I 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE WILMER COLLECTION 
 
 OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. 
 
The Stalwarts; or, Who were to Blan^e? 
 
 FRANCES MARI6 NORTON, 
 
 (OCITEAU'S 0SL7 SISTEE) 
 
 Author and Pulillsher, 
 
 1200 Wasash Avenue:, 
 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/stalwartsorwhoweOOnort 
 

THE STALWARTS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 Who Were to Blame ? 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 Portraying Fifty Yea.r^ of 
 
 AMERICAN HISTORY, 
 
 Showing those political complications which have, in the United States 
 culminated in Civil War, and even in the 
 
 Assassination of two good Presidents. 
 
 BY 
 
 Frances NIarie Norton, 
 
 THE ONLY SISTER OP 
 
 CHARLES T. GUITEAU. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 FRANCES MARI^ NORTON, Publisher, 
 
To the eternal principles of Justice and Truth; to "vox 
 populi," scattered abroad over God's beautiful earth, and in 
 whom ever dwelleth that spirit of Liberty divine upon wrhich 
 Republics stand; to my imperilled countrymen; to my friends, 
 adversity proved; to a proud and honored ancestry; to my 
 children, who are not to blame, are these pages reverently and 
 affectionately dedicated, by the Author. 
 
 
 Copyright, 1889, by Frances Marie Norton, 
 
PREKAC E. 
 
 During an extremely trying sojourn in Washington in the 
 winter of 1S81-2, I received impressions, which growing into a 
 conviction, impelled me to this work, which I now present to a 
 magnanimous public. 
 
 I was persuaded that in many political movements instigated 
 by unscrupulous men aspiring to leadership, who, by trickery, 
 are able to deceive the people, there was danger to the Republic. 
 Notably was this true as to our civil war, ending in the assassin- 
 ation of Lincoln, and of the intrigues which led to the assassin- 
 ation of Garfield — a catastrophe which came near plunging our 
 country into anarchy, which must surely have been followed by 
 a military dictatorship — perhaps an established monarchy. 
 
 In order to portray in its true light unwritten, yes, sup- 
 pressed history, with which myself and those dear to me are 
 inseparably connected, I was obliged to go into the past for the 
 causes which led to the final disaster, both as to actors and events ; 
 as to actors even into pre-natal conditions and misfortunes, 
 as to events into the political excitements antedating our civil 
 war. I was well aware that the mere fact of one man shooting 
 another, even though he were insane, and perhaps unjustly pun- 
 ished, was of little interest to the general public; but when one 
 victim was the Chief Magistrate of a great Nation, and there 
 was good reason to believe that the other was but a " scape- 
 goat" for those who were really to blame, then it possessed un- 
 doubted value. 
 
 With painful difiidence I approached that historic climax 
 coming so near my own heart — history bloody with tragedy, 
 bitter with prejudice, black with wrong; history which must 
 ever have a world-wide interest — must ever arouse a world- 
 wide regret. And I now ask considerate attention, because 
 never before has it been truthfully depicted; neither can it be 
 except by the unwilling author of this sad book. 
 
 At the last moment, after holding my manuscript for five 
 years unpublished, I am still conscious of an uncontrollable tim- 
 idity at the thought of again coming prominently into view in 
 this connection, and am unspeakably grateful for the company 
 of such names as Dr. W. W. Godding, Senator J. R. Doolittle, 
 Judge Thos. A. Moran, Rev. H. W. Thomas, D. D., Fernando 
 Jones, Esq., Prof. A. A. Woodbridge of Boston, Gen. Wm. 
 
 500463 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 Singleton, J. L. Whitlock, Judge Charles B. Waite, Mrs. 
 Catherine V. Waite, Rev. Samuel Fallows, D.D., Prof. Jay 
 Powers, and others — ladies and gentlemen with whom I have 
 the honor of a personal acquaintance and count my friends, 
 and who have kindly given me letters of commendation to be 
 published with this preface, and which will be found attached 
 to the same. 
 
 A sense of grievous wrong could alone have impelled me to 
 this unpleasant task; of wrong done to the people, to my dead 
 brother, his honored ancestry, to myself, to my children. 
 
 I knew from what I had seen in Washington that a dark 
 mystery shrouded the assassination of the lamented Garfield; 
 that a tale which had never been fully told even to me had died 
 with my crazy brother's last breath; that somebody was using 
 every endeavor to cover somebody's tracks, somebody's com- 
 plicity, in the terrible tragedy which had been and was being 
 enacted. 
 
 My brother had given me names and directions as to ap- 
 proaching certain men in his behalf, but, unhappily, I had not 
 heeded his instructions. After he was gone, I was convinced 
 by certain developments that he had not " reckoned without 
 his host." As I looked more into the facts, as knowledge came 
 to me from watching events, especially the " Star-Route " trial 
 and the re-investigation demanded by the people who felt that 
 justice had not been dealt out to the guilty, and when the testi- 
 mony of Ex-Postmaster-General James was published, m.y eyes 
 were opened, and I perceived the clue to the mysterious hints 
 which had been given me, and recognized the connection be- 
 tween the assassination of Garfield and the final outcome of the 
 " Star-Route " affair — the virtual acquittal of every one. 
 
 Tes^ the '-''Star-Route'''^ business killed Garfield! The 
 claifu^ '■'•The Stalwarts are my friends^'' hung Guiteau! 
 
 This connection he, in his blind zeal for God and country, 
 did not see. To his mind it was " The Deity " who called him 
 to set the affairs of the nation right, by removing the impeding 
 President, thus preventing the civil war which he believed a 
 collision between the "Stalwarts" and the Garfield faction 
 would precipitate. This was the lever used upon his warped, 
 deranged mind by designmg politicians to accomplish their end. 
 
 Only the great God can ever know the misery of soul which 
 I compassed in those weary months when Garfield lay dying, 
 while those lying messages as to his condition were flying over 
 the wires; while the doctors were probing, honestly or other- 
 
PREFACE, V 
 
 wise, and the burrowing pus was draining his Hfe away from 
 a blood-poisoned body; while Wall-street stocks were manipu- 
 lated as cipher dispatches came secretly from that bedside, where 
 a suffering President's pulse went up with rallying strength, or 
 down in deathly weakness — information thus furnished for the 
 benefit of kingly potentates, while to the plebian populace was 
 sent a different story, over those same wires, from the same source. 
 
 I prayed and prayed those months, as did the Christian 
 world, with bated breath and stilled heart — praying for that 
 stricken life; but no answer came until at last the midnight cry, 
 " The President is dead! the President is dead!" resounding 
 through the streets, struck our faith dumb with grief. Then 
 came the torturing experience of my three months in Wash- 
 ington, where I sat, day by day, sadly watching the legal chi- 
 canery of a criminal trial; watching a crazy brother — crazy 
 from pre-natal conditions, born to be crazy ^ born to be made the 
 tool of crafty politicians — now brought before a tribunal of his 
 countrymen, charged with the malicious murder of his Presi- 
 dent. Watching the iniquity of that trial, I cried out: " If 
 there be a God, why does he not, from high heaven, smite these 
 evil-doers? " But the time was not yet, and I held my soul in 
 patience, while the wrong progressed to the bitter end — first, the 
 death of Garfield, then the barbarous execution of my crazy 
 brother. And I thought if such an unfair trial is forced by 
 bitter prejudice, backed by the power of a corrupt administra- 
 tion and the money of the United States treasury, upon one man 
 in this republic, what protection at the hands of law can any 
 man expect accused of crime, whether justly or unjustly, should 
 it be for the interest of the ruling dynasty to convict him? And 
 further, if one set of politicians can, by instigating the assassi- 
 nation of a ruler, even in so indirect a way as by the public 
 prints, thus changing the current of administrative events and 
 accomplishing their selfish purpose, what is then to hinder 
 others from doing likewise? 
 
 But God is not always mocked. His judgments are just, His 
 punishments sure; and observing carefully the unerring march 
 of His Providence, one after another of those whom the world 
 to-day believes more or less responsible for the tragedy we are 
 considering have already been seen to cross the dark river, may 
 w^e hope, not unrepentant, not unforgiven. Sad, when life is so 
 short, they had not lived with the thought of Eternity ever in 
 view. 
 
 With malice towards none, charity towards all, I send out this 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 my work, for justice and truth's sake, trusting .the American 
 people may be warned by the near approach to anarchy and a 
 mihtary dictatorship, the sure precurser of a fallen republic and 
 an established monarchy, which they so narrowly escaped, and 
 which must have resulted from an expose of the absolute facts 
 of the Garfield assassination, had a revelation occurred during 
 the prevalence of the intense excitement succeeding the e ^ent, 
 and, being warned, may they carefully watch their leaders, those 
 who aspire to govern, and see to it that only good men are placed 
 in power, not crafty politicians; and may our beloved republic 
 live long, and Liberty remain ever firm upon her pedestal. 
 
 Frances Marie Norton. 
 
 Chicago, Sept. 21, 1888. 
 Mrs. Frances Marie Norton: 
 
 Dear Madam — I have read portions of your manuscript "The Stalwarts, 
 or " Who were to Blame? " and take pleasure in commending it to the public 
 as a book of more than ordinary literary merit. 
 
 Very respectfully, Wm. F. Singleton, 
 
 Member State Central Com. of Prohibition Party. 
 
 Chicago, Sept. 27, 1888. 
 Having seen some extracts of the forthcoming work of Mrs. Frances 
 Marie Norton, sister of the unfortunate Guiteau, I shall await its coming 
 with interest. It may shed light on the question of his sanity or insanity; 
 and of the causes which led to the assassination of President Garfield. 
 
 J. R. DOOLITTLE, 
 
 Chicago, III., Sept. 20, 1888. 
 Mrs. Frances M. Norton : 
 
 My Dear Madam — I have looked over your forthcoming work in the 
 form of a historical novel, and am much impressed with the vivid delinea- 
 tion of various characters and episodes depicted therein. Your treatment 
 of the subject of the vicious spoils system of our politics is masterly, and 
 evinces a deep insight into the character and motives of many of our public 
 men, and the dangers growing out of the same. While I can hardly go 
 with you to the extent you indicate on the question of the responsibility of 
 the assassination of President Garfield, I appreciate your diatribes against 
 the system which produced the awful catastrophe, and am persuaded your 
 work will tend to open the eyes of the American people to the enormity of 
 that system. Very truly yours, Fernando Jones. 
 
 Chicago, III., Sept. 20, 1888. 
 Mrs. Frances M. Norton. 
 
 Dear Madam — In answer to your inquiry (made in connection with an 
 examination of your forthcoming historical novel), as to my impression of 
 the condition of mind of Charles J. Guiteau, I make the following state- 
 ment — 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 You know I was well acquainted with him, and was present at his trial 
 and a witness in it. From my previous knowledge of Guit^^au and from the 
 evidence upon his trial I never had any doubt of his insanit} , and am per- 
 suaded that was the general feeling of all who witnessed the trial. Still, 
 the public furore against the assassination and the assassin was so great 
 that the verdict was in a measure forced upon the court and jury by the 
 strong feeling that pervaded the whole community, even the whole nation. 
 Truly yours, Fernando Jones. 
 
 Chicago, Oct. ii, 1888. 
 
 I have been for many years acquainted with Frances Marie Norton, and, 
 
 from that acquaintance, and from what I have seen of the recommendations 
 
 of others, 1 heartily recommend her forthcoming book "Who were to 
 
 Blame?" to the reading public, believing it will be a work of unusual interest. 
 
