours, it must be very strange if the belly should not be full of water; but I will not say, it is impossible it should be otherwise. COWPER--I desire to know, whether this gentleman attempted to drown himself, or was in danger of being drowned by accident? DR. COATSWORTH--It was by accident: I was passing up the ship-side, and took hold of a loose rope instead of the entering rope, which failing me, I fell into the water. COWPER--But you struggled to save yourself from drowning? DR. COATSWORTH--I did so; I have seen several persons that have been drowned, and they have lain several days, until by fermentation they have been raised; but I never made my observations of any persons that have been drowned above six hours. JONES--Did you ever hear of any persons that, as soon as they were drowned, had swam above water? DR. COATSWORTH--I have not known such a case. COWPER--Did you ever know, Sir, a body that was otherwise killed, to float upon the water? DR. COATSWORTH--I never made any observation of that. HATSELL, BARON--Dr. Browne has a learned discourse, in his _Vulgar Errors_, upon this subject, concerning the floating of dead bodies; I do not understand it myself, but he hath a whole chapter about it.[46] _Then Dr. Nailor was sworn._ JONES--We ask you the same question that Dr. Coatsworth was asked, What is your opinion of dead bodies? If a body be drowned, will it have water in it or no? DR. NAILOR--My lord, I am of opinion, that it will have a quantity if it be drowned; but if there be no water in the body, I believe that the person was dead before it was put into the water. COWPER--I would ask the doctor one question, my lord, Whether he was not a constant voter against the interest of our family in this corporation? DR. NAILOR--I never did come to give a vote but sir William Cowper, or his son, opposed me, and said I had no right to vote. COWPER--I would have asked the same question of the Dimsdales, if I had remembered it; they are of another party, as this gentleman is. HATSELL, BARON--It is not at all material, as they are witnesses. Then call Mr. Babington. (Who was sworn.) JONES--Pray, what is your opinion of this matter? BABINGTON--I am of opinion, that all bodies that go into the water alive and are drowned, have water in them, and sink as soon as they are drowned, and do not rise so soon as this gentlewoman did. COWPER--Pray, what is your profession, Sir? BABINGTON--I am a surgeon. COWPER--Because Mr. Jones called you doctor. HATSELL, BARON--Did you ever see any drowned bodies? BABINGTON--Yes, my lord, once I had a gentlewoman a patient that was half an hour under water, and she lived several hours after, and in all that time she discharged a great quantity of water; I never heard of any that went alive into the water, and were drowned, that floated so soon as this gentlewoman did; I have heard so from physicians. HATSELL, BARON--I have heard so too, and that they are forced to tye a bullet to dead bodies thrown into the sea, that they might not rise again. COWPER--The reason of that is, that they should not rise again, not that they will not sink without it. But I would ask Mr. Babington, whether the gentlewoman he speaks of went into the water voluntarily, or fell in by accident? BABINGTON--By accident, but I believe that does not alter the case. _Dr. Burnet_ was called, and expressed an opinion that if a person jumped into the water or fell in by accident they would swallow and inhale water as long as they were alive, but not afterwards; and that they would sink. _Dr. Woodhouse_ expressed the same opinion. If a person had swallowed water in drowning, signs of it would be visible some time afterwards. JONES--Call Edward Clement. (Who was sworn.) Are not you a seaman? CLEMENT--Yes, Sir. JONES--How long have you been so? CLEMENT--Man I have writ myself but six years, but I have used the sea nine or ten years. JONES--Have you known of any men that have been killed, and thrown into the sea, or who have fallen in and been drowned? Pray tell us the difference as to their swimming and sinking. CLEMENT--In the year '89 or '90, in Beachy fight, I saw several thrown overboard during the engagement, but one particularly I took notice of, that was my friend, and killed by my side; I saw him swim for a considerable distance from the ship; and a ship coming under our stern, caused me to lose sight of him, but I saw several dead bodies floating at the same time; likewise in another engagement, where a man had both his legs shot off, and died instantly, they threw over his legs; though they sunk, I saw his body float: likewise I have seen several men who have died natural deaths at sea, they have when they have been dead had a considerable weight of ballast and shot made fast to them, and so were thrown overboard; because we hold it for a general rule, that all men swim if they be dead before they come into the water; and on the contrary, I have seen men when they have been drowned, that they have sunk as soon as the breath was out of their bodies, and I could see no more of them. For instance, a man fell out of the _Cornwall_, and sunk down to rights, and seven days afterwards we weighed anchor, and he was brought up grasping his arm about the cable, and we have observed in several cases, that where men fall overboard, as soon as their breath is out of their bodies they sink downright; and on the contrary, where a dead body is thrown overboard without weight, it will swim. JONES--You have been in a fight; how do bodies float after a battle? CLEMENT--Men float with their heads just down, and the small of their back and buttocks upwards; I have seen a great number of them, some hundreds in Beachy-head fight, when we engaged the French. I was in the old _Cambridge_ at that time. I saw several (what number I will not be positive, but there were a great number, I cannot guess to a score) that did really swim, and I could see them float for a considerable distance. JONES--Have you seen a shipwreck? CLEMENT--Yes; the _Coronation_, in September 1691. I was then belonging to the _Dutchess_, under the command of captain Clement; we looked out and see them taking down their masts; we saw the men walking up and down on the right side, and the ship sink down, and they swam up and down like a shoal of fish one after another; and I see them hover one upon another and see them drop away by scores at a time; and there was an account of about nineteen that saved themselves, some by boats, and others by swimming; but there were no more saved out of the ship's complement, which was between five and six hundred, and the rest I saw sinking downright, some twenty at a time. There was a fisherman brought our captain word, that in laying in of his nets he drew up some men close under the rocks that were drowned belonging to the _Coronation_. We generally throw in bags of ballast with them. JONES--I suppose all men that are drowned, you sink them with weights? CLEMENT--Formerly shot was allowed for that purpose; there used to be threescore weight of iron, but now it is a bag of ballast that is made fast to them. JONES--Then, you take it for a certain rule, that those that are drowned sink, but those that are thrown overboard do not? CLEMENT--Yes; otherwise why should the government be at that vast charge to allow threescore or fourscore weight of iron to sink every man, but only that their swimming about should not be a discouragement to others? _Then Richard Gin was sworn._ JONES--You hear the question; pray what do you say to it? GIN--I was at sea a great while, and all the men that I see turned overboard had a great weight at their heels to sink them. JONES--Then will they swim otherwise? GIN--So they say. JONES--Are you a seaman? GIN--I went against my will in two fights. JONES--Then, gentlemen of the jury, I hope we have given you satisfaction that Mrs. Stout did not drown herself, but was carried into the water after she was killed. That was the first question; for if it be true that all dead bodies when they are put into the water do swim, and the bodies that go alive into the water and are drowned do sink, this is sufficient evidence that she came by her death not by drowning, but some other way. Now, my lord, as to the second matter, and that is to give such evidence as we have against these gentlemen at the bar. Mr. Cowper, it appears, was the last man that any one give an account of was in her company. What became of her afterwards, or where they went, nobody can tell; but the other witnesses have given you evidence that he was the last man that was with her. I shall only give this further evidence as to Mr. Cowper, that notwithstanding all the civility and kindnesses that passed between him and this family, when the bruit and noise of this fact was spread abroad, Mr. Cowper did not come to consider and consult with old Mrs. Stout what was to be done; but he took no manner of notice of it, and the next day he rode out of town, without further taking notice of it. Call _George Aldridge_ and _John Archer_. _John Archer was sworn._ JONES--Do you know anything of Mr. Cowper's going out of town about this business of Mrs. Stout's being drowned? ARCHER--Yes, I did see him go out of town afterwards. JONES--Which way did he go? ARCHER--He went the way back from the Glove; I suppose he came that way. COWPER--What day was it I went? Is it not the way that I used to go when I go the Circuit into Essex? ARCHER--Yes, I believe so. COWPER--I lodged at Mr. Barefoot's, and he has a back-door to the Glove, where my horse was, and I went the direct way into Essex, and it was Wednesday morning: What day was it you see me go? ARCHER--It was on the Wednesday morning. COWPER--That was the very day I went into Essex. _Then George Aldridge was sworn._ JONES--When did Mr. Cowper go out of town the last assizes? ALDRIDGE--On Wednesday. JONES--Which way did he go? ALDRIDGE--He went the way to Chelmsford. JONES--Did you not fetch his horse from Stout's? ALDRIDGE--Yes, sir. JONES--How often did you go for it? ALDRIDGE--Three times. JONES--When? ALDRIDGE--On Tuesday night I sent once, and went twice myself; the first time there was nobody at home to deliver the horse; so I went to Mr. Stout's, and asked him about the horse, and he said he could not deliver him till the maid went home; and then I went about eleven o'clock and had the horse. HATSELL, BARON--Was it eleven at night? ALDRIDGE--Yes, my lord. COWPER--When I sent you to fetch my horse, what directions did I give you? ALDRIDGE--You gave me directions to fetch your horse, because you said you should have occasion to go out next morning betimes with the judge. COWPER--The reason I sent for my horse was this; when I heard she had drowned herself, I think it concerned me in prudence to send a common hostler for him, for fear the lord of the manor should seize all that was there as forfeited.[47] HATSELL, BARON--There was no danger of that, for she was found _Non compos mentis_. COWPER--No, my lord, I sent before the verdict. JONES--It seems you did not think fit to go and take horse there yourself, though you put your horse there. Now, my lord, we will go on, and give the other evidence that we opened concerning these three other gentlemen that came to town; two of them took lodgings at Gurrey's at five in the afternoon, but did not come in till between eleven and twelve, and then they brought another in with them; and though he had been in town five or six hours, his feet were wet in his shoes, and his head was of a reeky sweat; he had been at some hard labour I believe, and not drinking himself into such a sweat. Call _John Gurrey_, _Matthew Gurrey_, and _Elizabeth Gurrey_. _John Gurrey was sworn._ JONES--Do you know any of the gentlemen at the bar? J. GURREY--Yes. JONES--Name who you know. J. GURREY--There is Mr. Stephens, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Marson. JONES--Pray do you remember when they took lodging at your house? J. GURREY--The last assizes; when they first came, there was only Mr. Stephens and Mr. Rogers. JONES--At what time did they take it? J. GURREY--I was at church, and cannot tell that, they hired the lodgings of my wife. JONES--What can you say more? J. GURREY--I was in at night when they came; there came three of them at eleven at night, whereof Mr. Marson was the third person and he said he was destitute of a lodging and he asked for a spare bed; my wife told him she had one, but had let it; whereupon Mr. Stevens and Mr. Rogers said he should lodge with them; so they went up altogether, and they called for a fire to be kindled, and asked for the landlord, which was I, and they asked me to fetch a bottle of wine, and I told them I would fetch a quart, which I did, and then they asked me to sit down and drink with them, which I did; and then they asked me if one Mrs. Sarah Stout did not live in the town, and whether she was a fortune? I said Yes. Then they said they did not know how to come to the sight of her; and I said I would shew them her to-morrow morning, not questioning but I might see her sometime as she was coming down the street; so they said they would go to see her. Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stephens charged Mr. Marson with being her old sweet-heart; saith Mr. Marson, she hath thrown me off, but a friend of mine will be even with her by this time. HATSELL, BARON--What o'clock was it then? J. GURREY--I reckon eleven of the clock when they came in. HATSELL, BARON--Did you observe in what condition Mr. Marson was in? J. GURREY--I did not observe, only that he was hot, and put by his wig; I see his head was wet, and he said he was just come from London, and that made him in such a heat. JONES--Had he shoes or boots on? J. GURREY--I did not observe that. JONES--What did they do the next day? J. GURREY--The next morning I heard this party was in the water; I sat up all night, and was fain to wait till my daughter came down to look after the shop; and then I went to see her, and she removed into the barn, and they were wiping her face, closing her eyes, and putting up her jaws; and as I came back these persons were walking, and I met Mr. Marson and Mr. Stephens, and told them the news; said I, this person has come to a sad accident: say they, so we hear; but nevertheless we will be as good as our word, and go and see her. I went with them and overtook Mr. Rogers; and Marson said we are going to see Mrs. Stout. 'O landlord!' said Rogers, 'you may take up that rogue' (pointing at Mr. Marson) 'for what he said last night'; but I did not think, they speaking so jocularly, that there was any suspicion of their being concerned in the murder. A second time I went, the barn-door was locked; I knocked, and they opened it, and let us in, and they uncovered her face to let me see her, and I touched her; and looking about for them they were gone, and I cannot say they see her or touched her: Then Mr. Marson and they were consulting how to send a great-coat to London, and I directed them to a coachman at the Bell-inn; but I did not hear he went to enquire after the coachman; then they went to your lordship's chamber, and I went home; and about eleven o'clock I saw Mr. Marson and Mr. Stephens coming down with Mr. Spencer Cowper. MARSON--I did not go out that night after I came in. JONES--No; we agree that. Did you see Mr. Cowper and these gentlemen together? J. GURREY--Only at eleven o'clock on Tuesday noon, Mr. Cowper, Mr. Marson, and Mr. Stephens were coming down to the market place. JONES--Did not they take their leave of you when they went away from you that forenoon? J. GURREY--No; only in the morning they told me they would send me word at noon if they intended to lodge there. MARSON--I desire to know of Mr. Gurrey, if his sister was not in the room when we came in? J. GURREY--She was in our house that day; but whether when they came in I cannot tell. COWPER--Pray, have you not had some discourse with your sister, the widow Davis, concerning some suspicion that you had of Sarah Walker, that hath been produced as a witness? J. GURREY--I do not remember any such. COWPER--Then did not you say these words, We must not concern ourselves with Sarah Walker, for she is the only witness against the Cowpers? J. GURREY--I cannot remember any such thing. HATSELL, BARON--You may answer according to the best of what you remember; if you say you have forgot when you have not, you are forsworn. COWPER--If your lordship pleases to give leave to Mr. Gurrey to recollect himself, I ask him, Whether he did not talk with his sister Davis about some suspicion his wife and he had about Sarah Walker, the maid-servant of the deceased? J. GURREY--I believe there might be some talk of a person that was seen to go into the churchyard at some distance with Sarah Walker. COWPER--Did your wife say that she did suspect that person? J. GURREY--Yes. COWPER--Did your wife say they behaved themselves strangely, and that she would have persuaded the widow Blewit to have watched her? J. GURREY--There was something of that. COWPER--Was there not some such words, that they must not meddle with Sarah Walker, for she is the witness against the Cowpers? J. GURREY--I said, Do not concern yourself with Sarah Walker, for fear of taking off her evidence. COWPER--Pray did not the widow Davis warm the sheets for these gentlemen? J. GURREY--She was with my wife, but I cannot say whether she warmed the sheets. COWPER--When they came home, had you any lodgers that wanted to come home? Had not you one Gape? J. GURREY--I cannot say whether he was in before or after them. COWPER--Did not you say to your sister Davis, Now these gentlemen are in bed, if Mr. Gape would come home, our family would be quiet? J. GURREY--I do not remember that. COWPER--Pray, did not you go to look for Mr. Gape? J. GURREY--Yes, I went to Hockley's. COWPER--Who did you employ to speak to Mr. Gape? J. GURREY--Mrs. Hockley. COWPER--When you came home to your own house, and after you had been at Hockley's to speak with Mr. Gape, what account did you give of the time of night, and other particulars? J. GURREY--I gave no account of the time. COWPER--Not to Mrs. Davis? J. GURREY--I cannot tell whether I did or no. COWPER--Did not you say, Mr. Gape asked Mrs. Hockley what a-clock it was? J. GURREY--No, I do not remember that; but Mrs. Hockley went in, and told him what time of night it was; it was eleven or twelve of the clock, which I cannot say. JONES--Call Martha Gurrey. (Who was sworn.) Which of these gentlemen do you know? MRS. GURREY--Mr. Marson, Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Stephens. JONES--What time of the night was it when they came to your house? give an account of it, and what you heard them say. MRS. GURREY--It was a little after five, or thereabouts that they came. JONES--Who came? MRS. GURREY--Mr. Stephens, and Mr. Rogers, and there was one Mr. Gilbert, that married a first cousin of mine; he came and asked me for my husband; and I asked him his business, and he said he wanted to speak to him. JONES--Pray come to these men; when did they come to your house? MRS. GURREY--They hired the lodging at five of the clock. When they first came to see them I was not at home; Mr. Gilbert brought them, and as I was coming along the street I saw Mr. Gilbert walking off, and would not look at me. JONES--When did they go out? MRS. GURREY--They never staid there. JONES--When did they come in again? MRS. GURREY--Between eleven and twelve. HATSELL, BARON--What did they do when they came again? MRS. GURREY--I was laying on some sheets two pairs of stairs when they came, and then there was three of them; so they saw me a little after, and begged my excuse for bringing in another, for they said it was so late that they could not get a lodging any where else: and said, if I thought fit, the gentleman should lie with them: And I told them I liked it very well. JONES--What firing had they? MRS. GURREY--The firing I laid on in the morning, and they sent for my husband to fetch them some wine. JONES--What did you hear them talk on? MRS. GURREY--They discoursed with my husband, and asked him if he knew Mrs. Sarah Stout; and one of them said to Mr. Marson, I think she was an old sweetheart of yours; Ay, said he, but she turned me off, but a friend of mine is even with her: And Mr. Rogers said he was in with her; and afterwards said, her business was done. They had a bundle, that was wrapt up in pure white cloth, like to an apron, but I cannot say it was an apron; and there was a parcel hanging loose by it; and when he laid it down he said, he would pass his word Mrs. Sarah Stout's courting days were over; and I said, I hoped it was no hurt to the gentlewoman; and then I looking upon Mr. Marson, saw him put his peruke aside, and his head reeked, and he told them he was but just come from London that night, which made him disappointed of a lodging. JONES--What did you hear them say about any money? MRS. GURREY--I asked them how they would have their bed warmed? And Mr. Marson answered, very hot: With that I went down to send my daughter up, and she could not go presently; I told her then she must go as soon as she could. HATSELL, BARON--Pray, do not tell us what passed between you and your daughter: What do you know of these gentlemen? MRS. GURREY--I went to the next room, to see if every thing was as it should be; I hearkened, and they had some discourse about money, and I heard somebody (I do not know who it should be except it were Mr. Stephens) answer and say, the use money was paid to-night; but what money they meant I cannot tell. JONES--What did you find when they were gone? MRS. GURREY--Sir, I found a cord at the end of the trunk. JONES--Was it there in the morning, or before they came? MRS. GURREY--No, it could not have been, for I swept my room, and wiped down the dust. JONES--Was the cord white? MRS. GURREY--No, it was more dirty than it is now, for my husband and I have worn it in our pockets. COWPER--Pray, who brought the cord down from above stairs? MRS. GURREY--My daughter that lived with me, and she laid it upon the shelf. COWPER--Did not you hear there was a coroner's inquest sitting? MRS. GURREY--The next day at night I did hear of it. COWPER--Why did not you go to the coroner's inquest and give an account of it there? MRS. GURREY--I told my husband of it, and I asked my husband if he did not hear what they said concerning Mrs. Sarah Stout? And he answered, yes, they ought to be taken up for the words they said last night: Why, saith I, do not you take notice of it? I think you ought to take them up. But he went out of doors, and I saw no more of him till the afternoon. When I heard the words, I thought somebody had stole away and got to bed to her. COWPER--Pray, if your husband heard these words, why did not he go to the coroner's inquest? MRS. GURREY--I did speak to him to have them taken up. COWPER--Why did he not do it? MRS. GURREY--He said he would not do it, he did not know but it might cost him his life. JONES--How came you after this to discover it? MRS. GURREY--Because I was so troubled in mind I could not rest night nor day; and I told him if he would not tell of it, I would tell of it myself, for I was not able to live. _Elizabeth Gurrey was sworn._ JONES--Pray, do you know Mr. Rogers, Mr. Stephens, and Mr. Marson? E. GURREY--I know Mr. Marson, and these are the other gentlemen, I reckon. JONES--What discourse did you hear from them? E. GURREY--Mr. Marson asked the other gentlemen how much money they had spent? the other answered, what was that to him? you have had forty or fifty pounds to your share. Then the other asked him, whether the business was done? And he answered, he believed it was; but if it was not done, it would be done to-night. Then, my lord, he pulled a handful of money out of his pocket, and swore he would spend it all for joy the business was done. JONES--Was Mr. Cowper's name mentioned? E. GURREY--I heard them mention Mr. Cowper's name, but not Mrs. Sarah Stout's. JONES--What condition was the gentleman's shoes in? E. GURREY--I think it was Mr. Marson, his shoes were very wet and dirty; one of them was very hot, and he wiped his head with his handkerchief. JONES--Now, my lord, we have done as to our evidence. Mr. Marson pretended he was just then alighted and come from London, and was in a great heat, and his shoes were wet: for when he was examined, he said, he came to town about eight of the clock, and went to the Glove and Dolphin inn, and stayed there till he came to his lodging. Now it was a wonderful thing that he should come wet shod from a tavern, where he had been sitting four or five hours together. _Then the Examination of Mr. John Marson was read_: The Examination of JOHN MARSON, taken before me, this 27th day of April, 1692. 'Who being examined where he was on Monday the 13th of March last, saith, That he was at the borough of Southwark (he being an attorney of the said court) till past 4 of the clock in the afternoon; and saith, that he set out from Southwark for Hertford soon after, and came to Hertford about eight the same afternoon, and put up his horse at the sign of , an inn there, and then went to the Hand and Glove, together with Godfrey Gimbart, esq., Ellis Stephens, William Rogers, and some others, where they stayed till about eleven of the clock at night, and then this examinant went thence directly to the house of John Gurrey, with the said Stephens and Rogers, who lay together in the said Gurrey's house all that night. And being asked what he said concerning the said Mrs. Sarah Stout, deceased, this examinant saith, that on Sunday the 12th of March last, this examinant being in company with one Thomas Marshall, and telling him that this examinant intended the next day for Hertford, with the marshal of the King's Bench, the said Thomas Marshall desired this examinant and the said Stephens, who was then also in company, that they would go and see the said Sarah Stout (his sweetheart). He confesseth, that he did ask the said Gurrey, if he would shew this examinant where the said Stout lived; telling the said Gurrey that his name was Marshall, and asked him if he never heard of him before; and jocularly said, that he would go and see her the next morning, but doth not believe that he said any thing that any friend was even with the said Sarah Stout, or to such like effect. And doth confess, that he did the next day, upon the said Gurrey's telling him that the said Stout was drowned, say, that he would keep his word, and would see her. And saith, that meeting with Mr. Cowper (who is this examinant's acquaintance) he believes he did talk with him concerning the said Stout's being drowned, this examinant having seen her body that morning. JOHN MARSON. '_Cogn. Die et Anno antedict. Coram J. Holt._' JONES--All that I observe from it, is this: That he had been five hours in town, and when he came to his lodging, he came in wet and hot, and said he was just come from London. MARSON--I had rid forty miles that day, and could not be soon cold. HATSELL, BARON--They have done now for the king; come, Mr. Cowper, what do you say to it? JONES--If your lordship please, we will call one witness more, Mary Richardson. Mrs. Richardson, do you know Mr. Marson, or any of these gentlemen? MRS. RICHARDSON--They came on Tuesday night to the Bell at Hoddesdon, and lay there, and one of the gentlemen, when I was warming the sheets, asked me if I knew Mrs. Sarah Stout? And I said Yes. He asked me if I knew which way she came to her end? And I told him I could not tell. JONES--Is that all? What did they say more? MRS. RICHARDSON--They did desire and wish it might be found out how it came about; and one gentleman took no notice of her at all. They had a little bundle, but what was in it I cannot tell, but there I saw it bound up in some coloured stuff or other, but what it was I cannot tell. JONES--Is that all you can say? MRS. RICHARDSON--Yes, that is all. JONES--Then we have done. HATSELL, BARON--Come, Mr. Cowper, what do you say to it? COWPER--Now they have done on the part of the king, my lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, I must beg your patience for my defence. I confess it was an unfortunate accident for me (as Mr. Jones calls it) that I happened to be the last person (for aught appears) in the company of a melancholy woman. The discourse occasioned by this accident had been a sufficient misfortune to me, without any thing else to aggravate it; but I did not in the least imagine that so little, so trivial an evidence as here is, could possibly have affected me to so great a degree, as to bring me to this place to answer for the worst fact that the worst of men can be guilty of. My lord, your lordship did just now observe, that I have appeared at the bar for my clients; but I must say too, that I never appeared for myself under this, or the like circumstances, as a criminal, for any offence whatsoever. He then goes on to point out that there is no positive evidence against him, but only suppositions and inferences--what to-day would be called circumstantial evidence; and that even admitting the evidence of the prosecution, it is as strong to show that the deceased woman was not murdered as that she was. Even if the evidence proved that Mrs. Stout was murdered, there was nothing to show that he or his fellow-prisoners were guilty of the murder. The body was not floating when it was found, as could be shown by the parish officers who were employed by the coroner to take it out of the water. It in fact had sunk, and had then been carried by the force of the stream sideways up the stakes which were about a foot apart pointing down stream; and yet the alleged fact that the body was floating was the only evidence produced to prove that the woman was not drowned. Evidence would be given to prove that the fact that the body contained little or no water was immaterial, for drowning takes place when only a very little water is received into the lungs; and in a case of suicide it is probable that water would enter the lungs sooner than it would in cases of accident. As to the evidence derived from the examination of the body after exhumation, it ought not to have been given, as the exhumation was itself an offence; 'but as it is I have no reason to apprehend it, being able to make it appear that the gentlemen who spoke to this point have delivered themselves in that manner either out of extreme malice, or a most profound ignorance; this will be so very plain upon my evidence, that I must take the liberty to impute one or both of these causes to the gentlemen that have argued from their observations upon that matter.' It had been suggested that he had an interest in the death of the deceased by reason of holding money of hers which he had received as her trustee or guardian. He had been concerned in investing some £200 in a mortgage for the deceased the previous December; he had paid over this money to the mortgagees, and the mortgage had been found by the prosecutors among the papers of the deceased after her death. This was the only money transaction he had ever had with her. The prosecution had proved that there was no concealment of shame to induce him to murder her; and that, though they had no inclination to favour him. He would produce evidence to show that the dead woman committed suicide, though he only did so most unwillingly and under compulsion. The prosecution had shown that she was melancholy, and he could show that she had reason for making away with herself. This he would do by producing letters of hers, which were he alone concerned he would not allude to; but as he was in honour bound to make the best defence he could for his fellow-prisoners, he had no choice in the matter. The maid Walker was the only person who gave any direct evidence against him, and she said that she heard the door shut at a quarter past eleven, and that on going downstairs directly afterwards she found that both he and the deceased had left the house. But he would prove that he had entered the Glove Inn as the town clock struck eleven, that he had stayed there a quarter of an hour, that after he had done several things at his lodgings he had gone to bed by twelve, and had not gone out again that night. He had sent to fetch his horse from Mrs. Stout's house on Tuesday morning, as was only prudent, but he had told the man whom he sent that he would not want it till the next day, when he was going into Essex with the rest of the circuit, which he did. He had not heard that his name was connected with Mrs. Stout's death till two months after the event; and the prosecution had in fact been set on foot by the Quakers, who were scandalised at the idea of one of their number committing suicide, and the political opponents of his father and brother in the town. Cowper went on to explain that he always had the offer of a share in his brother's lodgings, which were some of the best in the town, whenever the latter went circuit, 'which out of good husbandry I always accepted.' At the time of the last circuit, when the present case arose, Parliament was sitting, and his brother 'being in the money chair,' could not attend. As Cowper had been invited to lodge with Mrs. Stout during the assizes and wished to accept the invitation, he asked his brother to ask Barefoot, the keeper of his lodgings, to dispose of them if he could. The brother said he would do so 'if he could think on it,' and accordingly Cowper went down to Hertford intending to lodge with Mrs. Stout unless his brother had failed to write to Barefoot. On arriving at Hertford he found that his brother had not written to Barefoot, and that the rooms there were ready for him. He accordingly stayed there, sent to the coffee-house for his bag, and took up his lodging at Barefoot's as usual. As soon as he had done this, the maid Walker came round from Mrs. Stout's to invite him to dinner there. He accepted the invitation, and also a further invitation to come again in the evening; but he did not agree to sleep there. When he came the second time he paid the deceased the interest on her mortgage, some six pounds odd, in guineas and half-guineas, which money was found in her pocket after she was drowned. He wrote a receipt for the money, which she refused to sign; she pressed him to stay there that night, which he refused to do. He then went on:-- 'My lord, I open my defence shortly, referring the particulars to the witnesses themselves, in calling those who will fully refute the suppositions and inferences made by the prosecutor, whom first, my lord, I shall begin with, to show there is no evidence of any murder at all committed; and this I say again, ought to be indisputably made manifest and proved, before any man can be so much as suspected for it. HATSELL, BARON--Do not flourish too much, Mr. Cowper; if you have opened all your evidence, call your witnesses, and when they have ended, then make your observations. MR. COWPER--Then, my lord, I will take up no more of your time in opening this matter. Call Robert Dew. (Who appeared.) When Mrs. Sarah Stout drowned herself, was not you a parish officer? DEW--I was. I was next house to the Coach and Horses; and about six o'clock came a little boy (Thomas Parker's boy), and said there was a woman fallen into the river. I considered it was not my business, but the coroner's, and I sent the boy to the coroner, to acquaint him with it, and the coroner sent word by the boy, and desired she might be taken out; so I went to the river, and saw her taken out: she lay in the river (as near as I could guess) half a foot in the water; she was covered with water; she had a striped petticoat on, but nothing could be seen of it above water. I heaved her up, and several sticks were underneath her, and flags; and when they took her out, she frothed at the nose and mouth. COWPER--How was she? Was she driven between the stakes? DEW--She lay on the right side, her head leaning rather downwards: and as they pulled her up, I cried, 'Hold, hold, hold, you hurt her arm'; and so they kneeled down and took her arm from the stakes. COWPER--Did you see any spot upon her arm? DEW--Yes, sir. COWPER--What sort of spot was it? DEW--It was reddish; I believe the stakes did it; for her arm hit upon the stake where she lay. COWPER--Pray, how do these stakes stand about the bridge of the mill? DEW--I suppose they stand about a foot asunder; they stand slanting, leaning down the stream a little. COWPER--Could you discern her feet? DEW--No, nothing like it, nor the striped petticoat she had on. COWPER--Might not her knees and legs be upon the ground, for what you could see? DEW--Truly, if I were put upon my oath whether they were so, or not, I durst not swear it; sometimes the water there is four feet, sometimes three and a-half; I believe her feet were very near the bottom. COWPER--Are not the stakes nailed with their head against the bridge? DEW--They are nailed to the side of the bridge. COWPER--Pray, describe the manner in which they took her up. DEW--They stooped down, and took her up. COWPER--Did they take her up at once? DEW--They had two heavings, or more. COWPER--What was the reason they did not take her up at once? DEW--Because I cried out, 'They hurt her arm.' COWPER--Was she not within the stakes? DEW--No, this shoulder kept her out. COWPER--When you complained they hurt her arm, what answer did they make you? DEW--They stooped down and took her arm out from between the stakes; they could not have got her out else. COWPER--After she was taken out, did you observe any froth or foam come from her mouth or nose? DEW--There was a white froth came from her, and as they wiped it away, it was on again presently. COWPER--What was the appearance of her face and upper parts at that time? DEW--She was so much disfigured, I believe that scarce any of her neighbours knew her, the slime of the water being upon her. COWPER--Did you see her maid Sarah Walker at that time? DEW--No. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Cowper, do you intend to spend so much time with every witness? I do not see to what purpose many of these questions are asked. COWPER--I have done with him: call Young. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Cowper, I would not have you straiten yourself, but only ask those questions that are pertinent. COWPER--Pray, give an account of what you know of the matter. YOUNG--On Tuesday morning between five and six o'clock, last assizes---- COWPER--What officer did you say? YOUNG--I was constable. COWPER--Was you employed by the coroner? YOUNG--Not by him in person. Between five and six o'clock some of the men that came into my yard to work, told me a woman was drowned at the mill; I staid a little and went down to see, and when I came there, I saw a woman, as they had told me, and I saw part of her coat lie on the top of the water to be seen, and I looked strictly and nicely within the bridge and saw the face of a woman, and her left arm was on the outside the stakes, which I believe kept her from going through; so I looked upon her very wishfully, and was going back again; and as I came back I met with R. Dew and two of my neighbours, and they asked me to go back with them, and said they were going to take her up; and being constable, I told them I thought it was not proper to do it, and they said they had orders for it; so I being constable went back with them, and when I came there I found her in the same posture as before; we viewed her very wishfully; her coat that was driven near the stakes was seen, but none of her coats, or her legs; and after we had looked a little while upon her, we spake to Dell and Ulse to take her up, and one of them took hold of her coat till he brought her above water; and as her arm drew up, I saw a black place, and she laid sideway, that he could not take her up till they had let her down again, and so they twisted her out sideway; for the stakes were so near together that she could not lie upon her belly, or upon her back; and when they had taken her up, they laid her down upon a green place, and after she was laid down, a great quantity of froth (like the froth of new beer) worked out of her nostrils. HATSELL, BARON--How much do you call a great quantity? YOUNG--It rose up in bladders, and run down on the sides of her face, and so rose again; and seeing her look like a gentlewoman, we desired one Ulse to search her pockets, to see if there were any letters, that we might know who she was; so the woman did, and I believe there was twenty or more of us that knew her very well when she was alive, and not one of us knew her then; and the woman searched her pockets, and took out six guineas, ten shillings, three pence halfpenny, and some other things; and after that I desired some of my neighbours to go with me and tell the money; for when it came to be known who she was, I knew we must give an account on it, and I laid it upon a block and told it, and they tyed it up in a handkerchief, and I said I would keep the money, and they should seal it up to prevent any question about it; and during all this while of discourse, and sealing up the money, the froth still worked out of her mouth. COWPER--Have you measured the depth of the water? What depth is it there? YOUNG--I measured the water this morning, and it was so high that it ran over the floodgate, and the height of it was about four foot two inches; but sometimes it is pent up to a greater height than it is to-day. COWPER--Was it higher to-day than when the body was found? YOUNG--To the best of my remembrance, it was as high to-day as it was then. COWPER--Was any part of the body above water? YOUNG--No, nor nothing like the body could be seen. COWPER--Could you see where her legs lay? YOUNG--No, nor nothing but her upper coats, which were driven against the stakes. COWPER--Pray give an account how long she lay there, and when she was conveyed away? YOUNG--I stayed a quarter of an hour, and then I went and sealed up the money at my own house, so that I did not see her removed. JONES--Was anybody there besides yourself at this time? YOUNG--Yes; twenty people at the least. JONES--Now here is ten of them that have sworn that the body was above the surface of the water. HATSELL, BARON--No, her cloaths, they say, were, but the body was something under the water. COWPER--Now I will trouble your lordship no more with that fact, but I will give you an account of the coroner's inquest, how diligent they were in their proceedings, and produce a copy of the inquisition itself, that she was found to have drowned herself. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Cowper, that is no evidence if it be produced in order to contradict what these witnesses have said, that have been examined for the king; but if you will prove that they have sworn otherwise before the coroner than they now do, then you say something, otherwise the coroner's inquest signifies nothing as to the present question. COWPER--Call Thomas Wall. I am loth to be troublesome; but, if you please to favour me, I desire to know of them whether they do admit there was an inquisition, and that she was found _non compos mentis_ and did kill herself. JONES--We do admit it. JURYMAN--We desire it may be read. HATSELL, BARON--Why, will not you believe what they agree to on both sides? JURYMAN--If they do agree so, I am satisfied. _Wall_ was one of the coroner's jury, and saw the marks on the body which he described; Mr. Camlin and the younger Dimsdale were requested to examine them, which they did, and reported that they were no more than were usual in such cases. Wall refreshed his memory from his notes, and said that Sarah Walker had said that it was about eleven when she had taken the coals up to warm Cowper's bed, but she could not say when it was that Cowper went out, for she took up some more coals, and then tarried a little, and then went down and found that Cowper and her mistress had gone out. HATSELL, BARON--The woman said the same thing. COWPER--It is necessary in this particular as to time. HATSELL, BARON--She told you the clocks did differ. _Bowden_ and _Shute_ gave evidence as to the finding of the body and as to its state when found, corroborating the other witnesses. COWPER--My lord, I am very tender how I take up your lordship's time, and therefore I will not trouble you with any more witnesses on this head; but with your lordship's leave I will proceed to call some physicians of note and eminence, to confront the learning of the gentlemen on the other side. _Dr. Sloane_[48] said he had not heard the other witnesses very distinctly, because of the crowd; but that cases of the present kind were very uncommon, and that none of them had fallen under his own knowledge. It was plain that a great quantity of water might be swallowed without suffocation; drunkards, who swallow freely a great deal of liquor, and those who are forced by the civil law to drink a great quantity of water, which in giving the question (as it is called) is poured into them by way of torture to make them confess crimes,[49] have no suffocation or drowning happen to them. But on the other hand, when any quantity comes into the windpipe, so it does hinder or intercept the inspiration, or coming in of the air, which is necessary for the respiration, or breathing, the person is suffocated. Such a small quantity will do, as sometimes in prescriptions, when people have been very weak, or forced to take medicines, I have observed some spoonfuls in that condition (if it went the wrong way) to have choaked or suffocated the person. He took drowning to be when water got into the windpipe or lungs, and believed that whether a person fell into the water alive or dead, some quantity would find its way there. He inclined to believe that the general condition of the body was consistent with the woman having been drowned. _Dr. Garth_ gave reasons for disagreeing with the doctors called for the prosecution in considering that the general state of the body proved that the woman had not been drowned, pointing out that it was as unnatural for a human body to float on its side, as for a shilling to rest on its edge, or for a deal board to float edgewise rather than otherwise. In spite of what had been said about the seamen, he believed that dead bodies would generally sink. HATSELL, BARON--But you do not observe my question; the seamen said that those that die at sea and are thrown overboard, if you do not tye a weight to them, they will not sink; what say you to that? DR. GARTH--My lord, no doubt in this they are mistaken. The seamen are a superstitious people, they fancy that whistling at sea will occasion a tempest. I must confess I have never seen anybody thrown overboard, but I have tried some experiments on other dead animals, and they will certainly sink; we have tried this since we came here hither. Now, my lord, I think we have reason to suspect the seaman's evidence; for he saith that three-score pound of iron is allowed to sink the dead bodies, whereas six or seven pounds would do as well. I cannot think the commissioners of the navy guilty of so ill husbandry; but the design of tying weights to their bodies, is to prevent their floating at all, which otherwise would happen in some few days; therefore what I say is this, that if these gentlemen had found a cord, or the print of it, about the neck of this unfortunate gentlewoman, or any wound that had occasioned her death, they might then have said something. _Dr. Morley_ was called, and supported the view that a drowned body need not necessarily have much water in it, and that it need not float. He had tried experiments on two dogs the night before; he drowned them both, and dissecting one found no water in its stomach, while the other sank to the bottom of the water. _Dr. Woollaston_ and _Dr. Gelstrop_ both gave evidence to the same effect as the preceding witnesses. COWPER--Now, my lord, I would call Mr. William Cowper; and because of his name, I must acquaint your lordship that he is not at all acquainted with me, though I should be proud to own him if he were so; he is a man of great learning, and I believe, most people admit him to be the best anatomist in Europe. Mr. Cowper, will you give your opinion of this matter? _Mr. W. Cowper_[50] accordingly, premising that he would not only 'speak, from reason,' but give an account of experiments, stated that the symptoms described were consistent with drowning; this is a truth that no man can deny who is acquainted with any thing of this nature, that when the head of an animal is under water, the first time it is obliged to inspire (or draw in air) the water will necessarily flow into its lungs, as the air would do if it were out of the water; which quantity of water (if the dimensions of the windpipe and its branches in the lungs be considered), will not amount to three inches square, which is about three ounces of water. And this quantity of water would be sufficient to cause suffocation, and after suffocation, swallowing would become impossible. This he said, not by way of conjecture or hypothesis, but as the result of experiment. I shall by the bye, tell you how fallacious the first experiment was, when I proposed to satisfy myself whether a dead body would float in water. It happened that a spaniel, that had a great deal of long hair was hanged for this purpose, which I found to float on the surface of the water; but when I considered that his hair might buoy him up, I caused another dog, which had shorter and less hair, to be hanged and put into the water, which (according to what I had always conceived of the human body) sunk directly to the bottom. In order to satisfy myself what quantity of water was necessary to enter the body of an animal, and cause suffocation in water, I caused three dogs, when alive, to be suddenly plunged under water till they were stifled; the result was that about three ounces of water were found in their lungs, and none in their stomachs. Dead bodies generally sank; weights were attached to dead bodies, not so much to make them sink at the time, as to prevent them floating afterwards. COWPER--With your lordship's favour, I now think it a proper time to make this observation. The witnesses that have given evidence for the king do say they believe she was not drowned; but they have not pretended to say how she died otherwise. HATSELL, BARON--That is very true. _Dr. Crell_ was generally of the same opinion as that expressed by the last witness, and, in spite of the suggestion of the judge that he should confine his evidence to matters within his own experience, quoted the opinion of Ambrose Parey ('who was chief surgeon to Francis the 1st, employed by him in most of his sieges and battles against emperor Charles the 5th, and consequently must observe, and could not be ignorant of such like casualties in such great bodies of men'), as expressed in his chapter of Renunciations, to the effect that the certain sign of a man being drowned was an appearance of froth about his nostrils and mouth. Altogether his firm opinion was that the woman was drowned. _Mr. Harriot_, who had been a surgeon in the Fleet; and _Bartlet_, who had been in several naval engagements, both swore that dead bodies when thrown overboard sank at first, though they floated again afterwards. _Mr. Camlin_ was called at the coroner's inquest, and examined the body. He found certain marks on the head and breast which Mr. Dimsdale said were only the result of drowning; he had seen more decided marks on the body of the child that was drowned. He saw no indications that Mrs. Stout had been strangled. BOWD--It was much about this time twelvemonth I had some business in London; and she [Mrs. Stout] sent to me, to know when I should go to London; and I waited upon her before I went, and she desired me to do some business for her; and when I returned, I acquainted her with what I had done; and sitting together in the hall, I asked her, what is the matter with you? Said I, there is something more than ordinary; you seem to be melancholy. Saith she, you are come from London, and you have heard something or other: said I, I believe you are in love. In love! said she. Yes, said I, Cupid, that little boy, hath struck you home: she took me by the hand; Truly, said she, I must confess it; but I did think I should never be guilty of such a folly: and I answered again, I admire that should make you uneasy; if the person be not of that fortune as you are, you may, if you love him, make him happy and yourself easy. That cannot be, saith she: the world shall not say I change my religion for a husband. And some time after I had been in London, having bought some India goods, she came to my shop and bought some of me for a gown, and afterwards she came to pay me for it; and I asked her, How do you like it? have you made it up? No, said she, and I believe I shall never live to wear it. COWPER--Pray how long is it since? BOWD--It was about February or January before her death. I asked her, why she did not come to my house oftener She said, she had left off all company, and applied herself to reading; and company was indifferent to her. Several other witnesses were then called to prove that they had recently seen the deceased woman in a state of melancholy, and that she had admitted that she was in love, though she would not say with whom. COWPER--Mrs. Cowper, what do you know of Mrs. Stout's melancholy? COWPER--My lord, this is my brother's wife. MRS. COWPER--About spring was twelve month, she came to London, and I believe it was not less than once or twice a week I saw her; and I never had an opportunity to be an hour alone with her at any time, but I perceived something in her melancholy. I have asked her the reason of it several times, and sometimes she seemed to dislike her profession, being a Quaker; and sometimes she would say, that she was uneasy at something that lay upon her spirits, which she should never outlive; and that she should never be well while she was in this world. Sometimes I have endeavoured to persuade her out of it seriously, and sometimes by raillery, and have said are you sure you shall be better in another world? And particularly I remember I have said to her, I believe you have Mr. Marshall in your head: either have him, or do not trouble yourself about him; make yourself easy either one way or another; and she hath said no, in an indifferent way, I cannot make myself easy: Then I have said, marry him: no, saith she, I cannot. Sometimes with company she would be diverted, and had frequently a way of throwing her hands, and shewed great disturbance and uneasiness. This time twelvemonth, at the summer assizes, I was here six days, and I saw her every day; and one time, among other discourse, she told me she had received great disturbance from one Theophilus, a waterman and a Quaker, who coming down to old Mrs. Stout, that was then lame, she had gathered about 20 or 30 people together to hear him preach; and she said he directed his discourse to her, and exasperated her at the rate that she had thoughts of seeing nobody again, and said, she took it heinously ill to be so used, and particularly, that he had told her that her mother's falling outwardly in the flesh should be a warning that she did not fall inwardly; and such 'canting stuff,' as she called it; and she said, that Theophilus had so used her, that she was ashamed to show her head. Another time, the same week, she had a fever, and she said, she was in great hopes it would end her days, and that she neglected herself in doing those things that were necessary for her health, in hopes it would carry her off, and often wished herself dead. Another time, which I think was the last time I saw her, it was at my sister's lodgings, and I sent for her to drink a dish of tea with us, and she came in a great toss and melancholy: Said I, what is the matter? you are always in this humour. Saith she, I cannot help it, I shall never be otherwise. Saith my sister, for God's sake keep such thoughts out of your head as you have had, do not talk any more of throwing yourself out of window: Saith she, I may thank God that ever I saw your face, otherwise I had done it, but I cannot promise I shall not do it. HATSELL, BARON--What is your name, madam? COWPER--It is my brother's wife, my lord. I desire Mrs. Toller may give an account of what she knows as to her being melancholy. MRS. TOLLER--My lord, she was once to see me, and she looked very melancholy, and I asked her what was the matter? and she said, something had vexed her that day; and I asked her the cause of it, and she stopped a little while, and then said, she would drown herself out of the way. HATSELL, BARON--How long ago was this? MRS. TOLLER--About three quarters of a year ago. JOHN STOUT--I desire to know whether she has always said so, or not told another story. MRS. TOLLER--I told you no story; it may be I did not say so much to you, but I said she talked something of drowning. I have been with her when Mr. Cowper's conversation and name has been mentioned, and she said she kept but little company; that sometimes she went to Mrs. Low's, and that she kept none but civil modest company, and that Mr. Cowper was a civil modest gentleman, and that she had nothing to say against him. COWPER--This is Mrs. Eliz. Toller, my lord. ELIZABETH TOLLER--My lord, she came to see me some time after Christmas, and seemed not so cheerful as she used to be; said I, what is the matter? Why are you not so merry as you used to be? Why do you not come often to see me? Saith she, I do not think to go abroad so much as I used to do, and said, it would be as much a rarity to see her go abroad, as to see the sun shine by night. COWPER--Mrs. Grub, what do you know concerning Mrs. Stout's pulling out a letter at her brother, Mr. John Stout's? Give an account of it, and what she said upon that occasion. MRS. GRUB--I have a daughter that lives at Guernsey, and she sent me a letter, and I prayed Mrs. Sarah Stout to read the letter; and while she was reading it I cried; saith she, why do you cry? said I, because my child is so far off. Said she, if I live till winter is over, I will go over the sea as far as I can from the land. HATSELL, BARON--What was the occasion of her saying so? MRS. GRUB--I was washing my master's study, Mrs. Sarah Stout came in, and I had a letter from my daughter at Guernsey, and I prayed Mrs. Sarah Stout to read it, and she read my letter, and I cried, and she asked me, why I cryed? Said I, because my child is so far off: Saith she, if I live to winter, or till winter is over, I will go over sea as far as I can from the land. COWPER--Now, my lord, to bring this matter of melancholy to the point of time, I will call one witness more, who will speak of a remarkable instance that happened on Saturday before the Monday when she did destroy herself. Call Mr. Joseph Taylor. Pray will you inform the court and jury of what you observed on Saturday before the Monday on which Mrs. Stout destroyed herself. JOSEPH TAYLOR--I happened to go in at Mr. Firmin's shop, and there she sat the Saturday before this accident happened, the former assizes, and I was saying to her, Madam, I think you look strangely discontented; I never saw you dressed so in my life: Saith she, the dress will serve me as long as I shall have occasion for a dress. COWPER--In what posture did she appear in the shop? JOSEPH TAYLOR--She appeared to be very melancholy. COWPER--What part of her dress did you find fault with? JOSEPH