 C. B. Waite. 
 Catherine V. Waite. 
 
 ■ I have become acquainted with the general scope of the work written by 
 Mrs. Norton, " Who were to Blame? " and shall look with great interest for 
 its publication I have no doubt the lessons contained in the book will be 
 of great value to the American public. Samuel Fallows. 
 
 Chicago, Sept. 27, 1888. 
 Mrs. F. M. Norton, 1200 Wabash ave., City: 
 
 Dear Madam — We have gathered enough from the original manuscript of 
 your book to confirm us in the opinion that the work will prove most in- 
 teresting and profitable reading to the young and old alike. We trust the 
 book will soon find its way into the library of every home. 
 
 Very respectfully yours, J. L. Whitlock. 
 
 Chicago, Oct. i, 1888. 
 Mrs. Frances Marie Norton: 
 
 I have read some extracts from your book — about to be published — and 
 I have no doubt that all who may read the book when completed will find 
 much to admire in it, and will learn much from it. The historical novel 
 may be made the means of illustrating phases of our National life, and of 
 pointing out factors in political movements that are known to but few. 
 The period which you propose to draw your facts from, the last fifty years of 
 history, bristles with significant events. T. A. Moran. 
 
 The tragedies of the world are never forgotten, they are studied by all 
 minds, and hence live not only in history, but in art, in poetry, in fiction 
 and the drama. Seven out of ten of the Roman Emperors of the first Cen- 
 tury were assassinated; only tw^o presidents of the United States have died 
 violent deaths, and hence there has arisen in our country so very little of this 
 peculiar form of tragic literature; if, indeed, "Who were to Blame? " is not 
 the first. From her peculiarly trying and intimate relation to the events 
 of which she writes, the author felt their fullest, saddest force, and hence 
 the work naturally shows traces of deep feeling; but, at the same time, it is 
 calm and aims to be fair. From the few selections examined, I judge it 
 possesses more than ordinary literary merit. 
 
 H. W. Thomas. 
 Chicago, Oct. 4, 1S88. 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 Chicago, Oct. 15, 1888. 
 I have read the manuscript of "The Stalwarts; or, Who Were to 
 Blame ?" and regard it as a story of thrilling interest, which should be read 
 by every American citizen. The writer has chosen scenes of our own 
 country and characters of our own times, and into the warp of historical 
 fact has interwoven the woof of a pleasing fiction. Through scenes the 
 most thrilling of the past fifty years, and with characters the most con- 
 spicuous of modern times, the writer takes us to where we may see the 
 dangers underlying our party prejudice and political madness. No book 
 brought out since the publication of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," is, in my mind, 
 destined to create such a sensation 
 
 J. W. Powers. 
 
 Dr. W. W. Godding, Superintendent of the St. Elizabeth 
 Insane Asyhim, at Washington, who attended daily the noted 
 trial referred to in this book, even examined the so-called assas- 
 sin, by official request, soon after the shooting, reporting to the 
 Government that the man was undoubtedly insane, and should 
 be tried by a lunacy commission, not as a 9nurderer ! now says, 
 by letter sent the Author for publication: 
 
 St. Elizabeth Asylum, Washington, D. C, Oct. 14, 1888. 
 Mrs. Frances Marie Norton, 1200 Wabash Ave. , Chicago, III. 
 
 Dear Madam — We may admit that the shooting of President Garfield 
 w^as the legitimate outcome of the " Spoils System " in our politics, and yet 
 allow that his assassin was insane. Herein we may find the lesson, find 
 also the only consolation for that martyrdom. It ought to make the very 
 name of " Spoils System " odious to the American public, while for us — we 
 can still be thankful that no sane man has yet been found to lift his hand 
 against the President of the Republic, that people-crowned king. That 
 Guiteau was insane is hardly seriously questioned now. This is one of the 
 instances where the world has not had to wait for the verdict of history — 
 contemporary opinion having acquiesced in the reversal of the decision 
 given at the trial, even within the lifetime of those whose testimony went to 
 the making of that verdict. 
 
 Truly yours, W. W. Godding. 
 
 Prof. A. A. Woodbridge of Boston, the life-long friend of 
 James G. Blaine, writes the author under date of July 15, 1888: 
 
 My Dear Madam — Your book is one I would like to see published and 
 circulated. You know there are some historic points I would like changed 
 somewhat, so as to conform more closely to actual history, but the whole 
 work, as a historic novel, \s full, literally//^//, of situations and incidents 
 that go to make a thrilling tale. The style is admirable. Get your book 
 on the presses somewhere at once; the country is ready for it. 
 
 With distinguished regard, I am, Yours sincerely, 
 
 A. A. .Woodbridge. 
 
 To FrancesM. Norton, 1200 Wabash Ave., Chicago. 
 
THE STALWARTS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 ■ Who Were to Blame. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 myra's trouble. 
 
 A clean deal-table of polished whiteness, a fair-faced woman, 
 neat and trim, walking briskly to and fro as she takes from the 
 moulding-board, where she has rolled them out, the light, sweet 
 cakes, and deftly drops them into the kettle hanging over the 
 bright fire built of solid maple sticks, crossed upon the gay 
 brass irons standing on the old-fashioned hearthstone. 
 
 No odor of smoke or burning fat offending, but all borne 
 in circling wreaths up the wide chimney to the air outside, sug- 
 gesting only beauty; nothing foul or unseemly in this model 
 kitchen of the olden time, being also dining and sitting room 
 of the family, comprised of husband, wife and child, loving and 
 loved. 
 
 As the mother works, singing a soft refrain, the child, a little 
 girl, sits in a tiny rocking-chair, holding her kitten and much- 
 loved doll J the kitten, as are kittens now, a purring gray and 
 white lump of warmth and comfort, but the doll grotesquely 
 made from the homely corn-cob supplying bone and sinew, 
 somewhat of shapeliness added by strips of cloth wound round 
 and round, and with rare artistic inspiration the semblance of 
 eyes, nose, lips and hair, by rude markings in ink or paint — a 
 veritable rag-baby, uncouth, but calling forth. the mother in- 
 stincts of by-gone years as do the life-like imitations provided 
 for the delight of young misses to-day. 
 
 Rocking her doll, the kitten purring its quiet song, in all the 
 world could not be found content more perfect than by that 
 chair encompassed. It was an old-thne chair ^ too — no superflu- 
 ous curves or carvings, no cushioned abomination full of dust 
 9 
 
10 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 and moths, but a clean, hard-seated, wooden rocking-chair, with 
 hard, straight rounds at the back and for the arms and feet — a 
 chair with no nonsense about it, and placed upon a smooth, bright 
 floor; no dust or moths there, either, for all in this old-fashioned 
 home is neat and healthful, and Gertrude, a winsome child, its 
 d delisfht, besfuilinof the time with wise remarks and odd 
 
 an 
 
 joy 
 
 sayings, has such housewifely ways, the neighbors shake their 
 heads and say, "You'll not keep her long." How little know 
 we of the fateful future! 
 
 • Our story commences on one of those perfect days of the 
 later spring months, when this old world seems young, and new, 
 and pure; when Nature outside, as well as the matron inside, 
 has finished her drenching and cleansing; when the April show- 
 ers have completed their mission, and all is fresh and sweet, 
 awaiting the joyous summer-time; when the birds have built 
 their nests, and are ready for love-making; when the seed for 
 the harvest is sown, and longs for the ministry of the life-giving 
 sun; when the roses have budded and are bursting into bloom, 
 and in Dame Nature's domain, at least, all is purity, happiness 
 and peace. 
 
 The young mother, preparing for a morning walk, calls to 
 her child: " Come, Pet; mamma's going to see auntie; do you 
 want to go, too?" 
 
 "Yes, mamma; can I take my kitty? She's so lonesome 
 when we're gone." 
 
 "Never mind, dearie; leave kitty at home. You can bring 
 your doll; she will keep still." 
 
 And tripping along together, hand in hand, they are indeed 
 a happy pair; out from the vine-covered porch, over cool stone 
 walks shaded by thrifty maples, past flowering shrubs — on they 
 go; past well-kept beds of flowers arranged on either side, 
 where bloom in early spring the crocus, the pure lily of the 
 valley, the gaudy tulip and the modest violet; not the audacious 
 hot-house j^ansy, but the sweet-scented, hardy, faithful violet — 
 the first to peep from beneath winter snows, the last to succumb 
 to his cold blasts — nature's type of a true woman's love. And 
 later, where were found the bachelor button, coxcomb, marygold, 
 nasturnium, hollyhock, poppy, the (until of late) despised sun- 
 flower, and many another posey esteemed by our grandmothers, 
 but well-nigh banished, if not exterminated, by the fastidious 
 modern gardener. 
 
 In the old days these carefully-tended flower-beds helped 
 keep women young, healthy, contented, and happy. Give the 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 11 
 
 average woman a passably good husband, a child or two — ever 
 so humble a home, with the surroundings making it worthy the 
 name — and she will not go far astray. 
 
 This little home was one of many in the country village 
 containing but one church or meeting-house, one academy, 
 one store (where might be found everything a man, woman or 
 child ought to need, from a leather shoe-string to a wash-tub), 
 one blacksmith and wagon shop, one tavern, clean and decent, 
 for the accommodation of the few strangers who came that 
 way. 
 
 No competition, no strife or brawling there — each doing for 
 his neighbor, according to his calling, straightforward, honest 
 work for straightforward, honest pay. 
 
 No use for lawyers; not much for doctors, except in the or- 
 dinary course of accessions to the population, or, in the sure 
 decay of extreme old age, weak humanity needing help and 
 comfort now and then. Seldom a case of real disease, rarely 
 an accident, one physician doing the work required for a circuit 
 of thirty, forty or even fifty miles, and that often until over- 
 taken by the allotted threescore years and ten. 
 
 The women, dear souls, imagined then, as now, they were 
 sick when only ailing — when all they needed was a cheering 
 word and a few bread-pills — the doctor then, as now, humoring 
 their notion, spending a little time, not unpleasantly, feeling the 
 beating of the life-giving pulse in the warm, soft wrist — listen- 
 ing to the melodious voice revealing its tale of headache, heart- 
 ache, and various woe. 
 
 The hard-worked country doctor of those days was not un- 
 like the modern city article, in that he was human, and would 
 take a morsel of the good things of life as he went along, some- 
 times sending the bill to the other man. 
 
 The world never has and never will get along without a fair 
 amount of humbugging. Everybody likes it now, as when Eve 
 coaxed Adam into eating that pesky apple. 
 
 However, nothing very much amiss often happens; as a rule, 
 men and women go in a respectable, jog-trot sort of way to the 
 end of the chapter. Loved, honored, trusted was the doctor; 
 indispensable while human folk must sicken and die; faithfully 
 ministering to the disabled bodies until death, then, at the last, 
 side by side with those who sacredly labor for the sin-sick souls 
 of men; for after death comes Eternity, for weal or for woe. 
 