TAYLOR--It was her head cloaths. COWPER--What was the matter with them? JOSEPH TAYLOR--I thought her head was dawbed with some kind of grease or charcoal. COWPER--What answer did she make? JOSEPH TAYLOR--She said, they would serve her time. COWPER--As to this piece of evidence, if your lordship pleases, I desire it may be particularly taken notice of; it was her head-dress that she said would serve her time. Pray, Mr. Taylor, was you at Mr. Barefoot's when I came there on Monday morning? JOSEPH TAYLOR--Yes; I went up stairs with you into your chamber. COWPER--Pray, what did I say to Mr. Barefoot? JOSEPH TAYLOR--You asked him if they had received a letter from your brother, and he said, No, not that he knew of, but he would call his wife, and he did call his wife, and asked her if she had received a letter, and she said, No; then said you, I will take up this lodging for mine; and accordingly you went up stairs, and I went with you, and staid there about four times as long as I have been here. COWPER--Are you very sure that I said, I would take up my lodgings there? JOSEPH TAYLOR--Yes, I am very sure of it. HATSELL, BARON--What time of the day was it? JOSEPH TAYLOR--It was the fore part of the day; while I was there, my lord, Mrs. Sarah Stout's maid came to invite Mr. Cowper to her house to dinner. COWPER--Did you know anything of my sending to the coffee-house? JOSEPH TAYLOR--You sent to the coffee-house for your things. HATSELL, BARON--Did Mr. Cowper use to lie at Mrs. Barefoot's? JOSEPH TAYLOR--His brother did, but I do not know whether this gentleman did, but at that time he took up that place for his lodging; and said, it was all one, my brother must pay for it, and therefore I will take it up for myself. COWPER--Call Mrs. Barefoot and her maid. [But they not presently appearing,] COWPER--My lord, in the meantime I will go on to the other part of my evidence, in opening of which I shall be very short. My lord, my wife lodging at Hertford, occasioned me frequently to come down. Mrs. Stout became acquainted with her; When business was over in the long vacation, I resided pretty much at Hertford, and Mr. Marshall came down to pay me a visit, and this introduced his knowledge of Mrs. Stout. When she was first acquainted with him she received him with a great deal of civility and kindness, which induced him to make his addresses to her, as he did, by way of courtship. It happened one evening that she and one Mrs. Crook, Mr. Marshall and myself, were walking together, and Mr. Marshall and Mrs. Crook going some little way before us, she took this opportunity to speak to me in such terms, I must confess, as surprized me. Says she, Mr. Cowper, I did not think you had been so dull. I was inquisitive to know in what my dulness did consist. Why, says she, do you imagine I intend to marry Mr. Marshall? I said I thought she did, and that if she did not, she was much to blame in what she had done: No, says she, I thought it might serve to divert the censure of the world, and favour our acquaintance. My lord, I have some original letters under her own hand which will make this fully manifest; I will produce the letters after I have called Mr. Marshall. Mr. Marshall. MR. MARSHALL--If your lordship pleases, it was in the long vacation I came down to spend a little of my leisure time at Hertford; the reason of my going thither was, because Mr. Cowper was there at that time. The first night when I came down I found Mrs. Sarah Stout visiting at Mr. Cowper's lodgings and there I first came acquainted with her; and she afterwards gave me frequent opportunities of improving that acquaintance; and by the manner of my reception by her, I had no reason to suspect the use it seems I was designed for. When I came to town, my lord, I was generally told of my courting Mrs. Stout, which I confess was not then in my head; but it being represented to me as a thing easy to be got over, and believing the report of the world as to her fortune, I did afterwards make my application to her; but upon very little trial of that sort, I received a very fair denial, and there ended my suit; Mr. Cowper having been so friendly to me, as to give me notice of some things, that convinced me I ought to be thankful I had no more to do with her. HATSELL, BARON--When did she cast you off? MR. MARSHALL--I cannot be positive as to the time, my lord, but it was in answer to the only serious letter I ever writ to her; as I remember, I was not over importunate in this affair, for I never was a very violent lover. HATSELL, BARON--Well, but tell the time as near as you can. MR. MARSHALL--I believe it was a second or third time I came down to Hertford, which is about a year and a half since; and, during the whole of my acquaintance with her, I never till then found her averse to any proposal of mine; but she then telling me her resolution was not to comply with what I desired, I took her at her word, having, partly by my own observation, but more by Mr. Cowper's friendship, been pretty well able to guess at her meaning. COWPER--Because what you say may stand confirmed beyond contradiction, I desire you to say whether you have any letters from her to yourself? MR. MARSHALL--Yes, I have a letter in my hand which she sent me, upon occasion of some songs I sent her when I came to town, which she had before desired of me; and this is a letter in answer to mine; it is her hand-writing, and directed to me. HATSELL, BARON--How do you know it is her hand-writing? MR. MARSHALL--I have seen her write, and seen and received several letters from her. COWPER--Pray shew it Mr. Beale. MR. BEALE--I believe it to be her hand; I have seen her write, and have a receipt of hers. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--It is directed to Mr. Thomas Marshall at Lyons-inn, and dated Sept. 26, 1697. '_Sept. 26, 1697._ 'SIR, 'Yours came very safe; but I wish you had explained your meaning a little more about the accident you speak of; for have been puzzling my brains ever since; and without I shall set myself to conjuring, I cannot imagine what it should be, for I know of nothing that happened after you went away, nor no discourse about you, only when we were together, the company would sometimes drink your health, or wish you had been there, or the like; so that I fancy it must be something Mr. has invented for diversion; though I must confess we have a sort of people here, that are inspired with the gift of foreknowledge, who will tell one as much for nothing as any astrologer will have a good piece of money for. But to leave jesting, I cannot tell when I shall come to London, unless it be for the night and away, about some business with my brother, that I must be obliged to attend his motions; but when I do, I shall remember my promise, although I do not suppose you are any more in earnest than myself in this matter. I give you thanks for your songs and your good wishes, and rest, Your loving Duck.' COWPER--Have you any more letters? MR. MARSHALL--Yes, I have another letter here, but before it is read, I think it will be proper to give the court an account of the occasion of its being writ. I waited on Mrs. Stout one evening at her lodgings in Houndsditch, and at our parting she appointed to meet me the next day; and to excuse her not coming according to that appointment, she sent me this letter. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--It is directed to Mr. Thomas Marshall; it is without date. 'MR. MARSHALL, I met unexpected with one that came from H----d last night, who detained me so long with relating the most notorious inventions and lyes that are now extant amongst those people, that I could not possible come till it was late; and this day was appointed for business, that I am uncertain when it will be finished; so that I believe I cannot see you whilst I am in town. I have no more at present, but that I am Your obliged Friend.' COWPER--Now, my lord, if your lordship please, I proceed to shew you, that I went not so much voluntarily as pressed by her to come to this house, and for that I will produce one letter from her to myself; and, my lord, I must a little inform you of the nature of this letter. It is on the outside directed to Mrs. Jane Ellen, to be left for her at Mr. Hargrave's coffee-house. For her to direct for me at a coffee-house, might make the servants wonder and the post-man might suspect, and for that reason she directed it in that manner. There was Mr. Marshall by whom I received it, and I can prove the hand by Mr. Beale. MR. MARSHALL--My lord, I verily believe I was by, and that Mr. Cowper shewed me this letter immediately on receipt of it, as he had done several others from the same hand. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--This is directed for Mrs. Jane Ellen. It is dated March the 5th, without any year. _'March the 5th._ SIR, I am glad you have not quite forgot that there is such a person as I in being; but I am willing to shut my eyes, and not see anything that looks like unkindness in you, and rather content myself with what excuses you are pleased to make, than be inquisitive into what I must not know. I should very readily comply with your proposition of changing the season, if it were in my power to do it, but you know that lies altogether in your own breast; I am sure the winter has been too unpleasant for me to desire the continuance of it; and I wish you were to endure the sharpness of it but for one hour, as I have done for many long nights and days; and then I believe it would move that rocky heart of yours, that can be so thoughtless of me as you are; But if it were designed for that end, to make the summer the more delightful, I wish it may have the effect so far, as to continue it to be so too, that the weather may never overcast again; the which if I could be assured of, it would recompense me for all that I have ever suffered, and make me as easy a creature as I was the first moment I received breath. When you come to H----d pray let your steed guide you, and do not do as you did the last time; and be sure order your affairs to be here as soon as you can, which cannot be sooner than you will be heartily welcome to Your very sincere Friend.' '_For Mrs. Jane Ellen, at Mr. Hargrave's, near Temple-bar, London._' COWPER--Though it is directed to Mrs. Jane Ellen, it begins in the inside 'Sir,' and it is dated the 5th March next before the 13th. HATSELL, BARON--What March was it? MR. MARSHALL--I kept no account of the time, but I am very positive, by the contents, that Mr. Cowper shewed me this letter and I read it, but by my now remembrance, it should be longer since than March last. COWPER--It was March last. That which will set Mr. Marshall's memory to rights is this other letter, which I received at the Rainbow, when he was by, and he read it; and it importuning me to a matter of this kind, I did produce it to my brother and him; they both knew of it; and both read it, and that will refresh his memory concerning the date of the other. MR. MARSHALL--My lord, I was in the coffee-house with Mr. Cowper when he received this letter; and he afterwards shewed it to Mr. William Cowper, at the Covent-garden tavern, when I was by. CLERK OF ARRAIGNS--This is dated the 9th of March, and directed to Mrs. Jane Ellen, at Mr. Hargrave's. '_March 9._ SIR, I writ to you by Sunday's post, which I hope you have received; however, as a confirmation, I will assure you I know of no inconveniency that can attend your cohabiting with me, unless the grand jury should thereupon find a bill against me; but I won't fly for it, for come life, come death, I am resolved never to desert you; therefore according to your appointment I will expect you and till then I shall only tell you, that I am 'Yours,' etc. '_For Mrs. Jane Ellen, at Mr. Hargrave's, near Temple-bar, London._' COWPER--If your lordship please, I will further prove this letter by my brother. _William Cowper_ said that about a year and a half since, when Mrs. Stout was in London, his brother came to his chamber in the Temple, and told him that he had received a letter from Mrs. Stout, saying that she intended to visit him in his chamber that day. His brother told the witness that because of her connection with Marshall, as well as for other reasons, he would not receive her there; and it was arranged that as she intended first to dine with their father at his house in Hatton Garden, where the witness was then living, he should take the opportunity for casually remarking that the prisoner was that day gone to Deptford, as he in fact intended to do. This plan was carried out, with the result that Mrs. Stout left the room fainting. The witness then went on to give an account of how his brother showed him the last letter mentioned, at the Covent Garden Tavern-- Saith he, the occasion of my shewing it, is not to expose a woman's weakness, but I would not willingly lie under too many obligations, nor engage too far; nor on the other hand would I be at an unnecessary expence for a lodging. It was accordingly arranged that the witness should write to Barefoot to dispose of his lodgings, as Cowper had already related. I said I would write the next day, being Saturday; but when I should have writ, it was very late, and I was weary, being then tied down to the business of parliament; and partly for that reason, and partly in point of discretion, which I had upon my second thoughts, that it would be better for my brother to be at Mr. Barefoot's, which is near the court, and in the market place, I did neglect writing; and though I thought of it about eleven o'clock, yet, as I said, partly for one reason, and partly for another, I did not write that time.' _Beale_ was then called to prove the hand-writing of the letters, and the jury declared themselves satisfied. HATSELL, BARON--I believe you may ask her mother, she will tell you whether it be her daughter's hand. MRS. STOUT--How should I know! I know she was no such person; her hand may be counterfeited. HATSELL, BARON--But if it were written in her more sober stile, what would you say then? MRS. STOUT--I shan't say it to be her hand unless I saw her write it. MR. STOUT--It is like my sister's hand. HATSELL, BARON--Do you believe it to be her hand? MR. STOUT--No, I don't believe it; because it don't suit her character. _Mrs. Barefoot_ had expected Cowper at her lodgings, and had prepared a bed for him. Cowper came to her house as usual, and sent to the coffee-house for his bag. Mrs. Stout sent her maid over to invite Cowper to dine at their house. Cowper came back to her house about eleven, by the town clock, and did not go out again. _Hanwell_, the last witness's maid, made some preparations in Cowper's room before he went to bed, which he did a little before twelve. Referring to the last-quoted letter of the deceased woman, Cowper says: 'I had rather leave it to be observed, than make the observation myself, what might be the dispute between us at the time the maid speaks of. I think it was not necessary she should be present at the debate; and therefore I might not interrupt her mistress in the orders she gave; but as soon as the maid was gone I made use of these objections; and I told Mrs. Stout by what accident I was obliged to take up my lodgings at Mrs. Barefoot's, and that the family was sitting up for me; that my staying at her house under these circumstances, would in probability provoke the censure of the town and country; and that therefore I could not stay, whatever my inclination might otherwise be; but, my lord, my reasons not prevailing, I was forced to decide the controversy by going to my lodging; so that the maid may swear true, when she says I did not contradict her orders.' _Spurr_ proved that Cowper came to the Glove and Dolphin Inn as the clock struck eleven, and stayed there about a quarter of an hour. The Glove and Dolphin was a little less than a quarter of a mile from Mrs. Stout's house. Cowper then pointed out that, according to Sarah Walker's evidence, he left Mrs. Stout's house at a quarter to eleven by the real time; that if, as he should prove, it took half an hour to go from there to the place where Mrs. Stout was drowned, he could not, according to the evidence he had just called, have been there. _Sir W. Ashurst_ said it took him half an hour and one minute to walk to the place where the deceased was drowned. _Sir T. Lane_ said it took him about three-quarters of an hour, 'and we did not stay at all by the way, except just to look upon the hospital.' _Kingett_ and _Man_, two servants at the Glove and Dolphin, confirmed Spurr's evidence as to the time when Cowper arrived there and the time he stayed there; adding that he came there to ask about an account for his horse. HATSELL, BARON--Pray, wherein hath Sarah Walker said anything that is false? COWPER--In this: I asked her when she gave evidence, whether she went out to see for her mistress all that night, and whether her mistress did not use to stay out at nights, and whether she herself had not used to say so? If your lordship pleases to remember, she said no. Pray, Mrs. Mince, what have you heard Mrs. Stout's maid say concerning her mistress, particularly as to her staying out all night? MRS. MINCE--She hath said, that her mistress did not love to keep company with Quakers; and that she paid for her own board and her maid's; and that, when she entertained any body, it was at her own charge. And she hath said, that Mrs. Stout used to ask, who is with you, child? and she would not tell her; and that she did entertain her friends in the summer house now and then with a bottle of wine; and when her mother asked who was there? her mistress would say, bring it in here, I suppose there is none but friends; and after the company was gone, she used to make her mother believe that she went to bed: but she used to go out and take the key with her, and sometimes she would go out at the window, and she said particularly, one time she went out at the garden window, when the garden door was locked, and that she bid her not sit up for her, for she would not come in at any time. HATSELL, BARON--Did ever Sarah Walker tell you that Mrs. Stout staid out all night? MRS. MINCE--She hath said, she could not tell what time she came in, for she went to bed. _Cowper_ offered to prove that Gurrey, at whose house the other prisoners had stayed, had said that if he had gone to visit Mrs. Stout, meaning apparently, if he had gone to visit the mother after the daughter's death, the prosecution would not have taken place. To this he would answer that he never had gone to see her in his life. Now, for a man officiously to make a new visit in the time of the assizes, one engaged in business as I was, and especially upon so melancholy an occasion; I say for me to go officiously to see a woman I never had the least knowledge of, would have been thought more strange (and justly might have been so) than the omission of that ceremony. For my part, I cannot conceive what Mr. Gurrey could mean, this being the case, by saying, that if I had visited Mrs. Stout, nothing of this could have happened. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Cowper, he is not the prosecutor, I think it is no matter what he said. _Sir W. Ashurst, Sir T. Lane, and Mr. Thompson_ were then called to Cowper's character, and described him as a humane, upright, and capable man. This concluded the case against Cowper, and the case of Marson was next considered. In reply to a question from the judge, he explained that Stephens was the clerk of the paper in the King's Bench; that Rogers was steward of the King's Bench; and that it was their duty to wait upon the Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench out of town. On Monday they all went to the Lord Chief-Justice's house in Lincoln's Inn Fields, according to their custom, and all set out from there. Marson, being only an attorney in the borough court, could not go further with the others than Kingsland, and returned from there to his business in Southwark, where he attended the Court, as was his duty, and set out again at past four in the afternoon. On arriving at Waltham he met one Mr. Hanks, a clergyman, who was returning from attending the Lord Chief-Justice to Hertford, whom he persuaded to return with him to Hertford, on the plea that he did not know the way. They galloped all the way, and did not arrive at Hertford till eight. There they found the marshal, Stephens, Rogers, Rutkin, and others of the marshal's acquaintance at the coffee-house, from which they went to the Glove and Dolphin, and stayed there till eleven o'clock. Rogers and the witness had a dispute about which of them should lie with Stephens at Gurrey's house, and they all went to Gurrey's to see what could be arranged, and to drink a glass of wine. Eventually Stephens, Rogers, and Marson, all stayed at Gurrey's; while Hanks and Rutkin went back to the marshal's. The party at Gurrey's drank three bottles of wine, and afterwards, in jocular conversation, I believe Mr. Stephens might ask Mr. Gurrey if he knew of one Mrs. Sarah Stout? And the reason why he asked that question our witness will explain. I believe he might likewise ask what sort of woman she was? and possibly I might say the words, My friend may be in with her, though I remember not I did say anything like it; but I say there is a possibility I might, because I had heard she had denied Marshall's suit, and that might induce me to say, My friend may be in with her, for all that I remember. I confess Mr. Rogers asked me what money I had got that day, meaning at the Borough Court? I answered fifty shillings; saith he, we have been here a-spending our money, I think you ought to treat us, or to that purpose. As to the bundle mentioned I had no such, except a pair of sleeves and a neck-cloth. As to the evidence which goes to words spoken, the witnesses have fruitful inventions; and as they have wrested and improved the instances I have been particular in, so they have the rest, or otherwise forged them out of their own heads. HATSELL, BARON--Mr. Rogers, what do you say to it? ROGERS--We came down with the marshal of the King's bench, it rained every step of the way, so that my spatter-dashes and shoes were fain to be dried; and it raining so hard, we did not think Mr. Marson would have come that day, and therefore we provided but one bed, though otherwise we should have provided two, and were to give a crown for our night's lodging. We went from the coffee-house to the tavern, as Mr. Marson has said, and from the tavern the next way to our lodging, where there was some merry and open discourse of this gentlewoman; but I never saw her in my life, nor heard of her name before she was mentioned there. STEPHENS--We never stirred from one another, but went along with the marshal of the King's bench, to accompany my lord chief-justice out of town, as is usual. HATSELL, BARON--I thought it had been as usual for him to go but half the way with my lord chief-justice. ROGERS--They generally return back after they have gone half the way, but some of the head officers go throughout. STEPHENS--It was the first circuit after the marshal came into his office, and that is the reason the marshal went the whole way. HATSELL, BARON--Did not you talk of her courting days being over? PRISONERS--Not one word of it; we absolutely deny it. STEPHENS--I never saw her. JONES--Mr. Marson, did you ride in boots? MARSON--Yes. JONES--How came your shoes to be wet? MARSON--I had none. _Hunt_ gave an account of how he was at the Old Devil Tavern at Temple Bar, on Sunday night, and Marson and three or four others of Clifford's Inn being there at the same time, discoursing of the marshal's attending the Lord Chief-Justice to Hertford, Marson said he too might be required to go; on which one of the company said, 'If you do go to Hertford, pray enquire after Mr. Marshall's mistress, and bring us an account of her;' and it was this discourse that gave occasion to talk of Mrs. Stout at Gurrey's house, which was done openly and harmlessly. This story was corroborated by one Foster, who had been at the Devil; and Stephens offered to call another witness to the same purpose, but was stopped by the judge. _Hanks_ was called, and gave the same account of his arrival in Hertford as Marson had already given. He was in Marson's company from the time he met him till he left him at his lodgings, at about eleven o'clock. _Rutkin_ was called by Marson to give an account of his coming to Hertford. RUTKIN--My lord, I came to wait on the marshal of the King's Bench to Hertford, and when we were come to Hertford we put up our horses at the Bull, and made ourselves a little clean; we went to church, and dined at the Bull, and then we walked in and about the court, and diverted ourselves till about seven o'clock; and between seven and eight o'clock came Mr. Marson and Dr. Hanks to town, and then we agreed to go to the Dolphin and Glove to drink a glass of wine; the marshal went to see an ancient gentleman, and we went to the Dolphin and Glove, and staid there till past ten o'clock, and after the reckoning was paid we went with them to their lodging, with a design to drink a glass of wine; but then I considered I was to lie with the marshal, and for that reason I resolved not to go in, but came away, and went to the Bull Inn, and drank part of a glass of wine and afterwards went to the next door to the Bull Inn, where I lay with the marshal. _Marson_ called witnesses to character, who swore that they had always had a good opinion of him, that they had never seen him but a civilised man, that he had been well brought up amongst them, and that they had never seen him given to debauchery. _Cowper_ said that he was concerned to defend the other prisoners as much as himself, and that there was something he wished to say in their behalf. 