 What space shall we give — what shall be said of the sainted 
 preacher of that distant day? How shall we recall him at this 
 
12 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 hour? Who among us gifted to look back over the long years, 
 and, with vision undimmed by all that is compressed betvs^een, 
 see standing out, beautiful, grand in his unselfish devotion, the 
 minister of the gospel of that time? Wants so simple, heart so 
 loving, taking no thought w^hat he shall eat or wherewithal he 
 shall be clothed, but seeking to preach the truth as handed down 
 to him, and to do his duty as he understands. No thought of 
 looking for a better place than the one in which he found 
 himself, as people now say, by chance, but as he believed where 
 Providence had cast his lot — steadfastly, patiently continuing in 
 well-doing, teaching the little ones, comforting, admonishing the 
 youth and middle-aged as their needs required, sm.oothing the 
 downward path of the old and infirm; occasionally, and with 
 sad wonder in his heart that in such a path his duty lay, preach- 
 ing a morsel of that hell and damnation which he found in the 
 dry books and creeds of centuries-old theology — theology ven- 
 erable enough to be most respectable, ;2tj/ old enough to draw its 
 inspiration from the Fountain-Head of Truth, from Him who 
 was in the beginnings but a one-sided, crooked, warped, human 
 theology ; not the perfect Divine theology whose beginning and 
 ending is love. 
 
 This sainted man dwelt mostly in his sermons upon the lov- 
 ing-kindness of the Lord; His mercy, which endureth forever; 
 His watch over His creatures, caring for the sparrow when it 
 falleth, teaching that the hairs of our heads are numbered. As 
 a type of the quiet, stable, unselfish ministry of the olden time, 
 he has passed away. The sweetness of his Christ-like spirit is 
 in the heart of many a preacher of to-day, but they, with all 
 the rest of us, are in the seething cauldron of investigation. We 
 seem rushing after the Truth pell-mell, as though fearing she 
 might elude our grasp. We are saying, " Lo! here, and lo! 
 there isChiist; believe this or that and ye shall be saved, or be- 
 lieve nothing at all, and it will be well." 
 
 Yes, the good old quiet times are for the present gone be- 
 yond recall; we must go forward, lest we perish under the 
 wheel of progress. 
 
 The little girl of our story, fortunately or otherwise, came into 
 this world when society, having been for a long time quiesant, 
 was now stirring with a great ferment, and westward, ho! was the 
 cry which was beginning to be heard. The male members of her 
 family had already caught "the fever," as it was aptly termed, 
 and with the grand caravan of " movers " it was ordained that 
 she must go; traveling along we may watch her destiny. 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 13 
 
 While we have been investigating our surroundings and 
 finding the manner of place we are to start from, making the 
 acquaintance of some of our companions perhaps, our little girl 
 and her mother have pursued their way towards the home of 
 aunt and friend. 
 
 What can be more lovely? Almost a counterpart of the one 
 they have left; the beautiful flower garden at the right, the 
 velvet lawn about the house, the old trees, the climbing vines 
 and roses. 
 
 As they near the house, comes through an open door the 
 song of a cheerful canary, and, mingled with its notes, the low, 
 sweet crooning of a young mother's lullaby. 
 
 Peace, happiness are within and around. 
 
 " Why, good morning, Myra, and there's little Pet, too. 
 Come in, come in, Auntie's glad to see you this morning; never 
 mind the baby, he's not asleep yet, and 1 think does not intend 
 taking a nap just now, the cunning rogue. No, indeed, he 
 wants to see his aunt Myra and little cousin, too!" 
 
 At this Master Robbie straightened backwards full length 
 in his mother's arms, for he could not raise himself up owing to 
 a lack of vetebra which his utmost endeavor and youthful am 
 bition had not yet overcome, and was forced to twist his fat 
 neck nearly out of joint in the frantic attempt to get a good 
 look at the latest arrivals. 
 
 " There, now, sit up sir, don't squirm so! You shall have a 
 nice frolic." And Master Robbie was safely bolstered up on 
 the floor, with the help of a couple of pillows, the two young- 
 sters left to entertain each other, while the mothers engaged in 
 a friendly chat. 
 
 "Well, Myra, how is everything getting on at the Maples?" 
 
 "Oh! very well, but I came over to have a talk with you 
 about something which worries me just a trifle." 
 
 " Why, what can be the matter? You are looking sadly 
 disheartened." 
 
 " Well, the fact is your brother Eben is getting uneasy, 
 wants to go west, and I cannot bear to think of such a change; 
 we are nicely settled here and are so happy." 
 
 " Can it be? Why, he has not mentioned this to us." 
 
 " No, he is very well aware neither yourself or your hus- 
 band, with his cool head and plodding ways, would second such 
 a venture; but he and father talk a good deal together at home, 
 how much easier a young man can rise in the world by locating 
 in a new country; while here it is such a treadmill life, work- 
 
14 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 iii^ in the same old ruts. I believe they are surely making up 
 tlicir minds to go, and I am more distressed than they can ima- 
 gine at the thought of leaving our dear little home and the 
 church and all our kind friends — and you " — now the lips were 
 trembling, the sweet violet eyes full to overflowing with tears. 
 
 Emily, who had since first they met, been a true sister to her 
 brother's wife, took Myra's hand in hers, comforting her as best 
 she could.. 
 
 " Please, dear, don't grieve so, altogether likely they will 
 evaporate their scheme in talk. Your father ought not to be 
 easily infatuated at his time of life; his blood should be cool. 
 I'll send Edward over to talk them out of the notion if possible." 
 
 "I doubt if he can," answered Myra. " The fact is father 
 took some land on a bad debt a long time ago, which hereto- 
 fore being unproductive property, now that a town has been 
 laid out adjoining it he wants his whole family to emigrate, that 
 wild brother of mine included. Eben and father insist there is 
 a great speculation before them in corner lots located on a 
 bleak western prairie, under water half the year, out in Illinois; 
 perhaps there is, sometime in the future, for our grandchildren; 
 but Emily, we'll all be dead long before it amounts to anything. 
 
 " Father hopes by getting brother John away from his bad 
 associates here and interested in business to reform him, and 
 really it is mainly on this account he wishes to go; but I have 
 no faith in a good result while his coarse, heartless wife treats 
 him as she does; poor John, he deserved a better fate, but like 
 many another man he fell in love with a gay face and married 
 without knowledge of the character of his inamorata. I dread 
 that even they should go, although I have hoped father would 
 return after he had seen John comfortably settled. But why 
 can't they let Eben and I alone and dear sister Lucille? A 
 dreary life surely must a young girl lead there. If we remain 
 here I'll keep Lucille with me. My brother's wife can attend 
 to the comfort of John and father. From what I hear and 
 have seen (which is very little as they live in Stubenville), it 
 will be no hardship for her to go — she was born and raised in 
 the west and would enjoy a rough life." 
 
 " But, Emily, I am tiring you with my complaints, and be- 
 sides must be getting home." 
 
 "Oh, no you are not, dear! I am sorry you must go, and 
 sorry for your trouble, but do not despair. Let us hope better 
 counsels will prevail. If they would give your wise little head 
 its due prominence all might yet be well; but we women must 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 15 
 
 brew and bake, and boil and scrub, and make and mend, while 
 our lords contrive how to accumulate a great deal of money in 
 the easiest possible way, as they think, and then forthwith plan 
 how to spend it again." 
 
 " Well, good bye, Emily. My visit has helped if only in 
 giving vent to pent-up feelings. Eben will be home soon, and 
 I ?nust be going. Come Pet." 
 
 And when Gertrude had given Robbie a final hug, nearly 
 squeezing the breath out of his round, fat body, auntie a fare- 
 well kiss, they started on their homeward way, but the shadow 
 did not leave Myra's thoughtful face; even the prattle of the 
 child failed to cheer her, for the longer her mind dwelt upon 
 the proposed change, the more she felt opposed to it. 
 
 As they walked towards home a glimpse of the village 
 grave-yard came in view, and a pang shot through her heart as 
 she remembered two mounds, one very, very small, but they 
 had been her special care; in the far west she should never see 
 them more — and she dropped a tear as you or I might have 
 done — for her heart was sad and sore. 
 
 Soon Myra reached her home, and quickly laying aside 
 bonnet and shawl, proceeded to prepare the mid-day meal as 
 best would please her husband. 
 
 Her wonted cheerfulness returned as she worked, and by 
 the time he appeared the trouble at her heart could not be seen 
 upon her face. 
 
 The little girl descried him and ran out to meet "Papa;" 
 prattling along, her hand in his, they came up the walk to- 
 gether. 
 
 " We's been to see auntie and 'ittle Robbie, we has." 
 " Have you, Puss? Well, what did auntie say? " 
 
 "Auntie glad to see we, but mamma cry. Auntie say don't 
 cry, dear, you shan't go away. Edward say so." 
 
 The open face clouded in an instant, a hard look came into it. 
 
 Although Eben really wished his sister and her sensible hus- 
 band to know that he intended going west, he did not care to 
 have them see how his wife felt about it; still, now that they 
 knew he was relieved, even though they did disapprove. Now 
 he would not have to tell them, as he had purposed that very 
 evening; really he was quite well pleased as he considered what 
 the little one had unwittingly told him. Just then Myra came 
 to the open door; the frown was gone in an instant, his arm 
 around her, for Myra in her best moods was a bright, sweet, 
 utterly irrisistable woman. 
 
16 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 Gathered around the table in the neat kitchen — sitting and 
 dining-room as well — before the open door of this wee home 
 nest, shaded by grand old maples — containing besides this liv- 
 ing room a pleasant parlor and one cosy sleeping-room, they 
 were a happy family, a pretty picture. 
 
 Our little lady, as you have seen, did her housework with 
 the help of a day now and then from old Betsy. In time of 
 sickness sister Lucille and aunt Emily were within easy call. 
 " What more of comfort or worldly good could mortal wish," 
 thought Myra. 
 
 Not so. Eben — he had visions of stately halls, grand equip- 
 ages, servants at his beck and call, all the et-cetera going to 
 make the daily life of a wealthy metropolitan merchant. 
 
 He had no intention of spending all his life a store-keeper 
 in a country village! Not he — nothing was too good for him — 
 going west was but a stepping-stone to fortune. Thus had 
 Eben planned. Shunning consultation with his wife, or with 
 his sister and her careful husband, for he well knew they 
 would weigh all the pros and cons before giving their consent, 
 he had long before determined to go west whoever opposed. 
 
 He had not directly mentioned the subject to his wife, much 
 less consulted her; he had fully trouble enough convincing 
 Grandpa Gascoigne without bothering with the women folks, 
 and besides, such was not the common practice of those times. 
 Occasionally a man would travel out of the ordinary line and 
 habitually confer with his w-ife about business matters, and she 
 become the envy of all her acquaintances. As a rule husbands 
 and fathers laid their plans, carrying them out without question 
 from wives and mothers; women of stolid nature quietly ac- 
 quiesced and it did them no harm; but women of finer grain, 
 more intensity of love, capable of deeper hurts, lost heart un- 
 der such treatment, grew into saddened lives, quietly grieving, 
 unknown strangers in their own homes to those nearest and 
 dearest. 
 
 This husband and wife, loving truly, but letting estrange- 
 ment creep between, each thinking their seperate thoughts, 
 except for the little girl would have eaten the meal in silence. 
 Neither could speak without effort on any but the subject upper- 
 most in the mind, and that Eben carefully avoided. 
 
 At last, rising from the table, turning to Myra, he said: 
 " My dear, your father, brother John and myself have made 
 arrangements to join the party going west one month from to- 
 day. We start on the first day of July, and if we have good luck 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 17 
 
 shall reach our destination by the middle of August, certainly 
 by the first of September, depending upon how long we re- 
 main in Chicago and the condition of the roads beyond there. 
 Freelawn, where we shall locate, is about a hundred miles 
 further on, and sometimes the roads, when there is much rain, 
 are very bad. You and your sister Lucille will have a great 
 deal of work getting ready for the long journey. John's wife 
 is delighted at the idea of going; they are coming over to join 
 the party here. Good bye, I must be off for the store." 
 