'The principal witness against them is one Gurrey; and I will prove to you, that since he appeared in this court, and gave his evidence, he went out in a triumphant manner, and boasted that he, by his management, had done more against these gentlemen than all the prosecutor's witnesses could do besides. To add to that I have another piece of evidence that I have just been acquainted with; my lord, it is the widow Davis, Gurrey's wife's sister, that I would call. _Mrs. Davis_ was asked by her sister to help her lay the sheets for the men in Gurrey's house, and while she was doing so the gentlemen came into the room; it was then about ten, or something later. They had three quarts of wine and some bread and cheese, and then went to bed; and after that Gurrey went to fetch Gape, who lodged at his house, from Hockley's. COWPER--I only beg leave to observe that Gurrey denied that he went for him. HATSELL, BARON--Ay; but this signifies very little, whether it be true or false. Various other witnesses were called, who gave all the prisoners excellent characters in their private and professional capacities. JONES--My lord, we insist upon it, that Mr. Cowper hath given a different evidence now, from what he did before the coroner; for there he said he never knew any distraction, or love fit, or other occasion she had to put her upon this extravagant action. Now here he comes, and would have the whole scheme turned upon a love-fit. Call John Mason. _Mason_, in answer to questions put to him by Mr. Stout and Jones, said that Cowper, before the coroner, had said that he knew no cause for Mrs. Stout's suicide; and that she was a very modest person. He was asked whether he knew any person she was in love with, and he said he knew but of one, and his name was Marshall, and he was always repulsed by her. _Archer_ was present at the inquest, and heard Cowper say that he knew no occasion of Mrs. Stout's death, nor of any letters. COWPER--Then I must call over the whole coroner's inquest, to prove the contrary. HATSELL, BARON--Did they ask him concerning any letters? ARCHER--They asked him, If he knew of any thing that might be the occasion of her death? HATSELL, BARON--I ask you again, if they asked him if he knew of any letters? ARCHER--My lord, I do not remember that. MR. STOUT--I would have called some of the coroner's inquest but I was stopped in it. JURYMAN--We have taken minutes of what has passed; If your lordship pleases we will withdraw. HATSELL, BARON--They must make an end first. _Mrs Larkin_ was called, and said that Rutkin came to her house between nine and ten, and that the marshal did not come in till an hour afterwards. _Mr. Stout_ desired to call witnesses to his sister's reputation; and _Jones_ said that the whole town would attest to that. _Hatsell, Baron_, then summed up. He said that the jury could not expect that he should sum up fully, but that he would notice the most material facts, and that if he omitted any thing, Jones or Cowper would remind him of it. He then recapitulated Sarah Walker's evidence, very briefly; and then went on:-- The other witnesses that came afterwards, speak concerning the finding of the body in the river, and tell you, in what posture it was. I shall not undertake to give you the particulars of their evidence; but they tell you she lay on her right side, the one arm up even with the surface of the water, and her body under the water; but some of her cloaths were above the water. You have also heard what the doctors and surgeons said on the one side and the other, concerning the swimming and sinking of dead bodies in the water; but I can find no certainty in it; and I leave it to your consideration. Further, there were no signs of water in the body, and it was said that this was a sign that she was not drowned; but then it was answered that it might show that she had drowned herself, because if she wished to drown herself she would choke herself without swallowing any water. The doctors and surgeons have talked a great deal to this purpose, and of the water's going into the lungs or the thorax; but unless you have more skill in anatomy than I you would not be much edified by it. I acknowledge I never studied anatomy; but I perceive that the doctors do differ in their notions about these things.... Gentlemen, I was very much puzzled in my thoughts, and was at a loss to find out what inducement there could be to draw in Mr. Cowper, or these three other gentlemen, to commit such a horrid, barbarous, murder. And on the other hand, I could not imagine what there should be to induce this gentlewoman, a person of plentiful fortune, and a very sober good reputation, to destroy herself.' But if they believed the letters that had been produced to be in her hand, there was evidence to show that although she was a virtuous woman, a distemper might have turned her brains, and discomposed her mind. As to these three other gentlemen that came to this town at the time of the last assizes, what there is against them, you have heard; they talked at their lodging at a strange rate, concerning this Mrs. Sarah Stout, saying, her business is done, and that there was an end of her courting days, and that a friend of theirs was even with her by this time. What you can make of this, that I must leave to you; but they were very strange expressions; and you are to judge whether they were spoken in jest, as they pretend, or in earnest. There was a cord found in the room, and a bundle seen there, but I know not what to make of it. As to Mrs. Stout, there was no sign of any circle about her neck, which, as they say, must have been if she had been strangled; some spots there were; but it is said, possibly these might have been occasioned by rubbing against some piles or stakes in the river. Truly, gentlemen, these three men, by their talking, have given great cause of suspicion; but whether they, or Mr. Cowper, are guilty or no, that you are to determine. I am sensible I have omitted many things; but I am a little faint, and cannot remember any more of the evidence. The jury then retired, and in half an hour returned with a verdict of Not Guilty as to all the prisoners. The acquittal in this case led to an appeal of murder, the most curious survival of the earliest English criminal procedure, which was not finally abolished till 1819. The effect of such a proceeding was that after an acquittal on an indictment for murder, the prosecutor might challenge the accused to an ordeal by battle. Accordingly, in the long vacation following the trial, Mrs. Stout, the mother of the dead woman, sued a writ of appeal out of Chancery, against Cowper, in the name of an infant who was her daughter's heir. The sealing of the writ was delayed, it is said to nearly the last possible day, a year after the alleged murder, for the purpose of keeping the matter in suspense as long as possible; and the consent of the mother of the infant to Mrs. Stout's being named as his guardian for the purpose, was obtained from her by a fraudulent representation that the object of the proceeding was to obtain the deceased woman's property for him. On discovering what its real effect was, she and her friends applied to one Toler, the under-sheriff of Hertfordshire, for the writ, and on his giving it up to them, burnt it. On a rule being obtained for the return of the writ, and it appearing that Toler had delivered it to the infant's mother, he was adjudged guilty of a gross contempt, and heavily fined. Holt, Lord Chief-Justice, said on this occasion that he wondered that it should be said that an appeal is an odious prosecution. He said he esteemed it a noble remedy, and a badge of the rights and liberties of an Englishman. The court of king's bench, to show their resentment, committed Toler to the prison of the king's bench for his fine, though the clerk in court would have undertaken to pay it. And Holt, chief-justice, said to Toler, that he had not been in prison long enough before, and that he might now, if he pleased, go to Hertford and make his boast that he had got the better of the king's bench. Afterwards Mrs. Stout petitioned the Lord Keeper for another writ; the infant and his mother presenting a counter-petition disowning their former writ as sued forth without their consent. After an argument before a full court it was decided that the Court had power to grant a new writ, but that it would be unjust to grant one under the present circumstances, because, among other reasons, the appellant and his mother had renounced the writ as soon as they understood its nature, and there was no proof that the appellees had been privy to their action. FOOTNOTES: [43] Spencer Cowper (1669-1727) was the younger brother of Earl Cowper, who was the first Lord Chancellor of Great Britain. He was educated at Westminster, and made Controller of the Bridge House Estates in 1690. At the time of this trial his brother was the member for Hertford. In 1705 and 1708 he represented Beeralston in Parliament; he was one of the managers in Sacheverell's trial, and lost his seat in consequence, but was afterwards elected for Truro in 1711. In 1714 he became Attorney-General to the Prince of Wales, and in 1717 Chief-Justice of Chester. On the accession of George the Second he was made Attorney-General of the Duchy of Chester, and a Judge of the Common Pleas in 1727. He died the same year. He was the grandfather of William Cowper the poet. [44] Sir Henry Hatsell (1641-1714) was the son of an active Roundhead who sat in the House of Commons during the Commonwealth. He was educated at Exeter College, was called to the Bar in 1667, and became a Baron of the Exchequer in 1697. The present trial was the most conspicuous with which he was connected, from which fact it may be supposed that he never enjoyed a very high reputation. He was removed from the Bench soon after Queen Anne's accession. [45] This John Dimsdale was apparently the father of the first Baron Dimsdale, who inoculated Catharine of Russia and the Grand Duke Paul, her son, for smallpox in 1728. John's father was William, who accompanied William Penn to America in 1684; so that it is not clear who the Mr. Dimsdale, senior, and Dr. Robert Dimsdale of this trial were. The family is, however, one which has long been settled in Hertfordshire. [46] _Vulgar Errors_, Book IV., ch. vi., 'Of Swimming and Floating.' [47] The Lord of the Manor might have a right to the forfeited goods of a felon. [48] Sir Hans Sloane (1660-1753) was born in Co. Down. He studied medicine abroad, and was elected a member of the Royal Society in 1685. In 1687 he went to the West Indies as secretary to the Duke of Albemarle, and made valuable scientific collections. He was elected secretary of the Royal Society in 1693, and succeeded Sir Isaac Newton as president of the same body in 1727. He was physician to Queen Anne and George the Second, and founded the botanical garden at Chelsea for the Society of Apothecaries. He left his collections to the nation, and they formed part of the original nucleus of the British Museum. Sloane Street and Hans Square derive their names from him. [49] The lay reader must observe that Sloane is talking of the 'civil law.' [50] William Cowper (1666-1709) was a leading surgeon at the time of this trial, having been elected a member of the Royal Society in 1696, and in 1698 having published a treatise on anatomy, which led to a vigorous controversy between him and a Dutch doctor of the name Bidloo, whose anatomical plates he seems to have adopted for his own work. He subsequently published a variety of papers on surgery, and was the discoverer of Cowper's glands. SAMUEL GOODERE AND OTHERS On the 18th of March 1741, at the Bristol Gaol-delivery, Samuel Goodere,[51] Matthew Mahony, and Charles White were indicted for the murder of Sir John Dineley Goodere, the brother of the first-named prisoner. They were tried before Serjeant Michael Foster.[52] The trial was adjourned to the 26th on account of Goodere's health, when there appeared for the prosecution _Vernon_, and for the prisoner _Goodere_, _Shepard_ and _Frederick_. The other prisoners were undefended. _Vernon_ opened the case. He began-- May it please you, Mr. Recorder, and you, gentlemen that are sworn on the jury, I am counsel for the King against the prisoners at the bar, who stand indicted for the murder of sir John Dineley Goodere; they are also charged on the coroner's inquest with the same murder; and though it is impossible for human nature not to feel some emotions of tenderness at so affecting a sight as now presents itself at the bar; yet, gentlemen, should the guilt of this black and frightful murder be fixed upon the prisoners (as from my instructions I fear it will be), pity must then give way to horror and astonishment at the baseness and barbarity of the fact and circumstances; and our sorrow ought to be that, through the lenity of the laws, the unnatural author and contriver of so shocking a piece of cruelty, and this, his brutal accomplice in the ruffianly execution of it, should be to share the common fate of ordinary malefactors. He then proceeds to point out that the indictment alleges that Mahony strangled the deceased, and that Goodere was present aiding and abetting him in the act; that therefore it would be immaterial for the jury which of the two actually committed the act, if they were acting together; and that it would not be material whether they strangled the deceased with a rope, a handkerchief, or their hands, 'so the kind of death be proved.' Goodere was Sir John's brother, and there had long been a quarrel between them owing to various causes, particularly because Sir John had cut off the entail of a property in Worcestershire, to which Goodere would otherwise have been the heir in default of Sir John's issue. He had recently been appointed captain of the _Ruby_ man-of-war, and in January last she was lying in the King's road, within the county of Bristol. Sir John had been ordered to Bath for his health, and had made an engagement to call, on his way there, at the house of Mr. Jarrit Smith, in Bristol, to transact some business. Goodere had asked Smith to arrange a meeting between him and his brother to effect a reconciliation, and accordingly this visit, which was to take place on Tuesday the 13th of January, had been fixed upon for the purpose. On Monday the 12th, Goodere and Mahony called at the White Hart Inn, near the foot of College Green, in view of, and almost opposite to, Smith's house; and Goodere, commending the view from a closet above the porch, ordered breakfast to be prepared for him there the next day. On Tuesday, Goodere, accompanied by Mahony, and a gang of men belonging to a privateer called the _Vernon_, whom he had hired to assist him in seizing Sir John, 'but whom one would have thought, the name of that gallant admiral should have inspired with nobler sentiments,' came to the White Hart, where Goodere went upstairs to the closet he had ordered, and the others posted themselves below to watch for Sir John. He soon arrived, armed with pistols, and followed by a servant, but only made a short stay at Mr. Smith's, promising to come again the next Sunday. He was too well protected for it to be advisable to interfere with his movements, but Goodere's men, at his order, followed him a little way down the hill as he left the house. Mr. Smith afterwards told Goodere that his brother would return the next Sunday, and advised him to be in the way, that he might bring them together. Goodere accordingly made all his arrangements to effect his purpose. He ordered one Williams, a midshipman, to bring up the man-of-war's barge on Sunday, to leave it at a point a little below Bristol, with two or three men in charge of her, and to bring on the rest of the crew to meet him at the White Hart, explaining that he was going to bring some one on board. Accordingly, on the Sunday, Goodere, the barge-men, and the privateersmen, all met at the White Hart; and at three in the afternoon Goodere went across to Mr. Smith's. There he met his brother, with whom he spent some time, conversing and drinking with him apparently on perfectly friendly terms. After half an hour, however, Sir John rose to go, followed by his brother; as soon as they got into the street Goodere made a sign to his men in the White Hart, who immediately seized Sir John, and partly led him, and partly carried him towards the boat which was waiting for them, as Goodere had ordered. Sir John made what resistance he could, calling out that he was ruined, and that his brother was going to take his life; his captors, however, explained to bystanders who tried to interfere that he was a murderer, whom they were arresting, and kept off the crowd by means of the bludgeons and truncheons with which they were armed. They could not prevent Sir John, however, from calling out, as he was being put into the barge, that he was going to be murdered, that the people by were to tell Mr. Smith, and that his name was Sir John Dineley. The privateersmen were landed lower down the river, and at about seven in the evening Sir John was brought on board the _Ruby_. There his brother pretended to the crew that he was a madman, and shut him up in the purser's cabin, on to the door of which he had two new bolts fitted. A sentry was posted outside the door, but at some time after midnight he was relieved by Goodere himself, who admitted Mahony and White, keeping back another man from approaching it. A struggle was heard in the cabin, and Sir John calling out, 'Murder! must I die! Help, for God's sake! save my life, here are twenty guineas, take it!' Then Mahony called for a light, which was handed in to him by Goodere, while he still kept another man away from the cabin door by his cutlass. Goodere then withdrew to his cabin, and Mahony and White were put ashore in the ship's yawl. In the morning the ship's cooper, who had heard Sir John calling out, and in fact seen a part of the attack on him through a chink, broke open the door of the purser's cabin and found the dead body. Goodere was then arrested by the crew, and brought before the Mayor of Bristol, where he denied all knowledge of the matter. _Shepard_ asked that the witnesses for the prosecution should be ordered out of court. _Vernon_ replied that he had no right to this, and that as it would seem to cast a slur upon their honesty he objected to it being done. _Shepard_ admitted that he had no right to it, but asked it as a favour; on which all witnesses were ordered to leave the court, an exception being made in favour of Mr. Jarrit Smith, who claimed a right to be present as he was prosecuting solicitor as well as a witness. _Chamberlayn_ was called, and said that about three weeks before the death of Sir John he was asked by Goodere to interpose with Mr. Jarrit Smith to bring about a reconciliation between him and Sir John. He went to Mr. Smith as he was asked to, and he promised to do all he could in the matter. The brothers had been at law a long while, and spent a great deal of money, and that was why Goodere wanted Mr. Smith to bring about a reconciliation between them. _Jarrit Smith_ was then called, and deposed that Mr. Chamberlayn had brought him the message he had described, and had brought Goodere to his house, and that he had promised him to do what he could to bring about a reconciliation. Some little time after they were gone, I saw sir John, and told him that Mr. Goodere had applied to me to do all I could to reconcile them. Sir John seemed to speak much against it at first, and thought it would be to no purpose; for that he had been a real friend to the captain, who had used him very ill; but at last he was pleased to pass a compliment on me, and said, I cannot refuse anything you ask of me. He then mentioned several things the captain had said; and in particular told me that at the death of sir Edward Goodere, his father, Mr. Goodere, the prisoner, had placed several persons in the house where sir Edward lay dead, in order to do him some mischief, and he apprehended to take away his life. SHEPARD--I must submit it to the Court, that what sir John said at that time is not a matter of evidence. THE RECORDER--It is not evidence, but perhaps it is introductory to something Mr. Smith has further to say; if it be not, it should not have been mentioned. SMITH--And that he had endeavoured to set aside a common recovery, and made strong application to the Court of Common Pleas for that purpose. SHEPARD--Whether this be evidence, I insist upon it that in point of law it is not, and it may have an effect on the jury. THE RECORDER--I will take notice to the jury what is not evidence. Go on, Mr. Smith. SMITH--After sir John had repeated several stories of this sort, he concluded at last (as I told you before), And why, Mr. Smith, if you ask it of me, I can't refuse. I saw Mr. Goodere soon after, and told him I had seen sir John and talked with him, and he was pleased to tell me, that he would see him, and bid me contrive a convenient place to bring them together. I told Mr. Goodere about the attempt to set aside the recovery. I wonder, said Mr. Goodere, he should mention anything of that, for I can set it aside when I please. I told him, I thought he could not; for, said I, I have a good opinion on it, and am to lend a large sum of money on the Worcestershire estate. He said, I wonder that any body will lend him money on that estate; I am next in remainder, and they will run a risk of losing their money, I do assure you; and he cannot borrow a shilling on it without my consent: but if my brother was reconciled, then, if we wanted money, we might do it together, for he cannot secure it alone. He told me, that he should take it as a great favour, if I could fix a time as soon as I could to bring them together. Soon after I saw sir John, and he told me he was very deaf, and was advised to go to Bath, and then appointed to be with me on Tuesday, the 13th of January last, in the morning, when he would talk with me about the business of advancing the money on his estate. After this I saw Mr. Goodere, and told him that I had seen his brother; that he was to be with me on Tuesday, the 13th of January last, and desired him to be in the way, for sir John was always very punctual to his appointment; and if business or anything happened to prevent him he always sent me a letter. Mr. Goodere thanked me, and told me he would be in the way; and on the Tuesday morning sir John came to me on horseback, just alighted and came into my office. I asked him to sit down, which he refused, saying his head was bad; that he must go for Bath, having been advised to go there for some time, and then he did not doubt but he should be better. I told sir John, that his brother knew he was to be in town therefore hoped he would sit down a little, for that I had promised him to bring them together. He said, I can't now, but you shall see me again soon, and then I may do it. I asked him, when shall I see you again, to finish the business you and I are upon? the writings are ready, name your own time, the money will be paid. He appointed to be with me on Monday morning to settle that business; and said, I shall come to town the Saturday or Sunday before, and when I come I will let you know it: he then mounted his horse and rid off. Shortly after (as I was going to the Tolzey) at, or under Blind-gate, I met Mr. Goodere, and told him I was glad to see him and that his brother had been in town. He said he had seen him and thought he looked better than he used to do. I told Mr. Goodere that his brother had appointed to be with me on Monday morning next on business, and I expected him to be in town either the Saturday or Sunday before. I then had many compliments from Mr. Goodere, and he said, how good it would be to make up the matter between him and his brother. I heard nothing of sir John being in town till Sunday the 18th of January last, in the morning, when he sent me a letter to let me know that he came to town the night before, and would be glad to call upon me at any time I would appoint. I sent him for answer, that I was to dine from home, but would return and be at home at three o'clock that afternoon. And as I was passing by, I stopt the coach at captain Goodere's lodgings in Princes Street. I asked if he was at home? Found him alone, and then shewed him sir John's letter. He read it, and asked the time I appointed. I told him three o'clock that afternoon. Said he, I think my brother writes better than he used to do. I said, Mr. Goodere, I think it would be best for you to be accidentally on purpose at that time at my house. No, says he, I don't think that will be so well, I think it would be better for you to send for me. I returned to my house, and my servant told me that sir John had called, and that he would be here again presently. Whilst my servant was telling this, sir John came in; I took him by the hand, and asked him how he did? I thank God, says he, I am something better; and after I have settled this affair with you, I will go to Bath for some time, and then, I hope, I shall be better. I said, captain Goodere is waiting, I beg you will give me leave to send for him; you know you said you would see him. With all my heart, says sir John, I know I gave you leave. I then sent down a servant to captain Goodere's lodgings, to let him know sir John was with me, and desired him to come up. The servant returned, and said, Here is captain Goodere; on which I said, sir John, please to give me leave to introduce your brother. He gave me leave: captain Goodere came in, went directly and kissed him as heartily as ever I had seen any two persons who had real affection one for the other. I desired them to sit down. Sir John sat on one side of the fire, and captain Goodere on the other, and I sate between them. I called for a table and a bottle of wine, and filling a full glass, I said, sir John, give me leave to drink love and friendship. Ay, with all my heart, says sir John; I don't drink wine, nothing but water; notwithstanding, I wish love and friendship. Captain Goodere filled a bumper, and pledged it, spoke to his brother, and drank love and friendship with his brother's health. We sate some time, all seemed well, and I thought I could have reconciled them. The cork lying out of the bottle, captain Goodere takes up the cork in his hand, put it into the mouth of the bottle and struck it in very hard. I then said, though sir John will not drink wine, you and I will. No, says captain Goodere, I will drink water too, if I drink any more; and there was no more drank. After they had talked several things (particularly captain Goodere of the pleasantness of the situation of the estate in Herefordshire and goodness of the land) in a very pleasant and friendly way, sir John rose up, and said, Mr. Smith, what time would you have me be with you to-morrow morning? I appointed nine o'clock. He said, Brother, I wish you well; then said to me, I will be with you half an hour before. Sir John went down the steps; the captain was following; I stopt him, and said, Pray don't go, captain, let you and I drink a glass of wine. No more now, I thank you, sir, said he. I think, said I, I have done great things for you. He paused a little and said, By God, it will not do; and in a very short time the captain went very nimbly down the steps. I followed him to the door, and observed him to go after sir John down the hill; and before he turned the churchyard wall, to be out of my sight, I observed some sailors come out of the White Hart ale-house, within view of my door, and they ran up to captain Goodere. I heard him say, Is he ready? (I thought he meant the boat), they said, Yes. He bid them make haste. Then they ran very fast towards the lower-green, one of them having a bottle in his hand; captain Goodere went very fast down the hill, and had it not been by mere accident I should have followed him (but some people think it was well I did not), for I promised my wife to return to the house where we dined in Queen's-square, where I went soon after. MR. RECORDER--Mr. Smith, did they all go toward the lower green? SMITH--No, Sir; but some towards the butts on St. Augustine's back. Sir John went that way, and captain Goodere followed him; but the men who came out of the ale-house went toward the lower green some of them. About 5 o'clock in the evening, as I was riding up the hill towards the College-green I observed a soldier looked hard at me into the coach, as if he had something to say, and seemed to be in a confusion. I walked into the court, the soldier with me, and then he said, I am informed, Sir, your name is Mr. Jarrit Smith. Yes, says I, it is. (What I am now going to say, Mr. Recorder, is what the soldier told me.) He told me, that as he was drinking with a friend at the King's Head ale-house at the Lime-kilns, he heard a noise, and ran out to see what was the matter, when he saw a person dressed (as he described) like sir John's dress. VERNON--Pray, Sir, how was sir John dressed? SMITH--Sir John was dressed in black clothes, he had a ruffled shirt on, a scarlet cloak, a black velvet cap (for the sake of keeping his ears warm) and a broad-brimmed hat flapping. He described this exactly, and told me likewise, that the captain of the man-of-war and his crew had got the person into custody, and by force had put him on board the man-of-war's barge or boat lying near the Slip, by the King's Head; that the gentleman cried out, For God's sake if you have any pity or compassion upon an unfortunate man, go to Mr. Jarrit Smith, and tell him how I am used: and that the captain hearing him cry out, stopt his mouth with his hand. MR. RECORDER--What did the soldier desire of you? SMITH--The soldier desired me to enquire into it, for that he did not know the intention of taking off a gentleman in that way. MR. RECORDER--Did you do any thing on that request of the soldier? SMITH--Yes, Sir; it immediately occurred to me, that sir John, when he left my house, told me that he was going to his lodgings. I went to his lodgings (which was at one Mr. Berrow's near the mint), I there asked for him, and related the story I had heard; they told me they had not seen him since he went to my house. VERNON--Mr. Smith, Sir, will you inform us by what name the unfortunate gentleman (you are speaking of) was commonly called? SMITH--Sir John Dineley Goodere; his mother was a Dineley, and there came a great estate from her side to him, which occasioned his being called by the name of Dineley. VERNON--When sir John went from your house on Tuesday, was he alone, or had he any attendants with him? SMITH--Sir John was well guarded; he had pistols, and I think his servant had pistols also. VERNON--I think you told us but now, that sir John was to be with you on Sunday; pray, when did you let Mr. Goodere know it, Sir? SMITH--I met captain Goodere that very day at Blind-gate, and told him of it; and he said, he had met his brother himself. VERNON--Pray, Sir, did Mr. Goodere tell you, to whom the estate would go on sir John's death? SMITH--Yes, he has often said he was the next remainder man, and that the estate would come to himself on his brother's death. MR. RECORDER--Well, Mr. Goodere, you have heard what Mr. Smith hath said, have you any questions to ask him? MR. SHEPARD--Mr. Recorder, what I have to ask of you, with submission, in behalf of Mr. Goodere, is, that you will indulge counsel to put his questions for him to the Court, and that the Court will then be pleased to put them for him to the witnesses. It is every day's practice at the courts of Westminster, Old Bailey, and in the Circuit. _Vernon_ replied that the matter was entirely in the discretion of the Court, and that Shepard could ask for nothing as a matter of right. The judges, I apprehend, act as they see fit on these occasions, and few of them (as far as I have observed) walk by one and the same rule in this particular; some have gone so far as to give leave for counsel to examine and cross-examine witnesses, others have bid counsel propose their questions to the court; and others again have directed that the prisoner should ask his own questions; the method of practice in this point is very variable and uncertain; but this we certainly know, that by the settled rule of law the prisoner is allowed no other counsel but the court in matters of fact, and ought either to ask his own questions of the witnesses, or else propose them himself to the Court. He then asked Jarrit Smith one more question, to which he replied. VERNON--Sir, I think you were present when Mr. Goodere was brought to Bristol after his brother's being killed; I'd be glad to know whether you then heard him say anything, and what, concerning this foul business? SMITH--I was present when Mr. Goodere was brought to Bristol after this murder happened, when he was asked (before the justices) about the seizing, detaining and murdering sir John Dineley; and he then directly answered that he did not know that his brother was murdered or dead. He was then asked in relation to the manner of seizing him, and carrying him away; he said he knew nothing of it till he came to the boat, and when he came there he saw his brother in the boat; but he did not know that his brother had been used at that rate. SHEPARD--Mr. Smith, Sir, you are speaking about sir John; by what name did you commonly call him? SMITH--Sir John Dineley Goodere. THE RECORDER--Mr. Goodere, have you any questions to ask Mr. Smith? GOODERE--Yes, Sir. Mr. Smith, I ask you what sir John Dineley's business was with you, and how much money were you to advance? SMITH--Five thousand pounds, Sir; and I told him that I was satisfied that it was a good title. GOODERE--I ask you if you knew him to be a knight and a baronet? SMITH--I can't tell; I never saw the letters patent. GOODERE--Can't you tell how you styled him in the writings? _Vernon_ objected to this, because baronetage must be derived from letters-patent, and therefore could not be properly proved by Mr. Smith's personal knowledge; and added that it was not material, because the indictment alleged that the person murdered was Sir John Dineley Goodere, and the prosecution would prove that he usually went by that name. To this _Shepard_ answered that if the person killed was a baronet, and was not so described, there was a misdescription, and the prisoners could not be convicted on that indictment. _Vernon_ then argued at some length that the necessity of setting out a personal description in an indictment applied only to the defendant, and that all that the law required in the description of the person on whom the offence was committed was a convenient certainty; and that a description by the Christian and surname sufficed. Besides, this was all begging the question, for as it did not appear in proof that the deceased was a baronet, he might, for all that appeared judicially, have been christened Sir John. Had we called the deceased in the indictment sir John Dineley Goodere baronet, then, Sir, we should probably have been told that we had failed in proof of the identity of the person, for that the baronetage was in its creation annexed to, and made a concomitant on, the patentee's name of Goodere, and waited only on that name; and that the deceased, considered as a baronet, was not of the maternal name of Dineley, and so upon the matter no such person as sir John Dineley Goodere baronet ever existed _in rerum natura_.