 Imprinting a kiss on her now ice-cold brow he hastened 
 away. 
 
 And she, when he had left her, seemed like one upon whom 
 a heavy stone has fallen, or who has been shot, pierced to the 
 heart, only she did not cry out, or fall, or die; but sat silently, 
 motionless, all joyous life and animation gone, with hands folded 
 listlessly in her lap, looking sad-eyed through the open door, 
 away into the graveyard, beyond the church near by, where 
 lay sleeping beside the mother, long gone, her own little one, his 
 tiny mound close wrapped in its netted covering of dark-leaved, 
 azure-eyed myrtle and sweet-scented violets, planted by her 
 hand, nourished by her tears, every twining tendril, each bright 
 blossom an outgrowth and symbol of maternal love. 
 
 And thus sitting, musing of the happy past, deploring the 
 grievous present, trying to reach out into the future for needed 
 hope and comfort, until the waning light and little Gertrude's 
 '* Mamma, I'se tired, I want to go bed," roused her; then she 
 rocked the child in tender arms to rest, and in the evening lull- 
 aby her crushed and wounded love wailed forth its dying re- 
 quiem. 
 
 Bodily, Myra lived long years after, but the loving heart life 
 which had permeated her whole being was departed, and to the 
 end she remained the same as on this fateful day, quietly mourn- 
 ing, covering from sight the bleeding hurt, cherishing sacredly 
 memories of glad hours forever gone. 
 
 Such episodes oft repeated, killing- love,, culminate now-a- 
 days in divorce — that monster of the 19th century — an evil 
 which cannot be strangled by stringent laws, seeking to rivet 
 the chains binding the outward lives of those whose every 
 thought and impulse is antagonistic. We contend for marriage as 
 against divorce, but for an inseparable marriage of soul as well 
 as body ; the nature of men and women being to attach them- 
 selves permanently when congenial attributes arouse love. But 
 the surety of possession which is now a part of the marriage 
 
18 THE STALiVARTS; OR, 
 
 bond makes all the difference between courtship and marriage, 
 when only love doth bind. Each must carefully cultivate and 
 cherish love and respect lest they die and the bond be broken. 
 
 In those days, when divorce was considered a disgrace which 
 no excuse or atonement could extenuate, sensitive women who 
 felt themselves governed by a master's will, not cherished by a 
 husband's love, would sometimes sink dispirited under the load 
 every wife and mother must assume unless she shirks her duty; 
 and men, finding themselves encumbered by a thankless, unap- 
 preciative wife instead of encouraged by a helpful companion, 
 would sometimes desert wife, home and children, fleeing to 
 distant lands. 
 
 Even now, when lagal separation is easier of attainment, 
 the opprobium less severe perhaps, the rupture and dismember- 
 ment of family life is felt to be so terrible an alternative by all 
 right-thinking people, none but the coarse natures will hastily 
 resort to such an expedient, those of finer grain preferring 
 years of unhappiness, oftimes physical torture, to opening 
 noisome closets, exposing ghastly skeletons for the inspection of 
 the public; continuing after the love and respect constituting 
 true marriage has departed — inwardly though completely di- 
 vorced as by the decree of a court of justice — yet patiently en- 
 during for long years, living in spirit separate and independent 
 lives. Some, goaded to desperation, rise up and shake off their 
 shackles, break the hateful bond asunder. 
 
 But is this the better way? Why cannot men and women 
 so live that wives may yield to their husbands not a stolid 
 obedience, a slavish help, but hearty, willing assistance in every 
 emergency; a loyal allegiance, akin to hero worship, for the 
 womanly soul her chief delight, and women win from their 
 husbands honest admiration, deepest love, instead of the shallow 
 affection given in return for ofttimes shallow, heartless lives? 
 
 Not that her husband had been inconsiderate, severe, arbi- 
 trary, different from his wont; not that they were to go far 
 away and must leave much which could not be replaced, many 
 things very dear from long association, or that she perhaps dis- 
 approved of the change for financial reasons; but that he could 
 be altogether careless of her wishes in so important a matter, 
 affecting all their home and business interests, making a final 
 decision without mentioning the subject to her directly, or by 
 the least effort endeavoring to have her see it in the same light 
 as he did. This was partly what had shocked and grieved 
 every atom of her sensitive nature. But, as Myra pondered, 
 
IV/W WERE TO BLAME. 19 
 
 certain recent incidents, scarcely noticeable when they occurred, 
 now assumed new meaning and importance, and she became 
 sure that her husband had suddenly and irrevocably decided 
 upon the removal because of a hidden purpose more easily to 
 be achieved with the opportunities offered by the peculiar 
 manner in which the journey must be accomplished. Could 
 she have been convinced that his own business prosperity and 
 the welfare of his family were the sole objects in view; had 
 Eben, this old-time husband, instead of pursuing a dictatorial 
 course, been even as considerate as is usual among men of or- 
 dinary enlightenment now-a-days, Myra would have assented 
 cheerfully, had he insisted, though her judgment were averse to 
 the project, for she was by no means an unreasonable, stubborn 
 woman. 
 
 But that her husband should entirely ignore her preference, 
 should regard his wnfe and chUd as chattels to be moved at 
 his convenience or pleasure, was more than she could compre- 
 hend. 
 
 Surely some radical change must have taken place in him, 
 for the tenderness which since first they met had been con- 
 stantly present towards her was certainly wanting of late, and 
 in this instance had been substituted by actual unkindness and 
 heartlessness. The absolute knowledge of her husband's in- 
 difference coming suddenly upon her had agonized every fiber 
 of this affectionate woman's heart beyond repair. Oh! those 
 telltale words — "John's wife!" 
 
 Deluded man! that he had at once dispelled from his mind 
 a silly infatuation for one he really cared not a whit about — a 
 woman immeasurably inferior to his own wife — and giving his 
 whole attention to the gentle companion who loved him so 
 dearly, regarding her as friend and comrade, consulting with 
 her as he would have done with a partner in business, more 
 necessary when for life — thus must these two have been drawn 
 inseparably together. 
 
 The real obstacle to such conference was the headstrong 
 nature of the man, unused to asking advice of any one, much 
 less a wife; a man perfectly sure he knew what was best, 
 under any and all circumstances, and with a determination of 
 purpose when his passions were aroused to carry out his plans, 
 have his own way, though the Juggernaut car of his will should 
 crush the life out from the hearts of those who loved him, or 
 eventually w^reck his own happiness. 
 
 Because of this strength of character the man was capable 
 
20 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 of loving with an impassioned tenderness, commanding the 
 deepest, truest love in return. A man w^ho had but to let his 
 own heart go out and the object of his desires must of her own 
 accord come to him. 
 
 Such a man. a wife will worship, clinging to him alone 
 through good and through evil report alike, even after repeated 
 unkindness; and alas! oft times a woman, loving though erring, 
 drawn irresistably to his fond embrace, exhibits not one atom 
 less of devotion. 
 
 Eben Grieveau was a handsome, manly fellow, and Myra, 
 his wife, had deemed herself a queen among women during the 
 three years of their wedded life, each day binding her closer in 
 allegiance to her king; especially through this beautiful spring 
 time as she had watched him coming up the walk leading to 
 their cottage home, with free, springing step and bright, genial 
 smile, her love had increased to adoration until she felt her 
 chief joy must ever consist in following him to the ends of the 
 earth did he but say the talismanic words, " Come, my darling, 
 come! " And he, as the sweet wife came tripping to meet him 
 day by day, her soft arms at last about his neck, the dainty 
 mouth upturned to his, had thought, " Was there ever such an- 
 other little woman? " 
 
 But now, very lately^ a wily siren had discovered this fruit- 
 ful Eden, and her own garden being barren had wickedly 
 coveted her neighbor's apples, with the result apt to follow 
 when a man of warm temperament and strong nature Is encoun- 
 tered by a coarse, passionate woman full of the fire of youth, 
 strength and health, but lacking in the refinement of principle, 
 the sense of justice and right living which should pre-eminently 
 distinguish woman, causing that she prefer any torture rather 
 than reach out after or accept that which belongs to another, 
 rather than estrange the affection which everv wife has the 
 right to expect from her husband. 
 
 But this woman, thoughtless, robust, with a certain animate 
 beauty — striving her utmost to crowd between these two — 
 had little delicacy of feeling or just principle, and the fateful 
 wrong progressed unhindered to the end. 
 
 Now where had been joy and peace, discord and sorrow- 
 have entered. Eben, nearing his home at the close of this 
 pleasant summer day so long ago, no one comes to meet him as 
 of yore, no one is stirring within, but such sad, unearthly music 
 strikes upon his ear as he has never heard before; anon the 
 notes rise wild and free as though the soul of the singer would 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 31 
 
 burst its bonds and soar away to the very skies, and sinking 
 lower — with an unutterable sadness — yet lower, until it seems 
 the breath must surely be stilled in death. 
 
 Eben comes nearer, hoping to distinguish the words, it is only 
 a lullaby, and greater wonder, the songstress is his wife! He 
 knew she could sing indifferently well, but such music! What 
 can it mean? And she sitting alone with only little Gertrude 
 for company ! 
 
 Hark! His step has roused her, she hears him coming, in- 
 stantly is the wierd melody hushed, nevermore to be resumed. 
 She lays the child quickly upon its bed, and with bewildered, 
 dazed manner goes about her neglected household work. 
 
 Eben waits a little, thoroughly alarmed by her strange con- 
 duct; he watches her movements, but she proceeds methodically 
 as is her custom. 
 
 There is a very tired look, a hopeless expression in her face, 
 otherwise she is the same as usual. 
 
 He enters — Myra meets him almost-m the old accustomed 
 way — a shadow there is possibly of indifference and coldness in 
 her tone as she mentions that " little Gerty was tired, and after 
 rocking her to sleep she forgot herself." 
 
 He answers nothing, but wonders at the strange manner 
 women have of showing it when they are grieved; for he very 
 well knows that the heart of his wife is profoundly chilled, 
 and wherefore, but he does not at all comprehend the extent of 
 the defection or the depth of the pool of anguish which has been 
 stirred. 
 
 Though he did, would he relent? Likely not. He'd think, 
 " Women are so queer, but she'll get over it, they always do." 
 
 And thus men reason to this day, the best of them; men 
 who would not hurt a fly, much less a woman, physically, see 
 those they love sorrowful, growing cold towards them day by 
 day, because of their own thoughtlessness or downright un- 
 kindness, and yet they do not mind or trouble in the least about 
 so trivial an affair as a woman's preferences and notions, much 
 less over her jealous whims, as they are pleased to say. 
 
 As for Eben and his wife, from that day when the abrupt 
 announcement of his intentions had been made to her, they 
 traveled their separate roads; he attended to his business in his 
 own w^ay, with no effort to know aught on her part beyond her 
 special domain, the household work and the care of her children. 
 
 Each labored faithfully in the sphere marked out, though 
 contracted and circumscribed through lack of concerted feeling^ 
 
22 THE STALWARTS; OR 
 
 with such results to themselves, their children and their home 
 life, as might have been expected, the misfortune not lessened 
 by the fact of one party reserving the right to selfish action or 
 arbitrary interference upon any occasion at his option. 
 