[53] _Shepard_ pointed out that they could not be expected to produce letters-patent to show that the deceased was a baronet, because the prisoner had not been allowed to see, or to have a copy of his indictment; and that it was only on hearing it read that the defence became aware that the deceased was not described as a baronet. He therefore hoped that Goodere might be allowed to ask the question he proposed of Mr. Smith, who having been familiar with Sir John, and seen all his papers and title-deeds, must know the certainty of his title and degree. _The Recorder_ held that it was sufficient if the deceased was described by his Christian and surname; and that the question proposed to the witness was improper, for that it was not material whether the deceased was a baronet or not.[54] _Morris Hobbs_ was the landlord of the White Hart. He could see Mr. Jarrit Smith's house from his windows; and had seen the prisoners before. VERNON--I would not lead you in your evidence, but would be glad you'd give an account to Mr. Recorder, and the jury, whether Mr. Goodere (the gentleman at the bar) applied to you about coming to your house; if so, pray tell us when it was, and upon what occasion? HOBBS--The 12th of January (which was on Monday) captain Goodere and Mahony came to my house; captain Goodere asked my wife, Have you good ale here? She said, Yes; he also asked, What place have you over-head? I answered, A closet, a place where gentlemen usually sit to look out. Will you please to let me see it, says he? Yes, Sir, said I. I went up to shew it, he and Mahony went up; the captain said it was a very fine prospect of the town; he asked for a pint of ale, I drawed it, and he gave it to Mahony, he drank it: and then the captain asked my wife, whether he might have a dish of coffee made to-morrow morning? Sir, said she, it is a thing I don't make use of in my way; but, if you please, I will get it for you. Then he told her, he would be there to-morrow morning by about nine o'clock. Mahony was by then. VERNON--Did you hear this discourse pass between your wife and Mr. Goodere? HOBBS--Yes, I did, and then the captain paid for his pint of ale, and went away; and the next morning (being Tuesday the 13th of January) he came again to my house before my wife was up, and I was making the fire (for I keep no servant). I did not know him again, I thought he was another man; says he, Landlord, can't you open them windows in the parlour? I told him, I would, and so I did; he looked out, and I thought that he had been looking for somebody coming from College prayers. He asked where my wife was? Says I, she is a-bed: because, said he, I talked with her about having some coffee for breakfast. I told him, she should come down presently, but I had much rather he would go down to the coffee-house, where he would have it in order. No, says he, I will have it here. My wife came down, he asked if he might go upstairs where he was before; he went up, and by and by Mahony and three men more came in; I did not know Mahony's name; when they came in, the captain was above stairs; he directed me to make his men eat and drink whatever they would, and he would pay for it; I brought them bread and cheese, they eat what they pleased; Mahony went backwards and forwards, up stairs and down several times; he went out, but where, or what for, I did not know. VERNON--Did Mahony, when he went up stairs, go in to Mr. Goodere? HOBBS--Yes, several times; Mahony put the coffee, and some bread and butter, and made the toast, and did everything for the captain, I thought he had been his footman. When the captain had breakfasted, and had made the men welcome, he shifted himself (some porter brought fresh clothes to him). By and by a man rid along, who, I believe, was sir John Goodere's man, with pistols before him; I heard somebody say that it was his man: and soon after the captain had shifted himself, Mahony went out about a quarter of an hour, and came back sweating, and went up to the captain; and I looking out of the window saw the man on horseback, and leading another horse (which I took to be his master's) and by and by sir John mounted, and rid down between my house and the church; and I had some glimpse of him, and heard the captain say, Look well at him, but don't touch him. THE RECORDER--This you heard the gentleman above stairs say to the four men below? HOBBS--Yes, Sir, he spoke these words to the four who came in. VERNON--Did sir John and his man appear to have any arms? HOBBS--Yes, Sir, they had both pistols before them. VERNON--Those men that were along with Mahony, do you know what ship they belonged to? HOBBS--There was a young man, I believe something of an officer, came to my wife, and asked her, Is the captain of the man-of-war here? She answered that she did not know; but there was a gentleman above, and there were six other men besides in the other room in another company, which I did not know belonged to the captain, until he ordered six pints of ale for them. The captain ordered entertainment for ten men. VERNON--Where were those six men? HOBBS--In the kitchen; they did not belong to the man-of-war, nor were not in company with the other four. VERNON--Now, will you proceed to give an account what followed upon Mr. Goodere's saying, Look well at him, but don't touch him. HOBBS--As soon as sir John went down the hill, this Mahony stept up to the captain and came down again, and he and the other three in his company went down the hill, and the captain followed them; the clothes which the captain pulled off were left in the room; when the captain was going out at the door with his sword and cloak, I thought I was pretty safe of my reckoning, because of his clothes being left. The captain said at the door, Landlady, I will come back and pay you presently. VERNON--How long was it before Mr. Goodere returned to your house? HOBBS--He came again in about a quarter of an hour: When he came again, he went upstairs, changed a guinea, he asked what was to pay? I told him four shillings and one penny half-penny, and then went away. About an hour and a half after Mahony and the other came again, sweating, and said they had been a mile or two out in the country. Mahony asked credit for a tankard of ale, and said his master would come up on Saturday following, and then he would pay for it: Well, said I, if he is to come up on Saturday, I will not stand for a tankard of ale; but if he don't come, how shall I have my reckoning? Says Mahony, I live at the Scotch arms in Marsh-street. Well, said I, I will not deny drawing you a tankard of ale, if you never pay me. Said he, You had best get the room ready against Saturday, and make a fire, and just dust it. VERNON--Pray, when Mr. Goodere went away from your house was he in the same dress as when he came that day? HOBBS--No, Sir. When he came there he had a light-coloured coat, and he looked like a country farmer at his first coming in; but when he was out, he had a scarlet cloak on, wore a sword, and had a cane in his hand; a porter brought him the things. VERNON--Do you know any thing of what happened on the Sunday following? HOBBS--Yes, Sir; the Sunday morning Mahony came to my house, having trousers, a short jacket and leather cap on, asked for a quart of ale, this was Sunday: My wife said, Don't draw any more upon tick. Mahony gave a sixpence and paid for it, and said, See that the room be clear, the captain will be up in the afternoon, and then he will be here; And as he was going out of the house, he said to me, If you fortune to see that gentleman go up with the black cap before that time, do you send a porter to me to the Scotch arms. I told him I had no porter, and could not send. About 3 o'clock in the afternoon when he came again with a person who had a scalled face, and one or two more, a man who lodged in the house came and told me, that they wanted to go up stairs; but I would not let them, because it was in service-time. They all went into the parlour, and had a quart of ale, and when that was drunk, Mahony called for another; and then eight or nine men more came and called for ale, and went into the parlour, but still kept looking out; and one of them being a little fellow, I don't know his name, kept slamming the door together, ready to break the house down. Says I, Don't break my house down about my ears, don't think you are in Marsh-street; then the little fellow came up as if he was going to strike me, as I was coming up out of the cellar with a dobbin of ale in my hand, for a gentleman going to the college; I saw this gentleman (pointing to the prisoner Samuel Goodere) and the deceased walk down the hill, I looked after them, and so did Mahony; and then all those men rushed out, and followed them. Mahony paid the reckoning, and went away: I ran in to see after my tankard for I was more afraid of losing that than the reckoning. And that is all I do know from the beginning to the end. VERNON--How long did he continue at your house on the Sunday? HOBBS--I believe, Sir, an hour and a half; and there was some or other of them still looking out and waiting at the door. THE RECORDER--You say that Mahony desired you that if you saw the gentleman in the black cap go by, to send a porter; who did you apprehend that gentleman to be? HOBBS--The gentleman that rode down the Tuesday. ONE OF THE JURY--To what place were you to send the porter? HOBBS--To the Scotch arms in Marsh-street, where Mahony lodged, if the gentleman in the black cap did go up to Mr. Smith's. VERNON--I think, you say, you saw Mr. Goodere on the Sunday go down the hill, after the gentleman in the black cap? HOBBS--I did, Sir; but nobody at all was with him. GOODERE--Did you see me at all that day? HOBBS--Yes, Sir, I saw you go into Mr. Jarrit Smith's; and when you came down the hill, after the gentleman in the black cap, you called out to Mahony and his company, and bid them to look sharp. GOODERE--Did you see anybody with me that day? I was not at your house that day. HOBBS--I did not say you were; but as you was going to Mr. Jarrit Smith's, I heard one of your men say, There goes our captain, or else I had not looked out. MAHONY--I beg leave, my lord, to ask him, who it was that the captain bid Mahony to look sharp to? HOBBS--The gentleman with the black cap. THE RECORDER--Was the gentleman in the black cap, at whose going by they all rushed out, the same gentleman whom you had seen before go to Mr. Jarrit Smith's? HOBBS--Yes, Sir, but Mahony gave half-a-crown for my reckoning, and as they rushed out so hastily, I was afraid they had taken away my tankard; for which reason I went to look after it, and saw no more. _Thomas Williams, sworn._ VERNON--Mr. Williams, I think you belonged to the _Ruby_ at the time when this melancholy affair happened? WILLIAMS--Yes, Sir. VERNON--What station were you in? WILLIAMS--I was ordered to walk the quarter-deck. VERNON--Will you give an account of what you know in relation to the ill-treatment of sir John Dineley Goodere? Tell all you know about it. WILLIAMS--I came up on Sunday the 18th day of January last for my commander, went to his lodgings, he was not at home. I was told there that he dined that day at Dr. Middleton's and he was just gone there. I went to Dr. Middleton's after him, and he was just gone from thence; I then returned to his lodgings and found him there; I told him the barge was waiting for his honour. He asked me if I knew the river, and if I knew the brick-yard at the lime-kilns? I told him that I knew the lime-kilns, and at last I recollected that I did remember the brick-yard he meant. That is well enough, says he. While I was there, Mahony came up to him, and the captain desired of me to go down stairs, for he wanted to speak to Mahony in private. I went down stairs, by and by Mahony came down and went away; then I went up to captain Goodere again, when he directed me to get all the hands together, and go down into the barge, and, says he, let it be landed at the brick-yard. He asked me, if I knew the White Hart in the College Green? I told him, I did, and he directed me to take eight men up with me to the White Hart, and let two remain in the boat for I have a gentleman coming on board with me. I did as I was ordered; and when I came to the White Hart, I saw Mahony and some of the privateer's men with him there in a room; I did not like their company; I went into the kitchen; I asked the landlord to make me a pint of toddy; he asked me, whether I would have it hot or cold; I told him a little warm; he was going about it but before it was made, Mahony and the privateer's men rushed out of the house: I seeing that, followed them; they had the gentleman in possession before I came to them, and were dragging him along. I asked them what they were at? One of the privateer's men told me, if I did not hold my tongue he would throw me over the key into the river, and immediately captain Goodere came there himself; The privateer's men asked what they should do with him, and he directed them to take him on board the barge. I followed them down the butts, the gentleman cried out Murder, murder! Mr. Stephen Perry, the anchor-smith, came out of his house, and asked me what was the matter; I told him I did not know: Mahony said he was a murderer, he had killed a man on board the man-of-war, and that he had run away; they had carried him before a magistrate, and he was ordered back to the man-of-war to be tried by a court-martial. THE RECORDER--Was the captain within hearing at the time Mahony said that? WILLIAMS--He was just behind. THE RECORDER--Was he within hearing? WILLIAMS--He was; and when they had brought him into the barge captain Goodere desired to have the cloak put over sir John to keep him from the cold, but sir John said he did not want a cloak, neither would he have it. The privateer's men wanted me to put them on the other side the water, but I said I would not without the captain's orders. They asked the captain, and he directed me to do it, and I put them ashore at the glass-house, and just as we came over against the hot-wells, there was a gentleman standing whom sir John knew, to whom sir John cried out, Sir, do you know Mr. Jarrit Smith? But before he could speak any more, the cloak was thrown over him to prevent his crying out, and the captain told me to steer the barge on the other side, until we got clear of the noise of the people; and when we were got clear, he directed me to steer the boat in the middle, as I ought to do. I obeyed his orders. THE RECORDER--Who threw the cloak over him? WILLIAMS--The captain. And the captain being as near to sir John as I am to your lordship, sir John asked the captain what he was going to do with him? Says the captain, I am going to carry you on board, to save you from ruin, and from lying rotting in a gaol. VERNON--And what reply did sir John make to that? WILLIAMS--He said, I know better things, I believe you are going to murder me; you may as well throw me overboard, and murder me here right, as carry me on board ship and murder me. No, says the captain, I am not going to do any such thing, but I would have you make your peace with God. As I steered the boat, I heard all that passed. We brought sir John on board between 7 and 8 o'clock, he could hardly go up into the ship, he being so benumbed with cold; he did go up of his own accord, with the men's assistance. VERNON--How was he treated on board the man-of-war? WILLIAMS--Sir, I don't know how they treated him after he went on board the ship. I was excused from watching that night so I went to my hammock; but after I was got out of my first sleep, I heard some people talking and walking about backwards and forwards: I was surprised; at last I peeped out of my hammock, and asked the centinel what was o'clock. He said, between two and three. And then I saw captain Goodere going down the ladder from the deck towards the purser's cabin, but for what intention I know not. I believe he came from his own cabin. THE RECORDER--Whereabout is the purser's cabin? WILLIAMS--The purser's cabin is in a place called the Cockpit, the lower steps of the ladder is just by the door of the purser's cabin. THE RECORDER--And it was that ladder you saw the captain go down, was it? WILLIAMS--Yes, Sir, it was. VERNON--Mr. Williams, you have not told us all the particulars of sir John's treatment between the seizing and carrying him to the barge. WILLIAMS--One of the men had hold of one arm, and another the other, and a third person was behind shoving him along. VERNON--Where was captain Goodere then? WILLIAMS--He was just behind him. VERNON--How near was he to him? WILLIAMS--Sometimes he was as near to him as I am to you. THE RECORDER--How many were there in the company, do you think, in the rope-walk, when they were carrying sir John along? WILLIAMS--There were five of the privateer's men, and Mahony made six, and there were nine belonging to the barge; about sixteen in all. RECORDER--At what distance were you? WILLIAMS--At a pretty great distance; I walked just before them; I saw them take him along in the manner I have said; I heard sir John cry out murder several times as he went, as they took him along the rope-walk. In answer to Goodere, the witness said that he slept on the starboard side of the gun-room, and that he could see people coming down into the cockpit, because the gun-room came unusually far out; there was no other cabin but the purser's in the cockpit. He did not know where the ship lay, being but a foremast man. _Samuel Trivett, sworn._ VERNON--Will you give an account to Mr. Recorder and the Jury of what you know relating to this business? TRIVETT--On Sunday the 18th of January last, I was at a public meeting in the rope-walk; I heard a noise of people cried, Damn ye, stand off, or else we will knock your brains out; I stepped up, and asked what right they had to carry a man along after that manner? I followed them: their answer was, it was a midshipman who had committed murder, and they were taking him down to the ship to do him justice; other people likewise followed, enquiring what was the matter the gentleman was behind, and ordered them to make more haste. VERNON--Look upon the prisoner at the bar, Mr. Goodere; is that the gentleman that ordered them to make more haste? TRIVETT--I believe that is the man, my lord. On the gentleman's ordering them to make more haste, five or six of them caught him up in their arms, and carried him along; and as they were got down about the corner of Mr. Brown's wall, he insisted upon their making more dispatch, and then they hurried him as far as captain Osborn's dock. By that time his clothes were ruffled and shoved up to his arm-pits; they put him down, and settled his clothes, and then I saw his face, and knew him to be sir John Dineley: he cried out murder several times, and said, they were taking him on board to kill him, he believed. As they were going with him along, he cried out to Mrs. Darby, For God's sake assist me, they are going to murder me. I told Mrs. Darby it was sir John Dineley: she said she knew him; the cloak was then over his face. As they got him further, he called out to a little girl, to get somebody to assist him, for they were going to murder him. They pushed him along to Mrs. New's house, and made a little stop there, and then they brought him to the water-side, where was a boat; they put out a plank with ledges nailed across: he was ordered to go on board the boat; they got him on board, and put him to sit down in the stern-sheet: then he cried out, For God's sake, gentlemen, if any of you know Mr. Jarrit Smith in the College-green, tell him my name is sir John Dineley. One of the men put his cloak and covered him, and before he could say any more, that gentleman (pointing to the prisoner Goodere) took his hand and put it on his mouth, and would not let him speak any further, and ordered the boat to be pushed off, which was done; and the tide making up strong, the boat got almost to the other side. I heard that gentleman (pointing as before) say, Have you not given the rogues of lawyers money enough already? Do you want to give them more? I will take care that they shall never have any more of you; now I'll take care of you. THE RECORDER--Prisoners, will either of you ask this witness any questions? GOODERE--No, I never saw the man before in my life. _Thomas Charmsbury, sworn._ CHARMSBURY--On Sunday the 18th of January last, between the hours of four and five in the afternoon, I was on board the ship called the _Levant_, lying in Mr. Thompson's dock; I heard a noise coming over the bridge of the dock, and I saw a man in a scarlet cloak, and a parcel of people, some before and some behind, guarding of him, and he made a noise. I went towards them, to see what was the matter, and at Mr. Stephen Perry's counting-house (they rested) I asked, what was the matter? They said, he had killed a man on board a man-of-war; that he had run away; and they had had him before a magistrate, and he was ordered on board the king's ship to be carried round to London to take his trial. Mr. Perry (on hearing the noise) came out and saw him; says Mr. Perry, Gentlemen, do you know what you are about? I would not be in your coats for a thousand pounds, for it is 'squire Goodere. They threatened to knock down any that should come near; a fellow, I take him to be Mahony, came up to me, and threatened to knock me down several times. They took and carried him as far as captain James Day's lofts and warehouse, where he keeps his hemp; and there they rested him again, and threatened to knock down any that should come near them. Then said Mahony, Damn ye, here comes the captain. Immediately I turned about, and saw a gentleman with his cane poised in one hand, and his sword in the other; he had a dark shag coat and yellow buttons, whom I take to be that gentleman the prisoner at the bar. They took up the man in the scarlet cloak again, and carried him so far as coming out from the lower College-green into the rope-walk: the prisoner Goodere came up to them and ordered them to mend their pace; they took him up again, and carried him as far as Brown's garden, at the lower end of the rope-walk, as fast as they could well carry him, where they settled his clothes, and in the meanwhile the prisoner Goodere came up to them again, and ordered them to mend their pace. With much difficulty they got him between the gate and stile, and carried him as far as the warehouse at the corner of the glass-house, there they rested and settled his clothes again; then they took him up, and carried him down to the Lime-kilns, as far as the lower part of the wall below madam New's; and then brought him down to a place opposite to the King's-head, and then they put him on board a boat (I take it the man-of-war's barge) having ten oars, and they handed him in. After, the prisoner Goodere went into the boat after him, and set sir John on the starboard-side, and the prisoner Goodere on the larboard-side; then sir John cried out, Murder! you gentlemen that are on shore, pray tell Mr. Jarrit Smith that my name is Dineley, and before he could say Goodere the gentleman took up the flap of the cloak, threw it over the face of sir John, and stopped his mouth; and says he, I will take care of you, that you shall not spend your estate; and ordered the barge to be put off; and then he took the gentleman's cloak from his shoulders, and put it on his own. THE RECORDER--Who was it that stopped his mouth with his cloak? CHARMSBURY--That gentleman the prisoner at the bar. The boat was so full, had so many people in it, that they were obliged to row but with eight oars: and when they proceeded down the river, it being about three quarters flood, and the gentleman continually crying out, they went out of sight, and I saw no more of them. _Mrs. Darby_, who lived at the limekilns, saw Sir John forced along between two men; he was crying out, Murder, murder! for the Lord's sake save me, save me, for they are going to kill me. She knew Sir John very well; she had mended his chair for him last summer; she was told that the gentleman at the bar was the captain of the man-of-war; he was dressed in a dark drab-coloured coat, and his waistcoat was trimmed with gold. She heard Sir John cry out something as he was being hurried into the boat, but she could not hear what. _William Dupree_ was drinking at the King's Head with a friend, and a young woman who was reading at the window said she heard a great noise, on which they went out, and saw a company of men forcing a gentleman along, the prisoner Goodere coming behind them. They said that he had murdered a man, and that they were taking him on board for justice. They put him on the yawl, while Captain Goodere stood by. He cried out, 'For God's sake! go and acquaint Mr. Jarrit Smith, for I am undone, they will murder me.' The witness went back to the King's Head, where the people advised him to go to Mr. Jarrit Smith and inform him of it, which he did. When Sir John cried out he saw Goodere put his hand on his mouth. _Theodore Court, Master of the Ship, sworn._ VERNON--Will you tell Mr. Recorder and the jury what you know concerning the death of sir John Dineley Goodere? T. COURT--On the 18th of January last, being Sunday, the barge went up to fetch captain Goodere from Bristol, and about seven of the clock in the evening he came on board, and when he came into the gangway, says he, How do you all do, gentlemen? Excuse me, gentlemen, from going the right way to-night, for I have brought an old mad fellow on board and I must take care of him. I saw a gentleman with a black cap coming up the ship's side, and his groans shocked me, so that I could not help him; he looked much surprised as a person used ill; as soon as he was on board he was taken into custody, and carried by the captain's orders down to the cockpit, and put into the purser's cabin, and a centinel ordered upon him; and I saw him no more at that time. Next morning I was told that the captain's brother was murdered, and that the captain had given Charles White and Mahony leave to go on shore. THE RECORDER--By whose direction was he put into the purser's cabin? T. COURT--The captain himself went down and saw them put him in. VERNON--Whereabout in the ship is the purser's cabin? T. COURT--In the cock-pit. VERNON--Was it a place where gentlemen who came on board commonly lay? T. COURT--No, nobody had laid in it for a considerable time. The next morning the cooper met me, and said, Here is fine doings to-night, Mr. Court! Why, what is the matter? said I. Why, said he, about three o'clock this morning they went down and murdered sir John. The ship was in an uproar; the Cooper said, if Mr. Perry (the lieutenant) did not secure the captain, he would write to the board; we had several consultations in the ship about it. The captain sent for me to breakfast with him: I accepted his invitation; I can't say but he behaved with a very good name to all the people on board. About ten o'clock Mr. Perry, myself, and the other officers, with the cooper, consulted about securing the captain. Mr. Perry cautioned us not to be too hot; for, said he, if we secure the captain before we know sir John is dead, I shall be broke, and you too. We send for the carpenter, and desired him to go down and open the cabin-door, the centinel who stood there having said it was lock'd; the carpenter went down, opened the cabin-door, and came up, and said sir John was murdered; and that he lay on his left side, with his leg up crooked. I told them, gentlemen, there is nothing to be done before the coroner comes; and therefore we must not touch him: whereupon the door was ordered to be fastened up; we then consulted how to take the captain, and a method was agreed on for that purpose. And as soon as the captain was taken, he declared he was innocent of it, that he knew not that his brother was murdered. When the coroner came, I saw the