 Notwithstanding the heartache and the sadness, prepara- 
 tions w^ere made for the long journey, and the family started 
 according to the original plan. Eben Grieveau, Myra, his 
 wife, and the child Gertrude; Myra's father, Dr. Gascoigne; 
 her sister Lucille, brother John and his wife, Julia; besides aunt 
 Debby Jones and the good deacon, her husband, also several 
 others not connected with our story. 
 
 In the course of this narrative the reader can judge whether 
 the removal was in the interest of wisdom or of cruel destinv. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PREPARATION FOR THK jOLRXEV. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Grieveau, you don't say you are really going 
 away out west? " 
 
 " Ves, that is what my father and hushand have decided 
 upon." 
 
 " But how do you like the idea, you and your sister Lucille r " 
 
 "To tell you the truth, Mrs. Sykes, we have no choice i-i 
 the matter; father and Mr. Grieveau have made up their minds 
 to go, and as nothing we could say would influence them in the 
 slightest, we think the wisest course will be to keep still." 
 
 "Keep still ! You don't seem to be following your own coun- 
 sels if what I have seen since coming here is a sample of the 
 work you do." 
 
 "No," replied Myra; "in all these changes, though we 
 women have no voice in planning the main event, the detail 
 comes upon us just the same whether the heart be sad or gay, 
 be the circumstances pleasant or otherwise — isn't that as you 
 find it?" 
 
 " Oh! yes, woman's lot, I suppose. Life is pretty much the 
 same wherever we go I sometimes undertake to have my wav, 
 but yield sooner of later for the sake of peace. I never quarrel 
 with my husband. If there is anything I detest it is wrangling. 
 But it is just too bad that we must lose you. We shall miss you 
 all so much in every way. I shall never forget your kindness 
 when I had that poor spell last winter. I shall think of it every 
 time I go by this dear little house. Who's to have it? Has it 
 been sold yet? " 
 
 " No, but my brother Edward will attend to the sale. 
 Please don't speak of it, my heart is fairly broken at the 
 thought of leaving all that is so pleasant here." And Myra 
 could no longer control her choking sobs. 
 
 " My dear little friend, do not worry so. Cheer up, cheer 
 up. You must try and look on the bright side. You'll like it 
 out there better than you think. I know ever so many who 
 are going in the fall or next spring; you'll have us all out there 
 before long. Old Barrytown'll be empty. The men are wild 
 now about that new place o\ er across the big lake — Chick-ca- 
 
24 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 o-o or She-ka-gv, or some such a name they call it, some out- 
 landish Indian name. They say it is a miserable poor location 
 as ever was, set down in the mud on a level with the lake, so 
 that when the storms come and the waves are high, the water 
 sets back into the dirty river and there is danger that the whole 
 town will flviat off away out on the big prairie beyond. I am 
 glad you are not going to stay there." 
 
 " Yes, so am I. Why, I've heard that in the spring when 
 the freshet — as they call the early thaw — floods the land, people 
 actually go about in boats on the main street, there is but one, 
 well-named. Lake street, and for weeks after the water sub- 
 sides, you'll find poles set up to show where the bottom has 
 fallen out from one of those deep black mud-holes, the street 
 being well nigh impassable." 
 
 "I declare, Mrs. Grieveau, you don't say. It is a mystery, 
 sure enough, how any one happened to think of building a 
 town there. I'^'e heard the Indians first started it as a trading 
 port, and then the government had to build a fort — Fort Dear- 
 born, I believe — and station soldiers to keep the Indians 
 straight^ and so the place commenced, and now it is growing, 
 and growing like a great coarse swamp-weed^ rank and nasty, 
 but so strong and vigorous nothing can kill it out, and there's 
 no end of the stories they tell of the money to be made invest- 
 ing in corner lots under water half the year. That is the kind 
 of place it is." 
 
 "Yes," said Myra, "we go through there, and only think, 
 a hundred miles beyond, over prairies, through sloughs, zvherc 
 horses go dozvn^ sometimes, shik e?ztirely out of sight^ and are 
 never rescued. Oh! dear, oh! dear, why can't men let well 
 enough alone? And then the people are sick half the time or 
 more with a fearful disease in which they get freezing cold and 
 you can't warm them with anything applied externally or in- 
 ternally; they shake and shake with the cold, they turn blue 
 and their teeth chatter and rattle, until you'd think every tooth 
 would fall out, and they are in such misery they want to die 
 but can't. 
 
 " After hours of dreadful suffering the fever comes on, the 
 patients are just burning up, and you can't cool them with any 
 thing. They often remain delirious for hours, until at last, 
 when the climax is reached, and the time has come for the 
 change, all quiets down, the fever abates, sleep restores the ex- 
 hausted victim, and for a short period of a day or more there is 
 comparative comfort, and then another attack. 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 25 
 
 " The most aggravating thing about the disease is that it does 
 not often kill, and because of this unfortunate circumstance, 
 people make sport of each other and try to laugh it off, calling 
 the terrible affliction ' having the shakes,' but I'm told it is a 
 serious matter when the fit is on, and almost every person going 
 to new countries when the virgin soil is being broken up for 
 cultivation is sure to suffer from this disease. The children and 
 even the dear little babies have it too." 
 
 " You don't sav, Mrs. Grieveau ; well I never heard the likes 
 of that." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Sykes," said Myra, " it is of no use spendmg 
 time in repining, for we are to go, and sister Lucille and I have 
 decided to make the best of what we cannot prevent. Perhaps, 
 at any rate we hope, if father and Mr. Grieveau do not succeed 
 there as they expect, we shall return after a while. Eben says 
 he intends coming back wdien he has made his fortune, and will 
 spend the remainder of his life among his friends here." 
 
 '' Well, that'll be nice, I'm sure." 
 
 " Yes, but now we must make ready and go as they wish, 
 without commenting or parleying; it is the only way of get- 
 ting along peaceably with men." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so, Mrs. Grieveau. You are right; so 
 sensible and good. Just like your mother. I remember her 
 looks very well, though she died soon after coming here from 
 Vermont. Marrying as you did, in a short time, and taking- 
 her place in the household, you seem always to me herself 
 over again. She was a dear, good woman, we all loved her the 
 little space she remained with us, and you are more her counter- 
 part than even your sister Lucille." 
 
 " Please don't, Mrs. Sykes," said Myra, quietly wiping her 
 eyes. " Pm not ver}' strong lately, and cannot endure any 
 more heart-breaking thoughts to-day. Lucille and I are to be 
 very busy and must save all our strength, for there are no end 
 of things to be done in preparing for the journey and for use 
 after we arrive in Freelawn. They tell us no kind of fruits 
 or luxuries to which we have been accustomed can be procured 
 there at any price, and we intend carrying all the dried fruit we 
 can secure and other choice articles for our comfort during the 
 first winter. After that is over, we shall start a garden 
 and an orchard, and in time hope to have these and many of the 
 pleasant surroundings which have made our home here so en- 
 joyable." 
 
 " Yes, though at first no doubt you will miss many things you 
 
26 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 have been used to, and your lot will seem very hard ; but you 
 must keep up courage. This trouble may all be for some good 
 end beyond our present comprehension." 
 
 " Perhaps so," answered Myra despondently, with that far- 
 away look in her eyes, for the shadow of doom was upon her; 
 *' or to consummate some evil. I have had from the first men- 
 tion of the intended change a premonition of such result, but do 
 not allow my mind to dwell upon this view; for we shall have 
 enough perplexities to engage our attention and activities in the 
 present, without drawing upon the imagination for the troubles 
 of the futu>"e. Why, do you know, Mrs. Sykes, we are not at 
 all sure of even a house to live in upon our arrival, and father 
 and Mr. Grreveau are starting thus early in the summer that 
 they may build comfortable quarters for occupancy before the 
 the winter comes upon us if they find it necessary. We may 
 be obliged to camp during the whole month of September, 
 sleeping in our wagons, as we must while journeying. Lucille 
 and I have already commenced making strong, coarse garments 
 for father, Eben, little Gertrude and ourselves, which will bear 
 the wear and tear of the rough traveling. You w^ould never 
 recognize us in our queer costumes. Come, I'll show you our 
 sun-bonnets — 'prairie schooners' — they are called." 
 
 And the dainty woman arrayed herself in an ungainly 
 thing made of brown gingham, cords and pasteboards, turning 
 about for her friend's inspection. But the lovely eyes, of dark- 
 est, velvetly, purpleish blue, peeping timidly out from under 
 curtaining lids, as does the modest violet from its hidden retreat, 
 the dimpled mouth and chin, the smooth, fair brow, the rippling 
 golden brown hair, of sweet Myra Greiveau could not be con- 
 cealed or even disfigured by this outlandish toilet. 
 
 A hearty laugh they had at her expense, and then the kind 
 friend, throwing her arms about her impulsively, kissing htr 
 gleefully, declared she'd " know that face anywhere, inside ar.y 
 sort of headgear that could be contrived. But it's growing 
 late, must be near about noon; so good bye for to-day. My 
 husband will be home soon, tired and hungry, and a man is not 
 himself until he has his dinner. 1 hope he won't take any such 
 notion. You are to be pitied, Mrs. Grieveau, and your little 
 sister Lucille — bless her heart. I will see you again to-morrow, 
 and perhaps can bring something for your journey that may 
 add to your store and remind of a Barrytown friend." 
 
 With another kiss and warm embrace the good neighbor 
 went her way, not neglecting the task of spreading the newly 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 27 
 
 acquired information that "the Grieveau's were going west I 
 The whole family! Myra's father, Dr. Gascoigne; her sister 
 Lucille, her brother John and his wife." For what woman in- 
 habiting a country village, having a particle of enterprise or 
 snap about her, ever let the sun go down on such a startling 
 piece of news? 
 
 And before night it transpired that the more garrulous 
 women of this quiet town were shaking their heads ominously, 
 wagging gossippy tongues, throwing up hands in amazement, 
 exclaiming, after the fashion of such* "Do tell! You can'c 
 mean it! Well I never! I wouldn't go one step if I were Myra 
 Grieveau or Lucille Gascoigne, so I wouldn't. What a head- 
 strong: fellow that Eben Grieveau is, to be sure, and dear old 
 Dr. Gascoigne must be losing his senses leaving his home and 
 practice here going away off out west with nothing to depend 
 upon in his old age but that good-for-nothing son of his. It's 
 just a shame to drag those two dear girls, Myra and Lucille, out 
 there, away from all their friends. Reckon if their mother'd 
 lived and their father hadn't got so broke down things would 
 a been different." 
 
 As for the men of the village, if the truth must be told, 
 nearly every one had the *' western fever " with an intensity 
 equaled only in the case of Eben himself — and of course offered 
 scant criticism. 
 
 However, after the first excitement, all set to work doing 
 what they could in giving the movers a good send off — assist- 
 ing in every way possible, even though many regretted the 
 change and disapproved of the venture. 
 
THE STALWARTS; OR. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HEREDITY. 
 
 During the conversation between Myra Grieveau and her 
 kind neighbor, the young sister to whom she had been counseler 
 and comforter, since the dear mother was laid to rest years be- 
 fore, sat quietly in the adjoining room, her heart too full for idle 
 talk. 
 
 She could not reconcile her mind to the thought of the new 
 project, and regarded it with extreme aversion for a special 
 reason known only to herself. 
 
 When Mrs. Sykes had gone, Lucille, breaking over her 
 usual composed demeanor, threw her arms about her sister, sob- 
 bing: " Oh! Myra, Myra, must we go?" 
 
 "Yes, dear," answered Myra, soothingly. " I fear there is 
 no other alternative. Father and your brother Eben have so 
 decided, and I am sure not one w^ord we can say will move 
 them; besides our consent has not been asked. It is hard in- 
 deed, my dear, for 3-0U to leave.jour comforts, friends and life- 
 long associations, but I have in addition to all this, the grief 
 caused by the knowledge that my husband, whom I have 
 adored, cares not enough for my desires to give them a mo- 
 ment's consideration when they antagonize his plans and inten- 
 tions. I would gladly yield my preference did he deem it 
 worth while to ask the concession ; that he does not is evident, 
 and so long as he continues to avoid it I cannot approach the 
 subject. 
 
 "My dear Lucille, I fear I shall never regain the feeling of 
 trustfulness in my husband's love and devotion which has made 
 life so happy. A barrier, seemingly insurmountable, has arisen 
 between us" — and sorrowful, downcast Myra laid her face in 
 her hands and wept as only women can. 
 
 Soon regaining her composure and looking up, she was 
 surprised by her sister, who was quietly sobbing, almost con- 
 vulsed with grief, trying, but in vain, to conceal her distress. 
 
 " Lucille, dear, forgive me; how selfish my own trouble has 
 made me. I have been blind and stupid not to notice before 
 this the change in you, which certainly betokens something 
 more serious than our moving west. My poor girl, how strange 
 
IV HO WERE TO BLAME. 29 
 
 and white you look. What is the matter? What has hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 And Myra took her weeping sister tenderly in her arms. 
 
 Mystery of life! Here were two beautiful women, either 
 all any man could desire, and yet estrangement had come be- 
 tween them and the loved one. Now each was supremely 
 miserable. 
 
 We have seen how Myra's unhappiness commenced; Lu- 
 cille's trouble was even more trying. In a thoughtless moment 
 she had made some laughing remarks, of no account in them- 
 selves, but intended to lead her bantering companions astray as 
 to how much she really cared for her lover, which being re- 
 peated by those envious girls with added coloring, had shocked, 
 and, she feared, alienated him forever. And he had given her 
 no opportunity for explanation, but, man-like, simply kept him- 
 self away, not even condescending a recognition when they met, 
 as often happened, he in the company of those same frivolous 
 girls who had caused the difficulty. 
 
 Just so cruel and hard-hearted are men when they take a 
 freak, just so proud and stubborn. 
 
 And she, her strong love controlled by maidenly reserve, 
 sensitive, wronged, could make no advances towards a reconcilia- 
 tion; he would then consider her unfeminine, bold, and be still 
 more antagonized. 
 
 She could only wait patiently, hoping her sad face, quiet dig- 
 nity, and a belief in her steadfast love which she thought must 
 surely influence him when his resentm.ent had time to cool, 
 would after a while touch his heart and he would of his own 
 accord come to her. 
 
 This was the only course Lucille felt she ought to pursue; 
 the only advice her elder sister could give. This their training, 
 the invariable usage of those times, it did not occur to either 
 that it would be proper to solicit an interview. Such a for- 
 ward and immodest proceeding was not to be for a moment 
 considered. 
 
 Lucille's heart throbbed wildly and sobs choked her utter- 
 ance, as she recounted how, when they chanced to meet, Henry 
 Armstrong did not deign a look tow^ards her whose love was 
 as ever still so true. And now they were to go away into the 
 far west; the separation might be final. 
 
 "Oh! Myra, sister," cried Lucille, wringing her hands and 
 pacing the floor of the little sitting-room ; " I cannot give him 
 up. I can never let him go. He was so good and true and 
 
30 THE STALWARTS: OR, 
 
 noble every way before this dreadful trouble came; but now 
 lie won't speak to me; scarcely even look at me. Oh! sister, 
 what can I do? I shall surely die. I know I shall die." 
 
 But Lucille did not; instead she learned to endure what 
 could not be cured, as has many another woman. 
 
 The question now was, would Henry, putting aside his 
 wounded pride, come and see her before she w^ent away and it 
 might be forever too late? 
 
 Lucille hoped, prayed that he would; but he did not come. 
 Of course not, no man in love ever acted in so sensible a manner. 
 
 For Henry Armstrong was in love, madly, desperately, and 
 this is why he allowed jealousy, fed by those foolish, unfairly 
 repeated remarks, to make him play the despicable fool, and 
 actually let the dear heart-broken girl go away without so much 
 as a good bye. Such is life. Notwithstanding, afterwards 
 when she was gone, regret came in and grew until Lucille's sad 
 face haunted him night and day. 
 
 Could he have seen her then all would have been well, but 
 to apologize in writing for what he then felt to be his cruel in- 
 justice was more than his pride would let him do, and although 
 Henry longed for Lucille years and years after with a love 
 which increased with his strength, and was at times overpower- 
 ing, he too, as well as Eben, allowed much of sorrow to result 
 from his mistaken willfulness, so nearly alike are men in dispo- 
 sition. Henry reasoned whenever he thought of Lucille in the 
 after years, "Women are heartless and fickle, separation and 
 time always dissipates their affection. She should see that he 
 could forget too." 
 
 Did she forget? Did either? 
 
 Not in the least. 
 
 And many there are like these two, memory-tortured, carry- 
 ing bleeding hearts, still bleeding to their dying day. 
 
 Some, after a while perhaps, unite themselves with other 
 mates, for no loving nature can destroy its desire for the close 
 companionship of marriage, the comforts of home, the love of 
 children, and thus it happens both men and women when they 
 cannot find, or have through some misfortune lost the needed 
 completement, at last content themselves as best they may with 
 an available substitute. 
 
 But these are rarely satisfying, never to the extremely sensi- 
 tive; breeding unhappiness in the present to themselves and 
 entailing lifelong misery upon their children; even their child- 
 ren's children. 
 
IV HO WERE TO BLAME. 31 
 
 The offspring of such unions, or where discord has entered, 
 being born in many instances, not only with distorted moral 
 natures, but with physical deformity for their inheritance; in- 
 sanity in their brains, murder in their hearts, the only possible 
 result — bitter, blighted lives. 
 
 How much better for individuals and the race, did men and 
 women deal fairly and openly with each other, from a stand- 
 point of equality as to privileges in all their intercourse in every 
 circumstance of life, and when a true, pure love lises up in the 
 heart letting nothing short of death interpose to prevent the 
 final consummation of right living and fulness of joy. 
 
 Humanity, even when begotten of congenial and enlightened 
 love, being disabled by ages of ignorance and prejudice not yet 
 dispelled, coming to maturity, the two halves unequally yoked to- 
 gether, still further enthralled. 
 
 \V^e see two babes in one cradle, a boy and a girl — they 
 grow apace; the boy full of strength and ambition going out 
 into the world's open field equipped for conquest, and to gain 
 happiness; the girl, hampered by adverse customs, doing what 
 she can in the same direction, but with body, mind and heart 
 cramped — her life oft times wrecked because of the lack of suit- 
 able opportunity for the exercise of her powers, the acheive- 
 ment of her aspirations. 
 
 The boy, too, missing the best things of life because his 
 sister has been roughly ignored in the race, no friendly hand 
 extended to keep for her an honored place by his side, and when 
 dire emergencies come, she who should be, is not there. 
 
 Out in the world he sees little real equity and truth, or 
 brotherhood of feeling; but instead, self-seeking hypocrisy and 
 deceit, cruelty, temptation, sin. 
 
 He finds that since the human race came forth by the 
 thought of God, asserting individual being, each man, as did 
 the traditional Adam, has with few exceptions, taken care of 
 his own immediate concerns, the dearest ties of which he is 
 capable continually sacrificed upon the altar of self-interest; 
 and woman, who should be his cherished companion, too often 
 overwhelmed in trouble and suffering, without power to remedy 
 wrongs, which, though inflicted primarily upon herself and off- 
 spring, must surely also react upon him. 
 
 For even our mistakes and unintentional errors follow us in 
 consequences more or less detrimental to the end of time. 
 
 And further, making matters worse, the laws of society 
 beirrg arranged upon the basis of self-preservation by those who 
 
32 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 have thus been able to protect themselves, claiming the best 
 good of mankind demands that the weak should be left to the 
 tender mercies of the strong as has been taught and believed for 
 hundreds and thousands of years, w^hen in reality those laws 
 and practices breed only injustice, and ruin to individuals both 
 men and women and detriment to the race because grounded in 
 selfishness. Pre-eminently is this true of relationships between 
 men and women, and of the laws governing those ties held of 
 all others most sacred. 
 
 By slow degrees has woman, as will be conceded, in spite of 
 various disabilities, worked her way up until the loving-kindness 
 of her nature, careful prudence, and pure instincts have per- 
 meated the pulses of being through all the channels of life — the 
 race improved and benefitted in just so far as these influences 
 have predominated. 
 
 But woman's inevitable lot is to love, and because of her 
 yearning heart to suffer. Only an affection as pure and endur- 
 ing as her own bestowed in return can compensate; less radical 
 remedies but modifying or partially improving her estate; there 
 is no other real panacea for her unavoidable griefs. 
 Not passion — but love ! 
 
 For passion devoid of love burns, consumes, destroys. 
 
 Love purifies, exalts, ennobles, bestows life and youth eternal. 
 
 Every emotion of love, every enthusiasm of being, lifts and 
 
 helps mankind into the light of that perfect day where is joy 
 
 forever more; by love shall every good be restored, all that is 
 
 beautiful and great be acheived. 
 
 Love! Transfixing every atom of humanity with a heavenly 
 thrill of delight; transfiguring the face with the beams of an 
 angelic radiance. Love! Which baptises the soul in ineffable 
 bliss and peace; sometime, somewhere, this consummation of 
 the joy of living must reach every human creature, else the 
 purpose of all existence comes to naught. 
 
 In the balance of Infinity souls ai-e measured by their power 
 of loving! Thuse having loved much the more worthy they; 
 and one whose attributes have called forth this most holy and 
 divine passion from another, judged to have thereby conferred 
 an inestimable blessing, and each to be forever weighted with 
 responsibilities sacred beyond estimation. 
 
 Life in an atmosphere of love constitutes the Heaven of the 
 
 eternal ages, which has been, which now is, which ever shall be. 
 
 Oh! Love! Thy power is infinite, but ofttimes thou art a 
 
 wavering flame, a tender flower, a breath can quench thy light, 
 
IVNO WERE TO BLAME. 33 
 
 can blight thy growth ; with what assiduity should we tend thee, 
 with what care shield thee. 
 
 Once, possibly twice or thrice comes to us this dearest boon, 
 but with what trifling do we receive and roughly handle the price- 
 less treasure; would some power discernment bestow, that havino- 
 more wisdom, and growing happier, the race, as a sure resuh, 
 better, ourselves and our children generation after generation. 
 
 Here were two beautiful women, with woman's lot upon 
 them to love, to yearn, to weep, so soon to be removed from 
 the refinements which were to them an essential of happiness; 
 for they were capable of enjoying as well as suffering more in- 
 tensely than coarser natures. 
 
 Sad enough could they have had the consolation of appre- 
 ciative love, in life's closest and most satisfying companionship. 
 But this boon was denied them; it may 'have been in the in- 
 terest of destiny. 
 