deceased, and my heart ached for him. THE RECORDER--Who was it put the centinel upon sir John? T. COURT--The captain ordered it to be done. VERNON--Is it usual to place a centinel at the purser's cabin-door? T. COURT--No, it is not; unless there be somebody there under confinement. VERNON--Is there any other cabin near the purser's? T. COURT--Yes, there is the slop-room just by; there the cooper and his wife lay that night: there is just a little partition of about half-inch deal, parting the slop-room from the place where sir John lay confined. VERNON--Pray, will you tell us whether any and what discourse passed between Mr. Goodere and you, about sailing, and when it was? T. COURT--Sir, in the morning he asked me, Will the wind serve to sail? He said, he had another pressing letter from the lords of the admiralty to sail as soon as possible. I told him that the wind was west-south-west, and that we could not go out to sea; for no pilot would take charge of the ship I believed. And as this is a harbour where a pilot is allowed, I don't pass for this place; otherwise I must have observed his orders. VERNON--Did he acquaint you how far or to what part, he would have you sail? T. COURT--Yes, he said, if he got no further than the Holmes, he did not care; and asked me if it was safe riding there. I told him it was not; for it was foul ground for such a ship as ours. THE RECORDER--Mr. Goodere, will you ask this witness any questions? GOODERE--What cabins are there in the cock-pit? T. COURT--I know no cabins there but the purser's cabin and the slop-room, etc. VERNON--Call Mr. Williams. _William Williams_ produced a watch which he had found in a vault in Back Street. Culliford, who kept the Brockware Boat on the Back, had reported at the Council House, when he was examined there, that a watch and some money had been left at his house; but his wife, when asked for them, denied the watch, but afterwards admitted that she had thrown it into the vault where the witness afterwards found it. _T. Court_ said that the captain had had a watch like the one produced. In answer to Goodere, he said that there were in the cockpit the steward's room, the purser's cabin, and the slop-room. The ship had been moored on Thursday the 15th of January. When Sir John was murdered she lay in the King Road; the witness then described the position of the ship with greater detail. _Vernon_ interposed to state that the ship was in the King Road, which was well known to be within the franchise of the city: the sheriffs of the city continually executed writs there; and such a serious matter ought not to be decided on a side wind. _Duncan Buchanan_, one of the crew of the _Ruby_, was ordered to go to the White Hart on Tuesday the 13th of January, and there were Mahony and the privateer's men drinking hot flip. He saw a gentleman come out of Mr. Smith's; he was mounted, and had pistols before him; he was followed by a servant, also armed. Some of the men ran out, and Goodere followed them and ordered them to follow the gentleman. On the 18th, the barge came alongside the ship, about seven in the evening, with the gentleman in it. The witness stood in the gangway to receive him. When he came up, I heard him make a moan, and the captain said, I have brought a madman on board, bring him along, I will bring him to his senses by-and-by. I saw them take him along the gangway. You must not mind what he says, said the captain; and he was ordered down to the purser's cabin: I was ordered centinel there. About twelve o'clock the captain sent for me to come up to him, and I laid down my sword and went up, and Mahony was there with him; and there was a bottle of rum and a glass before them: the captain asked me to drink a dram, I thanked him and drank. He asked me how his brother was? I told him he groaned a little; says the captain, I know the reason of that, he is wet, and I am coming down by-and-by to shift him with dry stockings: so I left the captain and Mahony together. Some time after the captain came down to me as I was at my post at the purser's cabin; he asked if his brother made a noise; I told him no; upon which the captain listened a little time at the door, and then said, Give me the sword, and do you walk upon deck, for I want to speak to my brother in private. Soon after this Mahony went down, and very soon after Mahony was down, I heard a great struggling in the cabin, and the gentleman cry out Murder! I then thought the gentleman had been in one of his mad fits; but now I suppose they were then strangling him. As I was walking to-and-fro in the gun-room, I looked down, and saw the captain take the candle out of the lanthorn, which was hanging up there, and he gave the candle into the cabin. THE RECORDER--Where was Mr. Goodere when you heard the cry of murder? BUCHANAN--In the cock-pit by the purser's cabin-door, with the sword in his hand. THE RECORDER--What time of the night was this? BUCHANAN--Between two and three o'clock; I lighted a candle at the lanthorn in the gun-room, and was going down to the captain with it, as supposing him to be without light; and as I was going down with it, the captain held up his sword, waved it, and said, Go back, and stay where you are. THE RECORDER--You said that sir John Dineley cried out Murder! Was that before you offered the candle to the captain? BUCHANAN--Yes, Sir; it was before. THE RECORDER--How long? BUCHANAN--About a quarter of an hour. THE RECORDER--How long did the cry of murder continue? BUCHANAN--About three or four minutes; soon after the captain had ordered me to keep back, he called for a candle, and I carried one down, and he gave me the sword, and bid me stand upon my post; and said he, if my brother makes any more noise, let him alone and send for me; and he locked the purser's cabin-door, and took the key away with him; and in the morning the doctor's mate, the cooper, and I consulted together about it; and I was willing to know, if sir John was dead or not: and when we peeped into the cabin, we saw him lying in a very odd sort of posture, with his hat over his face, and one of his legs lay crooked; upon which we concluded he was dead. THE RECORDER--How long were you off your post from first to last? BUCHANAN--I can't tell exactly. THE RECORDER--Recollect as well as you can. BUCHANAN--About three quarters of an hour. THE RECORDER--And could you see who was at the purser's cabin-door all that time? BUCHANAN--Yes, Sir; I saw the captain stand at the foot of the ladder at the door, with a drawn sword, from the time I went up to the time I came down again; he locked the door, and carried the key away with him. VERNON--Pray, were there any bolts on the purser's cabin-door? BUCHANAN--Yes, there were bolts on the door; they were put on soon after sir John came on board: sir John was in that cabin when they were put on. VERNON--You say you heard a noise and outcry of murder; how far were you from the cabin-door when you heard that cry of murder? BUCHANAN--I was walking to-and-fro the gun-room. VERNON--How far is that from the purser's cabin-door? BUCHANAN--As far as I am from you. VERNON--Whom did you see go into the purser's cabin to sir John? BUCHANAN--I saw Mahony go in there. VERNON--Did you see any other person go in besides Mahony? BUCHANAN--No, I did not; I saw Mahony go in just before the cry of murder, but no other person. VERNON--Do you know any thing about securing the captain? BUCHANAN--Yes, I will tell you what happened then. We went and secured him. As soon as he was laid hold of, he cried out, Hey! hey! what have I done? We told him his brother was murdered, and that he had some concern in it. He said, What if the villains have murdered my brother, can I help it? I know nothing of it. GOODERE--Did you see me in the cabin at all? BUCHANAN--No, Sir, I don't say you were in the cabin. THE RECORDER--Mr. Goodere, the witness does not say he saw you in the cabin, but at the door, and with a sword in your hand, and that you handed in a light after the cry of murder was over. GOODERE--I could not have been in the cabin without Buchanan's seeing me go in, because he stood at the bulkhead of the gun-room. THE RECORDER--Mahony, will you ask this witness any questions? MAHONY--Are you certain that I was in the cabin when you heard the groans? BUCHANAN--I am positive you were there in the purser's cabin when I heard the murder cried out. _Daniel Weller, sworn._ VERNON--I think you are the carpenter belonging to the _Ruby_ man-of-war? WELLER--Yes, Sir, I am. VERNON--Give an account to Mr. Recorder and the jury of what you know relating to this business. WELLER--The 18th of January last, about seven o'clock in the evening, the captain came on board in the barge; as I attended him, I observed he seemed in a pleasant humour, he came upon the deck at once, and said he had brought a poor crazy man on board, who had been the ruin of himself and family, and that he had now brought him on board to take care of him: he took him down to the cock-pit, and having been there a little while, one of my people came and asked for some bolts; I asked, What for? He told me it was to put on the outside of the purser's cabin-door, to bolt the crazy gentleman in. I gave him a bolt; after he had nailed it on, he came and wanted another: I had another, gave it to him, and went down to see the bolts put on. Sir John cried out, What are you doing, nailing the door up? I answered, No. I ordered the door to be opened, to turn the points of the nails. The door being opened, sir John asked whether the carpenter was there? I told him I was the man. The centinel told me no-body must go in there; however, I went in, while they turned the points of the nails. Sir John bid me sit down, and asked me, What does my brother mean by bringing me on board in this manner, to murder me? No, Sir, says I, I hope not, but to take care of you. He asked me, if his brother told me that he was mad? I saw no more of him till next morning. VERNON--And what did you see then? WELLER--Next morning the lieutenant sent me down to see if sir John was dead. I went down and asked the centinel for the key; he told me the captain had been there in the night, and had taken away the key in his pocket. I broke open the cabin-door, and sir John was lying on one side dead, with his right leg half up bent, his hat was over his face, with blood bespattered about his mouth and nose. I went directly up, and told the lieutenant of it. THE RECORDER--By whose orders did you put the bolts on the door? WELLER--One of my people came to me for bolts, and told me he was ordered by the captain to put the bolts on; and none of them ever came for any thing to be done, without an order of an officer. _Edward Jones, sworn._ VERNON--Mr. Jones, I think you are the cooper of the ship _Ruby_? JONES--Yes, Sir. VERNON--Were you on board upon Sunday the 18th of January last? JONES--Yes, Sir, I was. VERNON--In what cabin did you lie that night? JONES--I had no cabin, but I made bold to lie in the slop-room that night, having my wife on board. VERNON--Pray what is that you call the slop-room? JONES--It is like a cabin. VERNON--How near is the slop-room to the purser's cabin? JONES--Nothing but a thin deal-partition parts it from the purser's cabin. VERNON--Will you relate to Mr. Recorder and the jury what you know about the murder of Mr. Goodere's brother; tell the whole you know concerning it. JONES--About Wednesday or Thursday before this happened, the captain said to me, Cooper, get this purser's cabin cleaned out, for he said he expected a gentleman shortly to come on board. I cleaned it out; and on Sunday evening the gentleman came on board, when the people on deck cried, Cooper, shew a light. I brought a light, saw the captain going down the cock-pit ladder, the gentleman was hauled down: he complained of a pain in his thigh by their hauling him on board. The captain asked him, if he would have a dram? He said no; for he had drank nothing but water for two years. The captain ordered Mahony a dram; he drank it; he also ordered one Jack Lee to put two bolts on the purser's cabin-door. The gentleman walked to-and-fro the purser's cabin while they were nailing the bolts on. He wanted to speak with one of the officers. The carpenter told him he was the carpenter. Says the gentleman, Do you understand what my brother Sam is going to do with me? And said, His brother had brought him on board to murder him that night. The carpenter said, He hoped not, but what was done was for his good. The captain said, They must not mind what his brother said, for he had been mad for a twelvemonth past. And the captain went up again, and went into the doctor's room. I went to bed about eight o'clock. Some time about eleven o'clock at night I heard the gentleman knock, and said, He wanted to ease himself; to which the centinel gave no manner of heed. Is it not a shame, said he, to keep a gentleman in, after this manner? At last, some other person spoke to the centinel, and says, Why don't you go up and acquaint the captain of it, that the gentleman may ease himself? Soon after Mahony comes down with a bucket, for the gentleman to ease himself. Mahony sat down in the cabin, and he and the gentleman had a great deal of discourse together; the gentleman said he had been at the East-Indies, and told what he had got for his merit; and Mahony said, some by good friends. I heard the gentleman, after Mahony was gone, pray to God to be his comforter under his affliction. He said to himself, he knew that he was going to be murdered, and prayed that it might come to light by one means or another. I took no notice of it, because I thought him a crazy man. I slept a little, and about two or three o'clock my wife waked me. She said, Don't you hear the noise that is made by the gentleman? I believe they are killing him. I then heard him kick, and cry out, Here are twenty guineas, take it; don't murder me; Must I die! must I die! O my life! and gave several kecks with his throat, and then he was still. I got up in my bed upon my knees: I saw a light glimmering in at the crack, and saw that same man, Mahony, with a candle in his hand. The gentleman was lying on one side. Charles White was there, and he put out his hand to pull the gentleman upright. I heard Mahony cry out, Damn ye, let us get his watch out; but White said he could not get at it. I could not see his pockets. White laid hold of him, went to tumbling him up to get out his money, unbuttoned his breeches to get out his watch; I saw him lay hold of the chain; White gave Mahony the watch, who put it in his pocket; and White put his hand into one of the gentleman's pockets, and cursed that there was nothing but silver: but he put his hand in the other pocket, and there he found gold. White was going to give Mahony the gold: damn ye, says Mahony, keep it till by-and-by. THE RECORDER--In what posture did sir John lie at that time? JONES--He lay in a very uneasy manner, with one leg up; and when they moved him, he still remained so, which gave me a suspicion that he was dead. White put his hand in another pocket, took out nothing but a piece of paper, was going to read it. Damn ye, said Mahony, don't stand to read it. I saw a person's hand on the throat of this gentleman, and heard the person say, 'Tis done, and well done. THE RECORDER--Was that a third person's hand, or the hand of Mahony or White? JONES--I cannot say whether it was a third person's hand or not. I saw but two persons in the cabin, I did not see the person, for it was done in a moment. I can't swear I saw any more than two persons in the cabin. THE RECORDER--Did you take notice of the hand that was laid on sir John's throat? JONES--I did. THE RECORDER--Did it appear to you like the hand of a common sailor? JONES--No; it seemed whiter. VERNON--You have seen two hands held up at the bar. I would ask you to which of them it was most like in colour? JONES--I have often seen Mahony's and White's hands, and I thought the hand was whiter than either of theirs; and I think it was neither of their hands by the colour of it. THE RECORDER--Was sir John on the floor, or on the bed? JONES--On the bed; but there was no sheets: it was a flock-bed, and nobody had lain there a great while. VERNON--How long did the cries and noise which you heard continue? JONES--Not a great while: he cried like a person going out of the world, very low. At my hearing it, I would have got out in the mean time, but my wife desired me not to go, for she was afraid there was somebody at the door that would kill me. VERNON--What more do you know concerning this matter, or of Mahony and White's being afterwards put on shore? JONES--I heard some talking that the yaul was to go to shore about four of the clock in the morning, and some of us were called up, and I importuned my wife to let me go out. I called, and asked who is centinel? Duncan Buchanan answered, It is I. Oh, says I, is it you? I then thought myself safe. I jumpt out in my shirt, went to him; says I, There have been a devilish noise to-night in the cabin, Duncan, do you know any thing of the matter? They have certainly killed the gentleman, what shall us do? I went to the cabin-door where the doctor's mate lodged, asked him if he had heard any thing to-night? I heard a great noise, said he. I believe, said I, they have killed that gentleman. He said, he believed so too. I drawed aside the scuttle that looked into the purser's cabin from the steward's room, and cried, Sir, if you are alive, speak. He did not speak. I took a long stick, and endeavoured to move him, but found he was dead. I told the doctor's mate that I thought he was the proper person to relate the matter to the officer, but he did not care to do it then. If you will not, I will, said I. I went up to the lieutenant and desired him to come out of his cabin to me. What is the matter, said he? I told him I believed there had been murder committed in the cock-pit, upon the gentleman who was brought on board last night. Oh! don't say so, says the lieutenant. In that interim, whilst we were talking about it, Mr. Marsh the midshipman came, and said, that there was an order to carry White and Mahony on shore. I then swore they should not go on shore, for there was murder committed. The lieutenant said, Pray be easy, it can't be so; I don't believe the captain would do any such thing. That gentleman there, Mr. Marsh, went to ask the captain if Mahony and White must be put on shore? And Mr. Marsh returned again, and said, that the captain said they should. I then said, it is certainly true that the gentleman is murdered between them. I did not see Mahony and White that morning, because they were put on shore. I told the lieutenant, that if he would not take care of the matter, I would write up to the Admiralty, and to the mayor of Bristol. The lieutenant wanted the captain to drink a glass of wine: the captain would not come out of his cabin; then the lieutenant went in first; I followed him. I told the captain that my chest had been broke open, and I desired justice might be done. Then I seized him, and several others came to my assistance. THE RECORDER--Mr. Goodere, do you ask Mr. Jones any questions? GOODERE--Do you know whether the midshipman was sent away on the king's business, or else only to put those two men on shore? JONES--I know not, you were the captain of the ship. THE RECORDER--Mahony, will you ask this witness any questions? MAHONY--Did you see me lay hands on the gentleman? JONES--Yes, I did, as I have already related. _Margaret Jones, sworn._ VERNON--Mrs. Jones, pray acquaint Mr. Recorder and the jury what you know about the murder of sir John Dineley Goodere (the gentleman ordered by Mr. Goodere into the purser's cabin). MRS. JONES--About seven o'clock in the evening, the 18th of last January, the captain (having been on shore) came on board, and came down into the cock-pit, and asked if the cabin was clean? My husband answered, yes. On which the captain gave orders to bring down the gentleman; and the captain said to the doctor, Doctor, I have got an old mad fellow here, you must doctor him up as well as you can. They brought the gentleman into the cabin, the captain asked him how he did now? The gentleman complained that he had a great pain in his thigh, he was hurted by the men's hauling him as they had done. The captain asked him if he would drink a dram of rum? He answered, No; for he said he had drank nothing but water for two years past. The captain gave a dram to several persons there; and he gave orders for some sheets to be brought; and he said to Mahony, As his clothes are wet, do you pull them off. And the gentleman said to Mahony, Don't strip me, fellow, until I am dead. The gentleman said, Brother Sam, what do you intend to do with me? The captain told him that he brought him there to save him from rotting in a gaol. About ten o'clock Mahony was left there; the gentleman desired him to go; but Mahony said, I have orders to abide here, to take care of you. The gentleman said to Mahony, I can abide by myself. Before the captain went away, he bid Mahony to see if his brother had any knife about him. The gentleman gave up his knife to Mahony, desired him to take care of it, for it was his son's knife. The gentleman asked about the knife several times in the night. About twelve o'clock I went to sleep; about two o'clock I wakened again: I heard the gentleman talk to Mahony, but Mahony advised the gentleman to go to sleep. He said, I cannot sleep. They talked together a great while. Mahony said, I am to go on shore in the morning, and if you have any letters to send to Bristol, I will carry them for you. I heard somebody say to the gentleman, You must lie still, and not speak a word for your life. Some minutes after I heard a great struggling; who it was, I don't know. The gentleman cried out, Murder; help for God's sake! and made several kecks in his throat, as though somebody was stifling him. I shook my husband, told him that somebody was stifling the gentleman. I heard two people in the cabin whispering; I don't know who they were. The gentleman cried out murder again, Help for God's sake! He said, I have twenty guineas in my pocket, here take it; must I die! Oh, my life! And just about that time, before he was dead, somebody from the outside offered to come into the cabin, but I heard one of the persons on the inside say, Keep out, you negro; and then a great noise was made; I thought the cabin would have been beat down. Some few minutes after the gentleman had done struggling, a candle was brought: I soon got up, and looked through the crevice: I saw a man, who I believe to be White, take the gentleman by the coat, and pulled him upright. I saw Mahony with a candle in his hand; I observed the other to put his hand in the gentleman's pocket. One of them said, Damn ye, pull out his watch. Then I saw the person take hold of the watch-string and pull it out, and he said to the other, Here 'tis, take it, and put it into thy pocket. Then one of them put his hand in another pocket, and took it out, said, Here's nothing but silver; and then he searched another pocket, and said, Here it is; and pulled out a green purse: soon after that, the door was unbolted, I heard a person say, Where shall I run? who I believe was Mahony; and the other, Charles White, said, Follow me, boy. And they went to go upon deck through the hatch-hole, which is an uncommon way; and that is all I know. THE RECORDER--Mr. Goodere and Mahony, do either of you ask this witness any questions? GOODERE--No. MAHONY--No. _James Dudgeon, sworn._ VERNON--Mr. Dudgeon, I think you are the surgeon's mate belonging to the _Ruby_? DUDGEON--Yes, Sir. VERNON--Give Mr. Recorder and the jury an account what you know relating to this matter. DUDGEON--I am very sorry that I should come on this occasion against captain Goodere, because he ever behaved towards me in a genteel manner. The week before this happened, I was told by one of the officers, that the captain was going to bring his brother on board; and on Sunday the 18th of January, about the dusk of the evening, the barge came down to the ship. I was at that time walking the quarter-deck; some of our people seeing the barge a-coming they said, Our captain is coming on board with his brother sure enough: but instead of coming up the quarter-deck, the captain went down upon the main-deck, and I still kept walking on the quarter-deck, expecting to see the gentleman when he went into the great cabin, but I afterwards found that he was ordered down to the cock-pit. Soon after, I went down there myself; and the captain being there, said, Doctor, I have brought a madman to you, I don't know what we shall do with him, but we must make the best of him that we can; and Mahony came down likewise. The captain sent his steward for a bottle of rum, Mahony had a dram of it. The captain asked sir John if he would have one? Sir John replied, No; for, said he, I have not drank any thing of that nature for two years past; he groaned several times. There was then one Cole at the foot of the ladder, to whom also the captain gave a dram; then there was a centinel put upon the cabin-door; but Cole asked the captain if he might go in, and the captain said he might. The old gentleman made a noise as the captain went up the ladder; the captain told him, We have now brought you on board, and will take care you shall want for nothing. After the captain was gone, Cole wanted to go in, but the centinel would not let him; telling him that his orders were to let none in but Mahony: however, Cole went up and got leave of the captain to go in, and he did go in. Soon after this the captain came down again to the cock-pit, and came into my place, and sat down; and after talking of things promiscuously, he said, he believed it would be proper for me to go and feel his brother's pulse; or else, Doctor, he said, do you chuse to leave it alone till to-morrow morning? I made answer, that to-morrow morning might be the best time; because the gentleman may be much confused by being brought down on the water. Come, said he, let us go in now; for I believe it will be as well. If you please, Sir, said I, I will; so the centinel opened the door, and we both went in. Immediately after, the captain went out again, and forthwith the door was shut upon me: which very much surprised me, to think that the captain should leave me with a madman, and I observed the captain to peep through; I then asked the gentleman what he mostly complained of? and felt his pulse. He then made some groans, and told me, that he had got a great cold last week at Bath, and that he felt a severe pain in his head. I was going to ask him some more questions, but the captain called me, and said, Don't ask him any more questions, but only feel his pulse. Then the centinel opened the door, and I came out, and the captain and I went into my place again. Well, doctor, said he, how do you find his pulse? Why, Sir, said I, his pulses are very regular. Why, said he, I believe he was pretty much hurried upon the water. Then the captain went up the ladder, and a little while after he came down again; there were two midshipmen with me in my place, and when the captain came in, they went to go out, but he desired one of them to stay, for he had something to say to him, because he was to go up for letters in the morning; so we sat down, and talked of various things; but I informed the captain that the old gentleman have had hard lodging to-night. Why, said he, I would put another bed in there, and have given him clean sheets, but he would not hear anything of this kind. Then said he to me, Doctor, I believe it will not be amiss to take an inventory of everything he has about him, for fear it should be reported that he is robbed. I replied, Sir, it may not be amiss. By-and-by, Cole came tumbling down the ladder, the midshipman opened the curtain to see who it was; Captain, said he, that is Cole, and I then told that Cole had been drunk a great part of that day. Soon after that the captain opens the curtain, and sees Mahony stand by the centry. Mahony, said he, I thought you had been about the thing which I sent you to do; which I take to be getting the money out of the gentleman's pocket. No, Sir, said he, I chuse to do it after he is asleep. Very well, said the captain. Then the captain spoke to the midshipman, and said, Mr. Marsh, You are to go up for letters to-morrow, and if anyone takes notice of what was done to-day, you may tell the people that it is my brother, and he is very much disordered in his brains, and I have got him on board in hopes of getting relief for him. Sometimes, Doctor, says he, he can talk as well as you or I; but at other times, he is very much out of order. About eight o'clock I was for going to bed, but did not till an hour and a half after; and about that time sir John was making a great noise, and asking who is without the door, what must I do my affairs in the cabin? What a shame is it? Will not you let me have anything to do it in? but nobody made any reply. Upon which I said to the centinel, why don't you answer the gentleman? Are not you ashamed of it? Upon which, I suppose, one went up to the captain and he came down, and said, he was sorry that the gentleman should make such a disturbance; but he hoped, that the first night would be the worst: upon which the captain went up, and Mahony went in; and I heard the gentleman and him talking together, and he asked Mahony, what his brother was going to do with him? What, says he, does he say I am mad? Formerly I used to be so, but now I have not tasted any thing stronger than water these two years. But, said he, to be sure these fellows are not sailors who attacked me this day; they are not sailors, for, if so, they are sadly degenerated from what sailors were formerly, for I myself have been at sea, and might have been a commander. About half an hour after ten, I fell asleep, but was very uneasy. About twelve the centinel was sent for to go up to the captain, but soon came down again; and about half an hour after two I awaked, hearing some stir in the cock-pit; and I heard Mahony's voice in the cabin, saying, Lie still and sleep, Sir. In a short time after that I heard a struggle, and sir John cried out, Here is 20 guineas for you, take it; must I die? And it seemed to me, by his speaking, that they were stifling his mouth. Upon which the person who stood centry upon the cabin turned the key, whereupon Mahony cried out in a terrible pucker, Damn ye, keep the door fast. Upon which I spake, and said, What is the matter? what a noise is that? And the person who stood centinel made answer, Nothing at all, nothing at all; so I lay still a while, and all was pretty quiet. A little time after that, Mahony called for a light, and the cabin-door was opened, and a light handed in; the cock-pit was then in darkness, so all was quiet again for some time. Soon after that the cabin-door was opened again, and I heard as if two or three people were coming out of the cabin, and heard Mahony say, which way shall I go? And somebody made answer, you may go through the hatch-hole. He repeated the question, which way shall I go? and the other answered, by the ship-side. I then thought somebody had been murdering sir John sure enough, and they are carrying off his body that way; at the same time a person stept up the cock-pit ladder, and I heard the captain's voice, and he said, Centry, if he makes any more noise, let me know it; but I thought within myself, that he was past that. After this was past, all was pretty quiet, and the centinel kept walking without my room: I was cautious of speaking to him, not knowing who he was; but soon after, one of the captain's servants came down to the store-room for liquor, and he asked the centry whether he had made any noise lately? To which he replied, You may tell the captain that the gentleman hath been at the lock. About half an hour after, the person who was upon the watch came to me, and asked, if I had any commands on shore, for the boat was going up? I told him, No; but perceiving by his voice who it was, I called him to come to me in the dark, and I whispered, and said to him, Mr. Heathorne, here hath been a hellish cabal to-night, I believe they have murdered the gentleman; doth Mahony go on shore? He answered, that he did; then, said I, the thing is done. I then asked who was the centry without my door? and he told me; whereupon I called the centry to me, and asked him, what noise and cabal is this that hath been here to-night? He said, He did not know; but the captain, said he, hath been down several times to-night, and that he had taken the sword from him. Just after this, in came Edward Jones, the cooper, and his wife shaking and trembling; and said, White and Mahony had murdered the gentleman sure enough. I told them, I did believe they were both going on shore; and I would, said I, have you tell the lieutenant what you saw of the matter, and let him know that I am of the same opinion with you: but do you first go into the steward's room, and draw the scuttle, and then you'll see whether he is dead, or no. Upon which they went and drawed the scuttle, and a cat fled in their face, and they found the gentleman lay in the same posture as White and Mahony left him. I then bid them go and tell the lieutenant the matter, that those fellows might be prevented from going ashore; but yet, said I, we can't stop them neither, seeing they have the captain's orders. Then went Jones up forthwith, and I believe, told the lieutenant; and I also stept up to him just after, and told him, that I believed sir John was actually murdered; for, said I, there have been a terrible noise in the cock-pit to-night, and the captain himself was there this morning when 'twas almost three o'clock, and the men that were with him are going on shore. The lieutenant answered, that he could not stop these men from going ashore, because the captain hath given them leave; so, said he, we must let it alone till morning, to see whether the gentleman is dead, or no. About eight o'clock in the morning I went to him again; but he told me it was best to defer it till we did see whether the captain sends down to him, or not. It is, said he, no way proper for us to think of seizing the captain, till we see that the gentleman is actually dead, and have reason to think he is murdered. When the captain's breakfast was ready, he sent for the lieutenant and me to come and breakfast with him: accordingly we did; and soon after there was a shore-boat came towards us, and then Mr. Chamberlayn came on board, and went to the lieutenant's cabin; and the lieutenant told that gentleman, that they were then going to seize the captain, for it was believed that he had been accessary to the murder of his brother. Immediately a message was brought by one of the men, that sir John was dead: upon which the captain was forthwith seized by eight or ten men. VERNON--How far was your cabin from the purser's? DUDGEON--I can't say certainly, but believe about three yards. VERNON--Did you view the body of the deceased whilst he lay dead in the purser's cabin? DUDGEON--I did. VERNON--And did you find any visible marks of violence upon him? DUDGEON--Sir, I saw no rope, but he had a neck-cloth about his neck, and there were some marks in his neck, which looked like the scratching of nails; and I believe that he was strangled, the blood came out of his nose and mouth. _William Macguinis_ was in his hammock when Sir John was brought aboard, but was called up at twelve o'clock to stand sentinel in the gun-room. I had not been long on my post before I saw the captain come down; and soon after I saw Mahony, that man there (pointing at the prisoner Mahony), also come down. I stopt him, and asked him where he was going? Damn your blood, you son of a bitch, what is that to you? How busy you make yourself. And when he came to the bottom of the cock-pit ladder I heard him say to another man, Come here, this is the way. But who it was he spake to, I know not. This was a little after two o'clock. The captain espied me, he made towards me, and waved his naked cutlass, and said, Stand back! stand back! The captain was down in the cockpit then. Buchanan had been sentinel in the cockpit, but had been released by the captain. The witness saw Mahony go into the purser's cabin, and afterwards saw the captain and Mahony come up again from the cockpit; it was then about three o'clock. _Walker_ found a watch in the necessary house in the Brockware Boat, a public-house on the Back, kept by Culliford. He searched for it by the order of the justices; when he found it, the watch was in one place, and the case in another, about a yard off. _Sarah Culliford_, of the Brockware Boat, received the watch from Mahony. She had it in her possession about two hours before and two hours after he was taken up. This young man (meaning the prisoner Mahony) was drinking in my house, he pulled out the watch, delivered it to me, and desired me to keep it for him until he did call for it; some time after I had business to go out, I went into town, and had the watch in my pocket; when I came back, my children told me that the constable had been there to search the house for it, which much surprised me; I went and threw the watch into the necessary house for fear I should come into trouble. JOHN FUSSELL--I had this handkerchief from Mahony on the 19th of January last, the night when we took him, I found it on his neck; when he was seized he took it off; I took it out of his hand, it was bloody then as it is now, I put it into my pocket. _John Mitchel_, the chief clerk to the Town Clerk, produced the examination of Matthew Mahony, taken before the Mayor, voluntarily signed by Mahony in the Mayor's presence, and signed by the Mayor. _Clerk reads the Examination in these words:_ City and county of Bristol, to wit. The voluntary Examination and Confession of Matthew Mahony, a native of Ireland, aged about 21 years. This Examinant confesseth and saith, That about sixteen or seventeen days ago, and several times since, he was desired by Mr. Goodere, captain of the _Ruby_ man-of-war, now lying at King-road, in the county of the city of Bristol, to seize his, the captain's, brother, sir John Dineley Goodere, bart., and bring him on board the said man-of-war; and that on Tuesday last, this examinant, and the crew belonging to the man-of-war's barge, and Edward Mac-Daniel, John Mac-Graree, and William Hammon, privateer's men, were placed by the said captain at the White-Hart alehouse, opposite St. Augustine's Church, in order to seize sir John Dineley Goodere that day; but it so happened that the captain forbid them to do it then. And that on Sunday last, this examinant, the said barge's crew, or the greatest part of them, and George Best, cock-stern of the barge, the said Edward Mac-Daniel, John Mac-Graree, William Hammon, and one Charles Bryer, privateer's men as aforesaid, were again placed at the White-Hart aforesaid, to seize the said sir John Dineley Goodere, and waited there for some time; and he coming out of Mr. Jarrit Smith's house, and coming under St. Augustine's church-yard wall, this examinant and his comrades pursued him, and near the pump there they came up with him, and told him there was a gentleman wanted to speak with him; and he, asking where the gentleman was, was answered, a little way off, and he went quietly a little way; but no one appearing, he resisted and refused to go; whereupon this examinant and comrades sometimes forcibly hauled and pushed, and at other times carried him over St. Augustine's butts, captain Day's rope-walk, and along the road to the hot-well (captain Goodere being sometimes a little behind, and sometimes amongst the crowd all the way), till they came to the slip where the barge lay. But sir John was very unwilling to go, made the utmost resistance, and cried out murder a great many times; and when he was put into the barge, called out and desired somebody would go to Mr. Jarrit Smith, and tell him of his ill-usage, and that his name was sir John Dineley; whereupon the captain clapt his hand on sir John's mouth to stop him speaking, and told him not to make such a noise, he had got him out of the lion's mouth (meaning the lawyer's hands), and would take care he should not spend his estate; and bid the barge men row away, which they did; and in their passage to the man-of-war, the two brothers bickered all the way. But when they came to the man-of-war, sir John went on board as well as he could, and the captain took him down into the purser's cabin, and stayed a little time with him, and treated him with a dram of rum, and then left him for a considerable time; and in the interim sent for this examinant into his, the captain's cabin, and there told this examinant he must murder his brother, for that he was mad, and should not live till four o'clock in the morning; and this examinant reasoning with him, and telling him he would not be concerned and that he thought he had brought him there with intent only to bring him to reason, and take care that he should not spend his estate in law, and to have a perfect reconciliation: but the captain still insisting, that this examinant had taken him, he should do it; and this examinant then saying, he was not able to do it of himself, the captain replied, if this examinant could get nobody else, he and this examinant must do it themselves. And then ordered him to call one Elisha Cole; and he being too drunk to undertake such an affair, bid this examinant call one Charles White, a very stout lusty fellow, and the captain gave him a dram, and bid him sit down, and soon gave other drams, and asked him if he could fight, and told him, Here is a madman, he must be murdered and thou shalt have a handsome reward. And this examinant, the said Charles White, and the captain, all being agreed to murder the said sir John Dineley Goodere, the captain then proposed the method, and produced a piece of half-inch rope about nine foot long, and Charles White having made a noose in the rope, the captain said, applying himself to this examinant and the said Charles White, You must strangle him with this rope, and at the same time gave the handkerchief now produced, that in case he made a noise, to stop his mouth; and said, I will stand sentinel over the door whilst you do it; and accordingly instantly went out of his own cabin, and turned the centinel from the purser's cabin-door, and let this examinant and White into the purser's cabin, where sir John Dineley Goodere was lying in his clothes on a bed. The captain having pulled to the door, and standing centinel himself, the said White first strangled sir John with his hands, and then put the rope about sir John's neck and hauled it tight, and sir John struggled, and endeavoured to cry out, but could not. And this examinant confesses, that whilst White was strangling sir John, this examinant took care to keep him on the bed, and when one end of the rope was loose, this examinant drew and held it tight; and thus each bore a part till sir John was dead; and they having rifled the deceased of his watch and money, knocked at the door to be let out; and the captain called out, Have you done? they replied, Yes. He opened the door, and asked again, Is he dead? And being answered in the affirmative, and having a light, swore, by God, he would be sure he was dead; and then went in himself, and returning, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, and they all went together to the captain's cabin again, and there this examinant gave the captain sir John's watch, and the captain gave this examinant his own watch in lieu of it; and then the captain gave them both some money, and White afterwards gave this examinant eight guineas as part of the money he took out of the deceased's pocket, and then the captain ordered them to be put on shore in his own boat. And further this examinant confesses and saith, That before and after the murder was committed, the captain, Charles White, and this examinant consulted what to do with the corpse; and the captain proposed to keep it two or three days in the ship, and, as he expected to go to sea, would sew it up in a hammock, or something else, and there throw it over-board. And that before this examinant and his comrades were sent to seize sir John, as is before set forth, they were ordered by captain Goodere, that, if they met with any resistance, they should repel force by force, and were prepared with short heavy sticks or bludgeons for that purpose. MATTHEW MAHONY. The Recorder cautioned the jury that this statement was evidence against Mahony only, and was not to be taken as evidence against Goodere. _Vernon_ said that this concluded his evidence as to the facts; but that as Goodere had made a point as to the position of the ship, he would call evidence to show that the King Road had always been taken to lie within the city and county of Bristol; and that the sheriff's officers of Bristol had always used to execute both city and county process in the King Road. _John Wint_ and _Lowden_ were called, and proved that they had served process out of the Mayor's and the Piepowder Court, and process issued out of the King's Bench, and the Common Pleas, and the Admiralty Court, in the King Road. _Goodere_ being called on for his defence, said that he would call witnesses to prove that sir John was a lunatic, and that he was doing his best to take care of him. _Mrs. Gethins_ said that Goodere had asked her for a garret to keep his brother in, for he was a madman; he made no secret of it. She had heard nothing about Mahony having five pounds a month to take care of him. She had heard Goodere talk with his own doctor about his brother. _Mr. Marsh, sworn._ GOODERE--Did you go ashore in the morning about the king's business, or what business did you go about? MARSH--I had an order about eight o'clock the night sir John was brought on board, to go up in the morning to Bristol for the letters from the Admiralty, and about four of the clock in the morning I was called up to go: but the lieutenant seemed much disordered, and bid me come to him before I set out. I waited on the lieutenant, and told him, that White and Mahony said they had liberty to go on shore, that the captain had given them liberty to go; the lieutenant said, he knew nothing of it. But as it is always my way, before I carry anybody off, I said, I would go to the captain and ask leave. I went to the captain, and asked him, if White and Mahony had liberty from him to go on shore? And he said, Yes, let them go. GOODERE--Mr. Marsh, did you go upon the king's business, or on purpose to take up these men? MARSH--I went about the king's business. VERNON--But it was after sir John was brought on board, that Mr. Goodere ordered you to go up? MARSH--Yes, Sir, it was. VERNON--Did anybody else go up with you, besides Mahony and White? MARSH--No, there did not. VERNON--Did Mr. Goodere give you orders to put them on shore in any particular place? MARSH--I will do justice between man and man: the captain did not give me orders to put them on shore in any particular place. VERNON--Were they landed publicly or privately? MARSH--I put them on shore at the Gibb, about six of the clock in the morning. GOODERE--Now, may it please you, sir, I shall show that Mahony had business at Bristol that day by appointment, to receive some wages that was due to him; for which purpose I shall call Mr. Dagg. _Abel Dagg_, the keeper of Newgate, had had one Mervin in his house as a prisoner for debt. Mahony had a claim against him for wages due to him before he was pressed, and Mervin wished to settle the matter with him. Accordingly Dagg had seen Goodere on the Tuesday or Wednesday before this matter, and he said that he would meet Dagg to accommodate the difference on the Monday following. The captain made the appointment to meet him on the Monday, but he told Taylor, an attorney, that Mahony would come on shore on Monday. He did not know that White had any business on shore on Monday. _Bridget King_ was sworn. GOODERE--Mrs. King, will you give the Court an account of what you know of the lunacy of my brother sir John Dineley? MRS. KING--Please you, my lord, I think he was mad; for he would get up at two or three of the clock in the morning, and call his servants up, and fall a-singing; and then he would go to bed again, and swear it was but twelve o'clock at night, and lie a-bed all day. He would send his boy out all over his grounds to pick up stones, and have the wheel-barrow rattling about the streets on a Sunday: he hath ringed the bell to call his servants up to his bedside, and when they were come up, he would ask them what they did there, and swear they were come to shoot him? He himself hath gone over all his grounds on a Sunday to pick sticks, and hath sent his servants to market when there was none; and he would be busy in every thing, and hang on the pot himself; and he hath been quite raving mad. VERNON--Did you live as a servant to sir John? MRS. KING--I lived as a servant with him in London, and he came down for the air to Tockington; he brought me down to go to Bath. VERNON--How long did you continue with him? MRS. KING--A twelve-month, sir. VERNON--And how durst you venture to live so long with a madman? He did not go mad for love of you, I hope? Have you lived any time in Bristol? MRS. KING--No. VERNON--Then I suppose you came but now from London? MRS. KING--Yes, I did. GOODERE--Do you believe he was a madman? MRS. KING--In the actions that I have seen by him, I have reason to think he was a madman. _Mrs. Mary Stafford, sworn._ GOODERE--Mrs. Stafford, will you tell his lordship and the jury what you know of sir John's being a lunatic? MRS. STAFFORD--Sir John hired me for a housekeeper in London, and told me he had a great many servants, and he wanted a housekeeper. When he brought me down, he ordered me to his seat at Tockington; where, he said, he had a great deal of company frequently. When I came there, I found there was nothing in what he had told me; for, instead of a great many servants, he had but one: a poor old shattered house, ready to tumble down about one's ears, and the household goods all to pieces: he was a madman, for if I had followed his directions in any thing I should have done mischief. He hath sent me and the rest of his servants to Thornbury market, when there was none; he hath ringed the bell to call his servants to come to his bedside to him, and when we have come up to him, he hath asked us, what we did there? Sir, said I, you called me up; he hath said he did not: and after we had been there a quarter of an hour, he would take a knife, fork, glass-bottle, or anything that came in his way, to throw at us, asking of us, What did we come to rob him? And I was afraid of my life, to live with him. I do believe he was a madman, or else he would never have acted as he did; he would go into the kitchen, and take the pot, and hang it on the fire. I style him a madman by his actions. VERNON--And must he therefore be hanged himself like a mad dog, think you? MRS. STAFFORD--I know nothing of that, Sir. VERNON--How long did you live with sir John? MRS. STAFFORD--Three months, Sir. GOODERE--Call Mr. Robert Cock. THE RECORDER--What do you call him to prove? GOODERE--My lord, in order to prove sir John Dineley a lunatic. Mr. Cock, will you give an account to my lord and the jury what you know of the lunacy of sir John Dineley? _Robert Cock, sworn._ COCK--My lord, I have known Mr. Dineley at Charlton for some years; I have been several times in his company; I have seen him do several acts of lunacy, as a madman. VERNON--Where do you live? COCK--I live in Cumberland, when I am at home. VERNON--Are you of any business? COCK--I am an officer belonging to his majesty. VERNON--What kind of officer? COCK--A salt officer. GOODERE--I will not give your lordship and the jury much more trouble. I am entirely innocent; they have not proved that I was present at the death of sir John Dineley. THE RECORDER--Don't deceive yourself; though they have not proved you was actually in the cabin, when sir John was murdered, yet they have given evidence of that, which (if the jury give credit to) will amount to presence in the eye of the law. GOODERE--I shall now call some witnesses to my character, and likewise to shew how improbable it is that I should be guilty of the murder of my brother. Call Mr. Pritchard. _Mr. Pritchard_ had known Goodere many years; he always bore the character of a good husband, a good neighbour, and a kind friend. _The Rev. Mr. Watkins_, three months or half a year before Sir John's death, had told Goodere that Sir John had told him that he had made his will and cut his brother off from everything, and had given his estate to the Footes. The witness had found Sir John a good neighbour, and a kind friend; he was a man of strong passions, and if any one affronted him, he would let the party know that he did resent it. His tenants, and those the witness had conversed with, said that he was one of the best of landlords. VERNON--I don't ask you, Sir, concerning his moral character; but whether he was in his senses or not? WATKINS--In his senses! I saw him last Christmas, he was making up his accounts with several of his tenants; he was then in very good understanding. I take him to have been a man that always had his senses in a regular exercise. VERNON--What have you heard the prisoner Mr. Goodere say in relation to Sir John's making his will? WATKINS--I believe he told me that sir John had not the power to make a will; I told him it was my opinion, if they would be reconciled together, sir John's will would not stand. _Mr. Thomas_ and _Mr. Ashfield_ and the _Rev. Mr. Rogers_ spoke in general terms to Goodere's good character. _George Forcevil_ had known him for fourteen or fifteen years; he had a very good character in the neighbourhood; he constantly attended his church twice a day Sundays, and would be there at prayers almost every day. He thought him to be a good man. _Goodere_ said he would not trouble the Court with any more evidence as to his character; he was deprived of some evidence by reason of his sickness in gaol, which prevented his friends from coming to advise him about his defence; also there were witnesses on board the ship who might have been of great service to him, but the ship had sailed before he got an order from the Admiralty ordering them to stay on shore. _Frederick_ drew the Recorder's attention to the fact that there had been several aspersions in the newspapers to the prejudice of Goodere, and that a pamphlet had been published in Bristol called _The Bristol Fratricide_; but he hoped that the jury would not be influenced by such matters against the prisoner. The jury declared that they had never seen any such pamphlet or newspapers. VERNON--Mr. Recorder, we must beg leave to ask Mr. Jarrit Smith's opinion, as to Sir John's being a lunatic or not? SMITH--I am surprised to hear it said by some of Mr. Goodere's witnesses that sir John Dineley Goodere was mad. I knew him fourteen or fifteen years, and conversed with him both in person and by letter; but never discovered that he was in the least disordered in his senses, I always took him to be a man of sound understanding. On the Sunday before his death, he expressed himself with a great deal of good nature and affection at the sight of his brother. _Shepard_ proposed to call evidence to show that the place where the ship lay was not in the city and county of Bristol. _The Recorder_ said that the evidence that had been given as to the service of writs, proved that the King's Road was within the jurisdiction, and it was admitted that the ship lay within the Road. If, however, the prisoner could show that any part of the Road was, or ever had been esteemed to be, within any other county than the county of the city of Bristol, he would hear him. He then asked Mahony if he had anything to say. MAHONY--I hope your Lordship will consider that I was a poor, pressed servant, and that I was drunk when I made the confession, and I was frightened out of my wits. MR. RECORDER--You say you were drunk when you made the confession; it is possible, that night when you were taken and brought before the magistrates you were in liquor, but it seems your confession was not taken until the next day. _Vernon_ then replied on the whole case; confining himself to pointing out that if Goodere was abetting Mahony in killing Sir John, it made no difference that he was not in the cabin at the time that he was killed. _Shepard_ replied, trying to distinguish Goodere's case from those which had been cited by Vernon, and suggesting that Goodere only brought his brother on board the ship in order that he might take proper care of him; but the Recorder stopped him, pointing out that he was going off from the point of law to matter of fact. He said that he should tell the jury that if they believed that Goodere stood at the cabin door to prevent any persons coming who might prevent the murder, or to encourage those within in the business they were about, they must find him guilty on the indictment. He then recapitulated the facts in some detail, but did not add any comment. He concluded by laying down the law as to whether Goodere was an accessory to what was done, in the sense already indicated, and told the jury that, in such a case as the present, they would be well-advised not to attach much weight to the evidence given as to Goodere's character. The jury thereupon retired, and after a short space returned, and found both the prisoners Guilty. The next day Charles White was tried on a separate indictment for the same murder. He pleaded Not Guilty, but was convicted, chiefly on the evidence of Jones the cooper and his wife, and his own confession. On the next day all three prisoners were brought up, and having nothing to say for themselves were all sentenced to death. They were all hung at Bristol on the 15th of April, having confessed the fact. 