 Industriously were the preparations made for the weary 
 journey by the sisters, assisted in their task by friendly neigh- 
 bors, the whole village astir and interested in the work. The 
 coarse garments needed were made, fruits dried, even roots and 
 herbs medicinal; good grandma Guenther preparing, sorting 
 and labeHng them all nicely for use in every ailment, as she 
 thought, not knowing the disease more dreaded than all others 
 on those distant prairies was the quaking, shivering, teeth- 
 rattling western ague for which her mild herbs would be about 
 as efficacious as so much water. Only the bitterest of bitters 
 could suffice for this cure, as our friends found. 
 
 Quickly the weeks flew away, at last all was ready and 
 they were to start on the morrow notwithstanding the siehine 
 and the grieving. & & 
 
 Lucille still hoped that Henry would come to her at the last 
 moment, but Myra's heart grew heavier each day. Eben now 
 absolutely avoiding his wife, for he could not endure the sight of 
 her reproachful eyes. 
 
 Sadly the neighbors came to bid them good bye and cheer 
 as best they could. "I'm coming out to see you," and 
 ''You'll be back next summer perhaps." "You must write 
 and tell us all about how you like it, and everything concerning 
 yourselves, and whether we can do well there, for we're coming 
 too, you may be sure," were some of the messages heard on 
 every side; but alas! with one or two exceptions, those friends 
 so true met not again on earth— broken ties are seldom reunited. 
 When we part it is for aye. 
 
84 THE ST A U WARTS; UK, 
 
 When the leave taking and commotion were ended, the 
 village hushed in slumber, Myra stole out from the little home 
 which she had loved as though it were a human life, and alone 
 walked rapidly to the church-yard where lay in the still light 
 the grave of mother long since departed, and of her own little 
 one, both so dear; not until then did she pour out her broken 
 farewell of all that must inevitably be left behind. 
 
 Softly came Lucille also to her mother's last resting place, 
 and the stricken sisters wept in each other's arms. 
 
 A grave may be of less account than some other things, but 
 for years past sacred memories had clustered about this treasured 
 spot, and these two felt they were taking final leave of that 
 which to them was very precious, and as the sisters turned 
 away they dropped scalding tears. 
 
 The coming morning putting aside dreary contemplations 
 Myra and Lucille arose betimes, bright and cheerful to outward 
 seeming, and joining the others busily prepared for the starting. 
 Before the sun reached mid-heaven the last words were spoken 
 good byes said, and the moving train of wagons had passed over 
 the western hills, beyond the little village with its pleasant 
 homes, its friends tried and true, and our travelers were fairly 
 on their way, had entered upon a new world, an expanded life. 
 
IV//0 WERE TO BLAME. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 REMARKABLE INCIDENTS. 
 
 From day to day without serious accident or hindrance our 
 friends pursued their journey, determined to make the best of 
 whatever happened now that the die was cast, and although a 
 sigh of regret and occasional homesickness would come to some 
 of the party, they all agreed without dissent, to cheer, help and 
 comfort one another. 
 
 The out-door life gave increased strength to those who were 
 depressed or ailing, the fresh breezes were soul-inspiring, im- 
 parting elasticity of spirit and consequent health, sleep had 
 never seemed so restful nor food eaten with better relish, the 
 sun was bright, and the free sweep of clear air untrammeled by 
 roof, wall or shutter, relieved all sense of oppressive heat; ex- 
 istence was a joy, to be — was Heaven. 
 
 The enthusiasm of these pioneer travelers was boundless. 
 They said, "Why will people remain cooped up in houses all 
 the beautiful summer-time, when broad prairies — green woods 
 — rippling streams — placid lakes — and God's pure air say come.'* 
 
 Even Myra and Lucille found partial compensation for the 
 comforts they had left behind, but for present trouble there 
 came no relief. 
 
 Lucille felt hope dying, her heart sinking within her, as 
 they journeyed on, farther and farther away from Henry; and 
 Myra's pale face grew sadder, her manner more abstracted each 
 day, for Eben still avoided his wife. 
 
 The way of our movers lay directly across one of Nature's 
 inland seas, ever glorious Lake Michigan, forever singing, 
 moaning, tossing, dancing, raging, always beautiful. 
 
 Beautiful water, now light cerulean blue, now white with 
 misty paleness, now dark and green with jealous wrath. 
 
 Anon rocking gently as a mother her sleeping babe the 
 many sheeted craft upon her bosom, and again lashing their 
 sides with her wild waves in unreasoning fury. 
 
 Gently sigh the summer winds across her placid breast, 
 imtil gathering strength and passion, whirling, whistling, shriek- 
 ing like demons, they come rushing on, mercilessly driving to 
 destruction and death many a fated ship with all on board. 
 
36 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 Beautiful, glorious, treacherous Michigan I When wilt thou 
 give up the ghostly army of thy dead, the debris of untold 
 wealth, buried deep out of sight beneath thy cruel waters? 
 Nevermore — and yet we love thee, we worship at thy shrine. 
 
 As our travelers neared the wonderful lake of which they 
 had heard so much, and knew the time had come for embark- 
 ing and crossing, many misgivings filled the timid hearts of the 
 women and children. In those early days of lake navigation a 
 safe journey without unpleasant accident was the exception, 
 and our friends wished themselves back in their eastern home 
 before the transit was finished, for it proved a remarkable voy- 
 age not devoid of danger. 
 
 A storm arose whereby some peculiar incidents were de- 
 veloped, and besides they w^ere for hours tossed about at the 
 mercy of the waves until terror was in every breast illy con- 
 cealed. 
 
 The anxiety of the crew and at last of the older passengers 
 as they became aware of the trouble which threatened them, 
 was intensified to a sickening dread when it was known the 
 captain had lost his course and could not find his soundings. 
 
 From a cause never explained a light which should have 
 been near some rocks, and indispensable to safe navigation, had 
 disappeared, and they were now close upon the coast with a 
 dreadful gale carrying them on to destruction, one of those 
 summer terrors breaking unexpectedly from out a clear sky, 
 when the weather is unusually hot and sultry. 
 
 As all these rumors were spreading and the belief was 
 growing that they might at any moment go to pieces on the 
 rocky shore, a panic among the passengers was imminent; even 
 the sailors, when they could not see the accustomed light, w^ere 
 frightened, unruly and mutinous. 
 
 The waves were now dashing over bow and deck of the 
 little tub-like craft of the olden time, washing away every 
 moveable thing, and as she struggled along her course, chop- 
 ping across the terrible sea, now rising on the foamy crests, 
 then plunging madly into the deep, dark trough, her masts 
 stripped of every rag of canvas — her yards dipping into the 
 seething waters as she lurched, then righting herself bravely, 
 coming heroically up again on the highest white capped wave, 
 shaking her drenched and dripping sides, quivering in every 
 atom — but still not dismayed, not overcome — on went the little 
 ship, seeming a living thing in her staunch striving to reach a 
 place of safety for the precious freight entrusted to her keeping. 
 
n'//0 WERE TO BLAME. 37 
 
 As the vessel was now deluged in evfery part except the 
 pilot-house where the captain was stationed, himself working 
 the wheel, the whole ship's company were gathered there 
 awaiting their expected doom, the excitement momentarily 
 increasing; women and children crying and screaming; nien 
 shouting and cursing; the captain and officers calmly as possible 
 giving orders, the crew trying but in vain to obey. 
 
 Just then appeared in their midst a large, lank, loose-jointed 
 individual, lantern-jawed, with high cheek bones, unkempt 
 hair, prominent immense nose, and otherwise of ungainly 
 feature, and with long, bony hands and feet and limbs; but 
 having withall a pleasant eye, of wonderful intelligence, light- 
 ing up the whole face with magnetic kindness, a genial smile, 
 and a voice full, strong and deep; of that penetrating, out- 
 going, lofty quality, clear and ringing, yet tender and calm,, 
 which can be heard above the loudest storm, can still the wildest 
 tumult; the voice of a man born to comfort the distressed, no 
 less than to command obedience from the unruly. 
 
 He came forward from no one noticed where, and amid all 
 the terror and confusion, seated himself quietly up by the cap- 
 tain's side upon a coil of rope, and commenced, no one knew 
 exactly when or how, telling them a story in a slow, measured, 
 monotonous tone, but loud enough to be distinctly heard and to 
 attract attention. 
 
 The absolute indifference which this strange man apparently 
 felt as to his surroundings of danger and excitement, could not 
 but arouse the interest of those who saw and heard him. Just 
 who he was talking to no one could say or did they care, but 
 iu a little time he had gained the wrapt attention of all, and the 
 people, gathering about him, looking up, straining eye and ear 
 in nervous intensity, were listening to the weird yarn he was 
 lelling them; a story of deliverance from expected disaster by 
 the intervention of an instrumentality fully as remarkable 
 though more humorous than their own experience proved. 
 
 Very serious was the narrative at first until the spell became 
 painful, then with wonderful tact and skill he led them into 
 the ludicrous, and before they knew what was coming those 
 frightened people had forgotten their fear and were roaring 
 with laughter, loud and long, joined by the man who after- 
 wards achieved the distinction of being the champion story- 
 teller of his time. 
 
 A man of uncouth presence and backwoodsman's ways, but 
 with sagacity, moderation, calmness and courage, which then 
 
38 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 helped rescue from peril and long after carried a Republic safely 
 through a period of stormy wrath, when grievous crime to in- 
 dividuals and to the State seemed likely to end in National 
 shipwreck and ruin. 
 
 A man possessed of great power over his fellows, bred from 
 a sympathetic nature and an honest purpose through a personal 
 gift with which few are endowed in the same degree, capable 
 of controlling excitement in each breast as though by magic, 
 entrancing all at his will. 
 
 Little Gertrude, who, if always timid, had quick perceptions, 
 and seldom made mistakes in her choice of friends, had, when 
 the story began, slipped from her terrorized mother's lap, and 
 clambering up the short ladder to the top of the pilot-house, in- 
 stalled herself, without hindrance, upon this wondrous story- 
 teller's knee. 
 
 Was it a childish liking which drew these two together, 
 or something deeper, far-reaching and beyond our knowledge ? 
 
 Certain it is that their paths in life led each, by devious 
 ways, to the center upon which riveted the eyes of a great 
 Nation, in the enactment of similar tragedies, and in which 
 each was a sufferer. 
 
 The storm now abating and confidence being somewhat 
 restored, partly at least, through this man's influence, the pas- 
 sengers and crew becoming again manageable, a dire calamity 
 was averted. 
 
 Averted^ Yes, that a greater than any dreamed of might 
 rest upon some of those in that little party, might overtake a 
 doomed man, might come to a babe yet unborn; for Fate never 
 allows herself to be defrauded of her prey ! 
 