'The body of Mahony is hung in chains near the place where the horrid fact was committed.' FOOTNOTES: [51] Samuel Goodere (1687-1741) entered the navy in 1705, served through the War of Spanish Succession, but in 1719 was found guilty by a court-martial of having been very much wanting in the performance of his duty in the attack on St. Sebastian in the same year. He was temporarily appointed to another ship for rank in 1733. He was then living with his father, who had quarrelled with John; and apparently John had quarrelled with his wife, who was supported against him by Samuel. The father's will disappointed both sons, and John, having cut off the entail of his estate during his son's life, after his death announced his intention of leaving it to one of the Footes, a cousin of the actor, which probably led to his murder. Samuel left two sons; it seems doubtful whether they succeeded to the baronetcy. The elder died insane. The younger became a poor knight at Windsor, and dropped the name of Goodere. He made himself conspicuous by the oddity of his behaviour. He believed that a small sum of money expended in law-proceedings would realise a fortune, and that that money would be obtained through a wife. He therefore frequented crowded places, and on seeing any woman or girl he did not know would present her respectfully with a printed proposal of marriage. He died in 1809. [52] Sir Michael Foster (1681-1763) entered Exeter College 1705, was called to the Bar in 1713, and practised locally at his native town of Marlborough. He became Recorder of Bristol in 1735, and a puisne judge of the King's Bench in 1745. He enjoyed a great reputation as a master of Crown Law, and was the author of the well-known _Discourses_ on that subject. [53] After mentioning certain obsolete rules relating to indictments, Sir James Stephen says:--'I do not think that anything has tended more strongly to bring the law into discredit than the importance attached to such technicalities as these. As far as they went, their tendency was to make the administration of justice a solemn farce. Such scandals do not seem, however, to have been unpopular. Indeed, I have some doubt whether they were not popular, as they did mitigate, though in an irrational, capricious manner, the excessive severity of the old criminal law' (_Hist. Crim. Law_, vol. i. p. 284). [54] It is curious that Shepard did not take the point that the prisoner was not described as a baronet, which he in fact became on his brother's murder. Till recently such an objection would have been fatal. INDEX Albemarle, Duke of, takes information in Lord Russell's case, ii. 36. Albert, Archduke, sends embassy to James I., i. 3; Cobham's connection with, 24. Aldridge, George, witness against Cowper, how he left the town, ii. 170, 171. Aleyn, Sir Thomas, witness against Col. Turner, i. 170-180, 186, 191, 192, 201. Amy, Henry, wounds of French and Lord Warwick; arrival at the Bagnio of other duellists; condition of their swords, ii. 101. Anderson, Lord Chief-Justice, i. 10. Andrews, Doctor, i. 22. Anglesey, Lord, gives evidence in favour of Lord Russell, ii. 38, 39. Applegate, chairman, witness against Lord Warwick, ii. 92-95; carried Lord Mohun to Leicester Fields, 92; carried French to the Bagnio, 93; Mohun tried to stop quarrel, 95. Arabella. _See_ Stewart, Lady Arabella. Aremberg, Duke of, ambassador of Henry IV., i. 3; overtures to, 3, 12, 19, 29, 35, 55; Raleigh's account of, 25, 47, 49, 57. Argyle, Duke of, and Lord Russell's Plot, ii. 27. Armstrong, Sir Thomas, and Lord Russell, ii. 8, 11, 13, 47; and the Rye House Plot, 25. Arundel, Lord, at Raleigh's execution, i. 69, 71. Atterbury, a witness in Lord Russell's trial, ii. 32. Axtel, Daniel, regicide, i. 129, 150; statement by, as to Hulet, 162. Babington, Dr., witness against Cowper, ii. 165. Barefoot, Mrs., witness for Cowper, ii. 214. Barter, witness against Lady Lisle, i. 249, 250; re-examined as to Dunne's statements, 256. Beavor, witness against Peters, i. 152, 154. Berry, James, found Sarah Stout drowned, ii. 151, 153. Blisset, Col., witness for Lord Warwick, ii. 115-117; Warwick gives Coote 100 guineas, 115; friendship between them, 116. Blunt, Charles, Earl of Devon, i. 9. Bocking, Jane, bewitched, i. 214, 225. Bowd, witness for Cowper, as to Sarah Stout's melancholy, ii. 239, 240. Bownes, John, regicide, i. 129. Bradshaw, John. _See_ Charles I., i. 75-119, 76; discusses authority of Court, 80-87; asks the King to plead, 91, 92; declares sentence settled, King to be heard, 96, 97; final speech by, 103-117. Brandon, George, the executioner of Charles I., i. 163, 165, 166. Bridgman, Sir Orlando. _See_ Harrison, Peters, and Hulet, i. 125, 129; tries Col. Turner, 169. Brook, George, i. 4-8, 11; and the 'Bye,' 16, 30; Cecil's examination of, 28; pension to, 35, 36; and Copley, 39; examination of, 40; book given to, 40, 41; and Arabella Stewart, 47. Browne, Sir Thomas, witness against the Suffolk witches, i. 227. Browne, Thomas, chairman, witness against Lord Warwick, ii. 82-87; carried Coote to Leicester Fields, 83; tried to carry Coote to the surgeon, 84; cross-examined, 81, 87. Buchanan, David, witness against Goodere, ii. 268-272; Goodere and Mahony at Sir John's cabin, 270, 271. Burnet, Dr., gives evidence in favour of Lord Russell, ii. 40-44; accompanies him to the scaffold, 54. Campbell, Sir ----, and Lord Russell's plot, ii. 28. Campian, Edmund, Jesuit, i. 47. Capel, Lord, execution of, i. 164. Carew, advises Raleigh to escape, i. 70. ---- John, regicide, i. 129. Carpenter, Dunne's evidence as to, ii. 68, 81; witness against Lady Lisle, 77. Castlewood, Lord, duel with Lord Mohun, ii. 130-135. Cavendish, Lord, gives evidence in favour of Lord Russell, ii. 42. Cawthorne, witness against Lord Warwick, ii. 68-82; French and Coote start from Locket's and return, 70, 71; quarrel at Locket's, 71; party leave Locket's, 71, 72; cross-examination, 72-82; heard no quarrel between Warwick and Coote, 73; quarrel at Locket's, 75-82. Chamberlain, Sir T., witness against Turner, i. 189, 190, 201. Chandler, Susan, bewitched, i. 214; state of, at the Assizes, 214; evidence as to, 226; recovers on verdict, 234. Charles, Prince of Wales, i. 61. Charles I., trial of, i. 75-119: assembling of the High Court, 76-79; charge read, 79, 80; authority of Court discussed, 80-83; the Court adjourns and re-assembles, 83; King charged, authority of Court discussed, and King refuses to plead, 84-87; Court adjourns and re-assembles, 89; Solicitor-General demands judgment, 89-91; King charged and refuses to plead, 91-95; Court adjourns and re-assembles, 95; sentence agreed on, King to be heard, 96, 97; King demands to be heard by Lords and Commons and is refused, 97-101; Bradshaw's speech, 103-117; sentence on the King, 118. Charles II. and the regicides, i. 120-125. Clement, seaman, witness against Cowper, as to corpses floating, ii. 166-168. Clifford, Lord, witness for Lord Russell, ii. 46. Coatsworth, surgeon, witness against Cowper, ii. 158, 159, 163, 164. Cobham, Lord. _See_ Raleigh, i. 1-71; in opposition, 2; overtures to French and Spanish, 3; Raleigh accuses, 5; avows Raleigh's guilt; 6; not a witness, 33, 37-39, 47-49; takes message to Aremberg, 19; letter to, from Raleigh, 21; Raleigh's instigation of, 21, 23; examination of, 23, 24, 40, 41; Raleigh's reply to, 25, 26; second examination of, 26, 27, 35, 45; Cecil's examination of, 28, 29; Coke's argument as to Raleigh's complicity with, 29-33; Raleigh's confession as to, 36; letter to the lords, 55, 56; to Raleigh, 56, 57. Cochram, Sir John, and Lord Russell's plot, ii. 28, 29. Coke. _See_ Raleigh's trial, i. 1-71; opening speech by, 13-23; on Raleigh's connection with Cobham, 29-33; on Cobham's letter, 53-56; final sentence of Raleigh by, 65. Cook, John, solicitor to the Commonwealth, i. 79, 124, 129. Coote, opening as to, in Lord Warwick's case, ii. 65-68; leaves Locket's first and returns, 71; leaves with Warwick and Lord Mohun, 71, 72; no quarrel with Warwick, 73, 74, 76, 108, 110, 114, 117, 119; quarrel with French, 75; conversation of, with Warwick and Mohun in St. Martin's Lane, 83, 86, 87; wounded in Leicester Square, 84, 88; death of, 89; killed by French, 102; news of his death, 104; Warwick's account of the death of, 111, 112; receives money from Warwick, 115, 116. Copley, i. 4; his confession, 35, 39. Corriton, prosecutes Lady Lisle, i. 241. Cotton, Sir Robert, King Charles taken to his house, i. 89, 119, 150. Court, Theodore, witness against Goodere, master of the _Ruby_, ii. 264-267, 268. Cowper, Dr. W., witness for Spencer Cowper, ii. 197. ---- Spencer, trial of, ii. 139-228; opening of case against, 141-146; at Sarah Stout's house, Walker's evidence, 140-148; Sarah Stout's melancholy, 140-151; the finding of Sarah Stout's body, 151-155; medical evidence for the prosecution, 154-162; evidence as to dead bodies floating, 162-169; how Cowper left Hertford, 169, 170; Cowper's defence, 183-187; the finding of the body, 187-194; medical evidence, evidence of Sir Hans Sloane, etc., 194-199; Sarah Stout's melancholy, 199-205; Sarah Stout and Mr. Marshall, 206-208; letters to Marshall, 208-210; letters to Cowper, 210-212; Cowper's connection with Sarah Stout, 212-214; summing up, 224-246; acquittal and appeal proceedings, 227, 228. Cowper, William, witness for Spencer Cowper, ii. 212-214. ---- Mrs., evidence of, for Spencer Cowper, as to Sarah Stout's melancholy, ii. 201, 202. Cox, Dr. Thomas, witness for Lord Russell, ii. 44. ---- William, witness against Hulet, i. 164. Crattle, James, witness against Lord Warwick, ii. 90-92; carried him to Leicester Square, 90; and to the Bagnio, 91. Creed, witness for Lady Lisle, i. 262. Crippes, William, witness against Lord Warwick, ii. 87-90; helped to carry Coote to Leicester Fields, 87; conversation in St. Martin's Lane, 87, 88; Coote wounded, 88. Cromwell, Oliver, and Peters, i. 142-145, 149, 150. Cullender, Rose, trial of, i. 211-235; indictment, 213; bewitched the Pacys, 221; 223, 224; and the Durents, 225; and Susan Chandler, 226; touches the children in court, 229; bewitches Soam's cart, 231; and Sherringham's beasts, 232; defence of, 233; summing up and verdict as to, 234. Dew, Robert, witness for Cowper, as to finding Sarah Stout's body, ii. 188-190. Dimsdale, John (senior), surgeon, witness against Cowper, ii. 160-162. ---- ---- surgeon, witness against Cowper, ii. 154-156, 161. Dockwra, opening as to, in Lord Warwick's case, ii. 165; arrival at the Bagnio, 97; tried for murder of Coote, and convicted of manslaughter, 112. Doncaster, Lord, at Raleigh's execution, i. 69, 70. Duckinfield, Captain Loftus, witness against Lord Warwick, ii. 102-107; interview with Warwick, James, and Dockwra, 102; French killed Coote, 102; Warwick fought with James, 103; duellists to leave London, 104; condition of Warwick's sword, 105. Dunne, James, witness against Lady Lisle, i. 242; examination in chief, 242-247; cross-examination of, 247-249; re-examined as to what he told Lady Lisle, 250-255; re-examined as to arrests at Moyles Court, 255-257; final examination of, 258-261. Duny, Amy, trial of, for witchcraft, i. 211-235; indictment, 213; bewitches William Durent, 215, 217; and Elizabeth Durent, 217; and Dorothy Durent, 218; touches Elizabeth Pacy, 219; bewitches Elizabeth Pacy, 220-225; admission by, 221; bewitches Diana Booking, 225; present while a child is touched by another, 229; bewitches geese, a chimney, and a firkin of fish, 232, 233; defence by, 233; summing up as to, and verdict, 234. Durent, Ann, bewitched, i. 213, 225; state of, at the Assizes, 214. Durent, Elizabeth, bewitched, i. 213; bewitched by Amy Duny, 217, 218. ---- William, bewitched, i. 214; bewitched by Amy Duny, 215. Esmond, Henry, present at duel between Lord Castlewood and Lord Mohun, ii. 130-135. Essex, Earl of, i. 54, 59, 70, 71. ---- ---- and Lord Russell, ii. 8; Howard's evidence as to, 26, 29. Fairfax, Lady, interrupts Charles I.'s trial, i. 96. Fane, guides Dunne to Moyles Court, i. 246. Ferguson, and Lord Russell, ii. 8, 13. Finch, Sir Heneage, i. 127; prosecutes Russell when Solicitor-General, 5; speech of, 47-50. Fleetwood, George, i. 129. Ford, Sir Richard, sheriff, complaint against, in Turner's trial, i. 169; at Turner's execution, 208. Foster, Sir Richard, tries Goodere, ii. 232. Foster, Sir Robert, i. 126. French, opening as to, in Lord Warwick's case, ii. 65-68; leaves Locket's first, and returns, 71; quarrel with Coote, 75; wounded, 93; arrival at the Bagnio, 96; condition of his sword, 97, 98; killed Coote, 102; tried for murder of Coote, and convicted of manslaughter, 112. Fry, Elizabeth, witness against Turner, i. 184, 185. Garland, Austin, regicide, i. 129. Garth, Dr., witness for Cowper, ii. 235, 236. Gin, Richard, seaman, witness against Cowper as to corpses floating, ii. 168, 169. Gittens, witness against Hulet, i. 158-160. Glover, Cornelius, witness against Peters, i. 154, 155. Goodall, witness against Lord Warwick, arrival of the duellists at the Bagnio, ii. 101. Goodere, Sir John. _See_ Goodere, Samuel. ---- Samuel, trial of, ii. 231-304; Vernon opens the case, 232-236; Sir John at Jarrit Smith's house, 238, 239; meets Goodere there, 241, 242; counsel's right to cross-examine, 245; description of Sir John in the indictment, 247, 248; Goodere visits the White Hart, 249-254; Sir John carried to the _Ruby_, 255-264; Sir John on the _Ruby_, 264-289; Sir John murdered, 274-282; Mahony's confession, 291-295; question of jurisdiction, 295; Sir John's madness, 297-301; Goodere's character, 301; defence, 303; summing up, verdict and sentence, 304. Gore, Mr. Sutton, witness for Lord Russell, ii. 46. Gregory, Clement, regicide, i. 129. Grey, Lord, connection with Raleigh, i. 2-8, 16, 17; Cecil arrests, 28. Grey of Werk, Lord, and Lord Russell, ii. 7, 8, 11, 13, 47. Gunter, witness against Peters, i. 145, 146. Gurrey, John, Mrs., and Elizabeth, witnesses against Stephens, etc., their conduct and conversation in Hertford, ii. 171-180. Hacker, Francis, regicide, i. 129. Hale, Sir Matthew, trial of Suffolk witches by, i. 212; Lord Campbell on, 213 _n._ Hamilton, Duke of, execution of, i. 164. Hampden, John, and Lord Russell, ii. 10; Howard's evidence as to, 26. Harrison, Colonel Thomas, trial of, i. 130-139; pleads after discussion, 130, 131; present in the High Court, 133; and at a Committee Meeting, 132, 133; conducted the King from Hurst Castle to London, 133, 134; defence of, 135-139; sentence on, 139, 140. Hatsell, Sir Henry, tries Spencer Cowper, ii. 140. Hawles, Sir John, prosecutes Lord Warwick when Solicitor-General, ii. 122-127. Heale, Serjeant, i. 13. Henry, Prince of Wales, Raleigh's pupil, i. 61. Henry IV. of France, i. 3. Hevingham, William, regicide, i. 129. Hewson, Colonel, and King Charles's execution, i. 159, 160, 161. Hicks, and Lady Lisle, i. 241; tried and hanged, 242; Lady Lisle agrees to receive, 244; journey with Dunne, 245; discovered at Moyles Court, 255; message to, and reception by, Lady Lisle, 258-261. Hide, Sir Robert, i. 126; tries Colonel Turner, i. 169; summing up of, 193, 194. Hill, William, witness against Turner, i. 182, 184, 191. Hobbs, Morris, witness against Goodere, landlord of the White Hart, ii. 248-255; Goodere's first visit, 290-292; his second visit, 293-295. Holland, Earl of, execution of, i. 164. Hollis, Denzil, i. 136, 138. Holt, John, defends Lord Russell, ii. 6. Howard, Thomas, Earl of Suffolk, i. 8. ---- Henry, Earl of Northampton, i. 9. ---- of Escrick, Lord, and Lord Russell, ii. 8; witness against Lord Russell, ii. 14-32; declarations of Russell's innocence, 38-42, 44-46, 48, 52. ---- Mr., gives evidence in favour of Lord Russell, ii. 39-41. Hulet, William, trial of, i. 158-166; on the scaffold of Charles I., i. 159; statements by, and reports as to, 160-163; sentence on, 165, 166. Ireton, General, and Peters, i. 146, 147, 148. James, opening as to, in Lord Warwick's trial, ii. 65-68; sent for to Locket's, 69; tries to stop the quarrel, 80; arrival at the Bagnio, 87; condition of his sword, 100; fought with Warwick, 103; tried for murder of Coote, and convicted of manslaughter, 112. Jeffreys, Lord Chief-Justice, tries Lady Lisle, i. 239-275; summing up of, 263-269; and the jury, 270-272; prosecutes Lord Russell when a serjeant, ii. 50. Jenkins, Sir Leoline, takes information in Lord Russell's case, ii. 36. Jones, conducts prosecution of Cowper, ii. 140. ---- Edward, witness against Goodere, ii. 274-279; saw murder of Sir John, 276; helped to arrest captain, 278. ---- Mrs., witness against Goodere, saw murder of Sir John, ii. 280, 281. ---- John, regicide, i. 129. Keeting, Captain, witness for Lord Warwick, ii. 113, 114. Kelyng, Sir John, i. 127; action in trial of Suffolk witches, i. 226, 229. Kemish, Francis, i. 21, 45. La Chesnee, i. 64, 70. Lawrency, Raleigh plots with, i. 19, 25, 29; examination of, 35. Le Clerc, i. 63, 70. Leeds, Duke of, cross-examination by, in Lord Warwick's trial, ii. 85, 86. Lilburne, Robert, i. 129. Lisle, John, husband of Lady Lisle, i. 239. ---- Lady Alice, trial of, i. 239-275; agrees to receive Hicks, 244, 245; Dunne's first account of her reception of Hicks, etc., 246-249; Barter's account of the same, 249; Dunne's second account, 250-255; denial of, as to Hicks and Nelthorp, 257; Dunne's third account, 258-261; defence of, 262, 263; summing up as to, 263-269; verdict, 272; sentence, 272, 273; execution of, 274; reversal of attainder of, 274, 275. Macartney, Captain, second to Lord Castlewood, ii. 130-135. Mallett, Sir Robert, tries the regicides, i. 126. Manchester, Lord, tries the regicides, i. 136. Markham, Sir Griffen, and the 'Bye,' i. 4, 6, 21. Marshall, witness for Cowper, acquaintance with Sarah Stout, ii. 207, 208; letters from Sarah Stout, 208, 210. Marson, John (see Cowper, Spencer, trial of, ii. 139-228); leaves London and arrives at Hertford, 218, 224; conversation at Gurrey's, 219; at the Devil, 221; character of, 221, 222; summing up, 224-226; verdict, 227. Marten, Henry, regicide, i. 124, 129. Masterson, witness against Harrison, i. 132. Melvile, Lord, and Lord Russell's plot, ii. 28. Meyn, Simon, regicide, i. 129. Millington, Gilbert, regicide, i. 129. ---- witness against Turner, i. 188, 201. Milton, John, i. 124. Mohun, Lord, ii. 59; true bill against, 62; opening as to, 65-68; tries to stop quarrel at Locket's, 71, 77, 79, 80; leaves with Lord Warwick and Coote, 71, 72; conversation of, with Coote and Warwick in St. Martin's Lane, 83, 86; trial and acquittal of, 130; duel with Lord Castlewood, 130-135. Monmouth, Duke of, and Lord Russell, ii. 7, 11, 13; connection with Lord Howard, 20-26, 47, 48, 51. Montague, Lord Chief-Baron, tries Russell, ii. 5. Mortimer, Dr., witness against Peters, i. 151, 152. Mosely, witness for Turner, i. 201. Mundy, prosecutes Lady Lisle, i. 241. Nailor, Dr., witness against Cowper, ii. 164. Nelson, Lieut.-Col., witness against Hulet, i. 162. Nelthorpe, brought to Lady Lisle by Dunne, i. 245; discovered at Moyles Court, 255; reception by Lady Lisle, 258-261. Nevill, Sir Edward, opinion of, in Lord Warwick's case, ii. 126. Newburgh, Lord, witness against Harrison, i. 133. Normanby, Marquis of, cross-examination by, in Lord Warwick's trial, ii. 85. Northampton, Lord, at Raleigh's execution, i. 61. North, Sir Dudley, appointed Sheriff of London, ii. 3. ---- Francis, prosecutes Lord Russell, ii. 5; opens the case, 7. Northumberland, Earl of, i. 2, 3. Nunnelly, Richard, witness against Peters, i. 150, 151. Nutley, witness against Harrison, i. 132. Pacy, Deborah, bewitched, i. 214; too ill to be brought to the Assizes, 219; evidence as to, 219-223. ---- Elizabeth, bewitched, i. 214; state of, at the Assizes, 214; being unconscious at the Assizes, recognises and assaults Amy Duny, 219; evidence as to, 219-223. Palmer, Sir Geoffrey, i. 127. Payton, Sir John, i. 21. Pemberton, Sir Francis, Lord Chief-Justice, tries Russell, ii. 4. Pennington, Isaac, i. 129. Penruddock, John, i. 239. ---- Col., i. 239; witness against Lady Lisle, as to at Moyles Court, arrests 255-257. Peterborough, Earl of, cross-examines in Lord Warwick's case, ii. 77. Peters, Hugh, trial of, i. 140-158; pleads, 140, 141; in Pembrokeshire, 142, 143; escape from London with Cromwell, 143; replies to Dr. Young, 144, 145; consultations with Cromwell, 145, 146; with Ireton and others at Windsor, 147, 148; in the Painted Chamber, 149; rode before the King into London, 149; at the trial and execution, 150, 151; his preachings, 152, 154; his defence, 155, 156; summing up and sentence, 156-158. Phillips, Serjeant, in Raleigh's trial, i. 36, 51. Pollexfen, defends Lord Russell, ii. 6; prosecutes Lady Lisle, 61. Pomfret, witness against Lord Warwick, servant at the Bagnio, ii. 96-100; arrival of Warwick and French, 96; and Dockwra and James, 97; state of the swords, 96-100. Popham, Lord Chief-Justice, i. 6, 10; examination by, of Lord Cobham, 27. Potter, Vincent, regicide, i. 129. Powys, Sir Thomas, appears for Lord Warwick, ii. 123, 125. Preston, Sir Amyas, i. 42. Pretty, account of Hulet by, i. 161. Raleigh, Sir Walter, trial of, i. 1-71; position on accession of James I., 2; overtures of, to French and Spaniards, 3, 4; examination and arrest, 5; indictment, 11-13; Coke's opening, 13-23; Cobham's examination, 23, 24; Raleigh's answer, 25, 26; Cobham's second examination, 26, 27; Raleigh's answer, 27, 28; his connection with Cobham, 29, 30; two witnesses required, 31-33; examinations of Watson, etc., 35; of Raleigh, 36; Cobham not called, 37-39, 47-49; examinations of Raleigh, Cobham, and others, 39-41; book against the title of the King, 41-44; letter to Cobham, 45; Lady Arabella Stewart, 46, 50; Dyer's evidence, 50; Phillip's speech, 51; Cobham's letter to the lords, 55, 56; to Raleigh, 56, 57; verdict, 57; sentence, 58-60; life in the Tower and the Guiana expedition, 61-65; condemnation, 65; letter to the King, 65, 66; to his wife, 66-69; execution, 69, 70. Raymund, Edmund, witness for Lord Warwick, ii. 119. Regicides. _See_ Harrison, Thomas; Peters, Hugh; Hulet, William; and note i. p. 129. Rich, appointed Sheriff of London, ii. 3. ---- Col., and Peters, i. 146, 148. Richardson, Thomas, witness against Peters, i. 150. ---- Mrs., evidence against Marson, ii. 152. Roe, Owen, regicide, i. 129. Rogers, William (_see_ Cowper, Spencer, trial of, ii. 139-228); leaves London and arrives at Hertford, 218-220; conversation at Gurrey's, 219; summing up, 224-226; verdict, 227. Rumsey, witness against Lord Russell, takes message from Shaftesbury to the conspirators, ii. 10-12, 13, 34, 37, 47, 51, 55. Russell, Lord, trial of, ii. 3-56; charges against, 6; objections to jurors, 6, 7, 56; North opens case against, 7-10; Rumsey's evidence against, as to meetings in Sheppard's house, 10-12; Sheppard's evidence as to the same, 12-14; Lord Howard's evidence against, as to Shaftesbury's plot, 14-26; and Russell's plot, 26-31; West's evidence as to connection of with Trenchard, 32, 33; speech of, on question of law, 33, 34; replies thereto, 34-37; reply of, to Rumsey's evidence, 37, 38; evidence as to declarations by Howard, 38-42; evidence as to character, 43, 44; Howard's reply, 44-46; conclusion of speech of, 46, 47; reply by Solicitor-General, 47-50; summing up, 50-54; verdict and sentence, 54; execution of, and statement by, 54-56; reversal of attainder of, 56. Salisbury, Earl of (_see_ Raleigh); connection with Raleigh's trial, i. 1-8; judge in Raleigh's trial, 9; plots revealed to, 28. Salmon, witness against Lord Warwick; describes Coote's wounds, ii. 107. Sandeswell, Ann, witness against the Suffolk witches, i. 232. Savoy, Duke of, and Raleigh, i. 61. Sawyer, Sir Robert, prosecutes Lord Russell when Attorney-General, ii. 5. Scot, Thomas, regicide, i. 129. Scroope, Adrian, regicide, i. 129. Shaftesbury, Earl of, connection with Lord Russell's trial, ii. 4-8; message of, to conspirators, 11; connection with Howard, 17-26, 47, 48, 51, 52. Sheppard, conspiracy at the house of, ii. 11, 47, 51; witness as to meetings of conspirators, 13, 14. Sherringham, Robert, witness against the Suffolk witches, i. 232. Sidney, Col. Algernon, and Lord Russell, ii. 9; Howard's evidence as to, 26. Simpson, Holland, witness against Peters, i. 150. Sloane, Sir Hans, witness for Cowper, ii. 194, 195. Smith, Aaron, conspires with Lord Russell, ii. 10, 28, 29. ---- Abraham, watchman, witness against Hulet, i. 163, 164. ---- Jarrit, witness against Goodere; two visits of Sir John to, and reconciliation of brothers at his house, ii. 237-246. Soam, John, witness against the Suffolk witches, i. 231 Somers, Lord John, ii. 61. Somerset, Duke of, and the Guiana expedition, i. 61. ---- ---- witness for Lord Russell, ii. 44. Spencer, Mr., witness for Lord Russell, ii. 46. Stanhope, Col., witness for Lord Warwick, ii. 117, 118. Starkey, witness against Peters, i. 146, 149. Stephen, Sir James, on Coke, i. 7; on validity of Lord Russell's objection to the jury, ii. 7; on benefit of clergy, 121, 122; on indictments, 247. Stephens, Ellis (_see_ Cowper, Spencer, trial of, ii. 139-228); leaves London and arrives at Hertford, 218; conversation at Gurrey's house, 219; journey to Hertford, 220; summing up, 224-226; verdict, 227. Stewart, Charles. _See_ Charles I. and Charles II. ---- Lady Arabella, i. 12; accusations against Raleigh as to, 20; Raleigh's denial, 25, 26, 29, 49, 57; statement on behalf of, 46. Stout, Mrs., takes proceedings for an appeal against Turner, ii. 227, 228. ---- Sarah. _See_ Cowper. Stringer, Justice's visit to Turner, i. 207. Stubbards, Col., and trial of Charles I., i. 150. Stukely, Vice-Admiral, i. 62-64, 70. Suffolk witches, i. 311-325. _See_ Cullender, Rose; and Duny, Amy. Sully, Duke of, ambassador to James I., i. 3. Tasker, Major Ralph, witness against Turner, i. 145, 146. Temple, James, regicide, i. 129. ---- Peter, regicide, i. 129. Tench, and Charles I.'s scaffold, i. 151. Thomlinson, Col., in charge of Charles I., i. 78. Tichburne, Robert, regicide, i. 124, 129. Tillotson, Dr., witness for Lord Russell, ii. 42, 43; accompanies him to the scaffold, 54. Toogood, witness as to admissions by Hulet, i. 160. Treby, Lord Chief-Justice, opinion of, in Lord Warwick's case, ii. 125, 126. Trenchard, the rising of, ii. 8, 11, 24. Trevor, Thomas Lord, prosecutes the Earl of Warwick when Attorney-General, ii. 65; speech of, 122. Tryon, witness against Turner, i. 181, 182, 187, 193. Turner, Sir Edward, i. 127; opens the case against Hulet, 158. Turner, Ely, trial of, i. 169-208; was to bring money to Fry's house, 184, 185; examined by Sir T. Aleyn, 191; acquitted, 203. ---- James, trial of, i. 169-208; Aleyn's evidence, 170-180; Turner suspected, 171; found in possession of money, 172, 186; account of money and jewels by, 173; arrest by Aleyn, 174, 175; his wife sent for money and jewels, 175; wife's account of them, 176; committed to Newgate, 177, 178; his account of his money to Aleyn, 179; Tryon's account of the burglary, 180-182; Turner's account to Hill, 182, 183; as to forging Tryon's will, 183, 184; deposits money with Fry and Ball, 185, 186; account given by, of robbery to Cole, 187; examined by Chamberlain and Aleyn, 189, 190; defence of, 194-200; summing up and verdict, 202, 203; confession by, 204; dying speech and execution of, 205, 208. ---- John, trial of, i. 169-208; flies from Sir T. Aleyn, 179, 180, 191; carried money to Fry's house, 185, 192, 197, 201, 202; acquitted, 202. ---- Mary, trial of, i. 169-208; sent for jewels and money by Turner, 175, 176, 199; visit to Fry's house, 186, 197; produced money and jewels, 188; examined by Chamberlain, 190; acquitted, 203. Turner, Stephen, witness against Lord Warwick, Coote's servant, ii. 107; Coote friendly with Warwick, 108. ---- William, trial of, i. 169-208; arrest and examination of, 192; identified by Tryon, 193; denial by, 201; acquittal and confession of, 203, 204. Vanden Anchor, witness against Turner, i. 188. Villiers and the Guiana Expedition, i. 61. Wade, Sir Thomas, i. 11. Wait, Thomas, and Raleigh's trial, i. 129. Walcot, connection with Lord Shaftesbury and Lord Howard, ii. 15, 20-26. Walker, Sir Clement, on omissions in Charles I.'s trial, i. 93 _n._ ---- Sarah, witness against Cowper, his arrival and conduct at Mrs. Stout's, ii. 146-152; evidence contradicted, 216, 217. Wall, witness for Cowper, ii. 193. Waller, Sir Hardress, i. 129. Ward defends Lord Russell, ii. 7; opinion of, in Lord Warwick's case when Lord Chief-Baron, 166. Warwick and Holland, Earl of, trial of, ii. 59-135; preliminaries, 59-64; opening speech, 65-68; guests leave Locket's, 70-72; course of quarrel between Coote and French, 75-79; the journey to Leicester Fields and the Bagnio, 82-92; arrival and proceedings at the Bagnio, 96-101; Warwick's defence as to the facts, 109-112; friendship between Warwick and Coote, 107, 113-119; capacity of French to give evidence, benefit of clergy, 200-226; verdict, 128, 129; sentence, 129. Watcher, witness against Turner, i. 192. Watson, and the 'Bye' plot, i. 4, 16, 17, 35, 40. Weller, Daniel, witness against Goodere, ship's carpenter, i. 272-274. Westmoreland, i. 28. Whichcot, Sir Jeremy, witness against Peters, i. 150. Whiteman, Colonel, witness for Lord Warwick, ii. 119. Williams, Thomas, witness against Goodere, capture of Sir John, ii. 255-259. Wilson, Sir Thomas, i. 64. Windham, Wadham, i. 127. Winwood and the Guiana Expedition, i. 61. Witches, Suffolk, the. _See_ Cullender, Rose; and Duny, Amy. Woodhouse, Dr., witness against Cowper, ii. 65. Wotton, Lord, of Morley, i. 10. Wright, Sir Nathan, prosecutes the Earl of Warwick when a serjeant, ii. 64; speech of, 104. Wroth, Sir Robert, i. 44. Young, Sir Edward, opens Peters' case, i. 141. ---- Dr. William, witness against Peters, i. 141, 143, 145; Peters' reply to, 143, 145. ---- witness for Cowper, finder of Sarah Stout's body, ii. 190-192. Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES Page 26: Algernone as in the original Page 36: Abermarle as in the original Page 53: beleive corrected to believe after "Whether upon this whole matter you do" Page 61: paragraph ending "their faces towards the state;" as in the original Page 101: 20th as in the original. Should perhaps be 30th. Page 310: Fergusson standardised to Ferguson, as in the text Page 313: inconsistent spelling of Nelthorp(e) as in original Page 319: find- changed to finder in entry for Young, witness for Cowper Footnote 12: Algernon Sidney. Year corrected from 1783 to 1683 in "executed on 7th December 1783" Footnote 14: Rumsey. Year corrected from 1785 to 1685 in "executed in 1785." Year corrected from 1783 to 1683 in "before, in 1783," Footnote 25: "became a a fellow" corrected to "became a fellow" General : The following have been inconsistently hyphenated in the original: ale(-)house, church(-)yard, cock(-)pit, half(-)penny, lime(-)kilns, no(-)body, over(-)board, sweet(-)heart, three(-)score, twelve(-)month. These have not been standardised. General : No attempt has been made to standardise or modernise spelling. Corrections to punctuation have not been individually noted. Index : Volume numbers omitted in the original have been added for Cowper, William; Howard, Thomas; Howard, Henry; Northampton, Lord; Suffolk Witches