 But to the good Methodist Captain, noted for his extraordi- 
 nary experiences, was decreed the episode which proved to be 
 the climax of this remarkable voyage, for as the storm and the 
 panic were together subsiding, and they hoped soon to reach 
 the desired harbor, it was found that the ship had sprung a 
 leak and was well nigh disabled. The Captain, passengers 
 and crew were again terror-stricken, when suddenly he shout- 
 ed, "See there! See! There she is: Afy angel child!'*'' at the 
 same time pointing to the top of the highest mast. Instantly 
 every eye was fixed upon an apparition which we will discribe 
 to you in the Captain's own words, as we heard the narration at 
 his fireside, related in proof of his right to believe in the recog- 
 nition of friends after death, he insisting that loss of identity 
 would amount to annihilation, and unjustly defraud the Chris- 
 
ll'HO WERE TO BLAME. 39 
 
 tian of the promise made in Holy Writ as to Immortal Life. 
 In corroboration of his faith he said, "Let me tell you a sailor's 
 yarn, in a sailor's old-fashioned way: — Several years ago we 
 lost the darling of our flock, a dear little girl. There existed 
 a peculiar bond between the child and myself, different from 
 any I have ever experienced, and after she was gone, the con- 
 viction grew until 1 could not shake it off that she was Oiten 
 near me, especially in times of extreme peril, and as my life 
 was beset with dangers, I came after a while to regard my lost 
 child as a guardian angel. 
 
 "One of the most wonderful manifestations of her presence 
 occurred during a severe storm on Lake Michigan, which I 
 was crossing, my vessel loaded with passengers and freight 
 bound for Chicago. 
 
 "The day had been hot and sultry, and at nightfall when 
 nearing the coast we were overtaken by a fearful storm and 
 blown far north of our intended destination, narrowly escaping 
 shipwreck. 
 
 "As the night advanced towards the morning, the wind and 
 rain, the thunder and lightning ceased ; and although I had been 
 able so far to control the crew and passengers, as to work the 
 ship for the best advantage, by the help of a man then a stranger 
 to us all, but since become world renowned, and who seemed to 
 to possess unbounded influence .over them, thus preventing a 
 fatal mutiny; I discovered at the moment when our prospects 
 began to brighten, our minds to feel relief, that the ship had in 
 the terrible gale sprung a leak, and to make matters worse a 
 light near some dangerous rocks, outside the harbor we were 
 trying to make, could not be seen. All on board were in de- 
 spair, when casting my eyes Heavenward, I saw plainly as I 
 see you now, my angel child standing on the tallest mast-head, 
 her long golden hair streaming in the wind, her outstretched 
 hand pointing imperatively towards the shore. 
 
 "Against the dark clouds her luminous body stood out bright 
 and beautiful, the whole form distinctly visible, even the ex- 
 pression of her face. 
 
 "Hesitating not a moment I righted the ship about, chang- 
 ing entirely our former course, for I knew by other similar ex- 
 periences there was safety only in following her guiding finger, 
 although directed toward what appeared to be a solid wall and 
 certain destruction, besides we could not be more sure of disaster 
 if I obeyed her than we already were. On we went, bound 
 straight for the rocky shore where apparently was not a seam 
 
40 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 or crevice, the water coming through the strained timbers of 
 our doomed vessel at every plunge — we must be speedily saved 
 or surely perish. 
 
 "Still at the mast-head stood the luminous child with the 
 bright flowing hair, the imperative gesture; we were now close 
 upon the shore, when by the moonlight breaking through the 
 clouds, we could discern a fissure in the rocky wall, and coming- 
 through a running stream, narrow but deep; we followed its 
 course and cliscovered not the well known harbor we had hoped 
 to enter, which was afterwards proven to have been beyond 
 our reach in our disabled condition, but we found inside that 
 rock bound coast, the snuggest haven that ever blessed a storm- 
 tossed mariner. A harbor not then upon any chart and be- 
 lieved to have been entered for the first time by civilized navi- 
 gators as the result of this miraculous interposition of Provi- 
 dence. 
 
 "As the light broke over her the wonderful child gradually 
 faded from view; but" said the Captain, "nothing can convince 
 me that I did not see her reall}' and truly, and I know she still 
 guards me when danger is near. 
 
 "We dropped anchor, making all safe as possible, just as the 
 morning sun broke in glory across our deck, and I am sure 
 every one on board was impressed to thank the God of the 
 living and the dead, {^dead as we say) for our deliverance." 
 
 And thus after much tribulation, though storm-tossed, 
 angel-guided, our travelers reached the land, to them of golden 
 promise. 
 
 But the events of that memorable night were not soon 
 forgotten, and those who passed through its terror, gloom and 
 peril, ever after believed in the supernatural. This belief col- 
 ored all their lives, even the life of an unborn babe, w^hose 
 mother enduring these thrilling experiences, witnessing this 
 extraordinary phenomenon, transmitted to her offspring impress- 
 ions culminating in destiny, and fulfilling the behests of Fate. 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CHICAGO. 
 
 Although not coming as they had e'xpected directly into the 
 harbor of Chicago, our friends, but a day's journey north of 
 their destination, were too thankful for their miraculous deliv- 
 erance and to touch land again, for complaint. 
 
 As the Captain did not advise further risk upon his badly 
 strained vessel, a day was spent in disembarking, drying stores 
 and equipage, and preparing for their journey in wagons to the 
 much talked of and even then famed Chicago. 
 
 The second morning after the landing they arose with the 
 sun, and while the men were loading and getting the teams 
 ready the women prepared a delicious breakfast of fish caught 
 from the treacherous lake, and some wild strawberries the 
 children had gathered. 
 
 By six o'clock they were on their way, leaving regretfully 
 behind the Captain and his crew, each wagon making room 
 for an additional passenger or two, thus accommodating those 
 who had reckoned upon reaching Chicago by boat. 
 
 . As Gertrude had become inseparable from her friend of the 
 storm. Dr. Gascoigne invited him to a seat beside himself and 
 Utile granddaughter, and the two men were soon conversing 
 like old acquaintances, the child cuddled between them. 
 
 Over roads not the smoothest, they went jolting along, 
 cheerfully catching at any trifling incident serving to break the 
 monotony or raise the gay laugh, not a grumbler to be found — 
 they from the start vetoed. 
 
 Eben was inclined at first to be rather cross, but Grandpa 
 Gascoigne held him in check; he knew how sore were the hearts 
 of his motherless girls, and he did not intend they should be 
 unnecessarily annoyed. 
 
 Though this really affectionate father meant always to be in- 
 dulgent and kind, judging from his standpoint, which was that 
 men should consider, make up their minds and act; that it were 
 unmanly spending time trying to persuade women, w^ho had 
 only to acquiesce in any arrangement made, without argument 
 or comment, he did not realize the situation, or know of the 
 secret grief, wearing visibly' upon each of these so dear to him. 
 
42 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 Eben, with more modern ideas as to womanly duties and 
 privileges, and also as regarded a man's obligations towards 
 his wife, and besides understanding the real difficulty, was 
 aware that an injustice had been perpetrated, and the gentle, 
 sensitive nature of his wife outraged beyond repair. 
 
 This knowledge disturbed and angered him; he was vexed 
 with himself, but the manifestation came upon others. 
 
 Eben had become thoroughly disgusted with his folly,. but 
 was too proud to withdraw from the entanglement and of his 
 own accord solicit his wife's favor and confidence;, his unnat- 
 ural position irritated him extremely, for he found himself in 
 the dilemma of caring only for his lawful and lovely wife, 
 while, from mere stubbornness at the last, he bestowed persist- 
 ent attentions upon another, immeasurably her inferior in at- 
 tractiveness; finally his annoyance was rendering him decidedlly 
 disagreeable. Even Gertrude noticed the changed disposition 
 of her dearly loved papa, and sometimes shrank from his ca- 
 resses, filling him. with chagrin ; and when a harsh word sent 
 her sobbing to her mother, he was still more angry. 
 
 Only for the soothing influence of Grandpa Gascoigne, dis- 
 tressing scenes must have occurred in this estranged and miser- 
 able family; such a slight thing, a breath of unkindness and 
 mistrust at first, can, growing and gaining strength until it be- 
 comes a great black cloud, fill all the air of domestic life with 
 sorrow and dismay. 
 
 This trouble in the once happy family of Eben Grieveau 
 could not keep brewing without attracting other eyes as sharp 
 as Dr. Gascoigne's. Aunt Debby Jones, a good-natured woman 
 who came w^ith them from Barrytown, thought she saw some- 
 thing amiss, and undertook the task of setting matters right. 
 
 When the teams halted at midday she went around where 
 Eben was moodily standing, and accosted him thus: 
 
 "I say, Eben Grieveau, why don't you go over there and 
 cheer up that little wife of yours a bit? Anybody can see she 
 needs it bad enough; she's the patientest, helpfulest woman 
 of the whole lot, always doing something for somebody, but I 
 declare to it, if she don't look like she'd left her heart in her 
 mother's grave. And Lucille, too; why under heavens didn't 
 that beau of hers come along? There is nothing in particular 
 to keep him in Barrytown, /know, and he'd be a 'nough sight 
 better off out West. If he ever intends to stand by the girl, 
 now's the time, I should say." 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 43 
 
 And thus the well-meaning but injudicious woman spoke 
 her mind. 
 
 Eben felt keenly the reproof, but as nothing could be said 
 by way of excuse he did not reply, and this unwise meddling 
 brought no benefit. 
 
 Aunt Debby's husband, a quiet man, as unlike as possible lo 
 his bustling wife, comprehended her blunder in exposing a care- 
 fully concealed wound, and remarked impatiently: 
 
 " There, now, Debbv, hope you're satisfied, always putting 
 your fingers into other people's pie, and only getting burnt for 
 your pains.*' 
 
 Gertrude came along just then, and, hearing the word pie, 
 aaid eagerly, " I want a piece of pie." Her childish mistake 
 and Deacon Jones' remark set them all laughing, and good-na- 
 ture was restored, if not peace. Hastily eating their luncheon 
 without the pie — a luxury not to be secured until at their jour- 
 ney's end they could have their Yankee cooking-stoves in which 
 to bake their Yankee pies — they jogged on again. 
 
 Just at sunset they came in sight of a square block-house, or 
 fort — old Fort Dearborn — near the shore of the lake; and situ- 
 ated on either side of a sluggish river, whose perfectly flat, low 
 banks seemed scarcely sufficient to hold the water in check, a 
 few small, mean-looking houses. 
 
 The whole country, south, west, north, being flat and on a 
 level with the immense body of water at the east, there seemed 
 danger, should a storm arise, that houses, fort and people would 
 be swept away. 
 
 For some distance back from the shore was loose sand — 
 deep, well-nigh impassable for man or beast —a barren waste of 
 sand. 
 
 One lone tree stood near the mouth of the river — a scrub 
 oak, knarled and seamed and twisted — only one ; and it stood 
 there defying every vicissitude and change, through sunshine 
 and through storm alike — immovable^ though the rains and the 
 winds beat upon it for years and years; stood as men and 
 women sometimes stand and battle against fate — against the 
 world ; as Gertrude afterwards stood for the brother then un- 
 born, against the ivhole zvorld — battling alone. 
 
 After the sandy waste came the black loam of the prairie, 
 and if there has ever been anything darker or muddier than this 
 prairie loam after a heavy rain, our travelers had not seen it; 
 neither has any one else to this day, unless it be modern scandal. 
 
 As the storm on the lake had been accompanied by rain, 
 
44 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 there was a surfeit of mud in Chicago, also plenty of mosqui- 
 toes, and of course no end of Indians at that early day. The 
 new-comers found only a few white folks, but those came greet- 
 ing them so heartily, they seemed a host. 
 
 If anybody would make sure there exists a warm, throbbing 
 heart, full of sympathy for his fellows, in the breast of man, 
 let him go into a new country and he will be convinced. The 
 people will tell you they are glad to see you, and they'll mean 
 it, and prove it, too. Although many things about the country 
 and the town they had -reached were extremely uninviting, 
 there was much that was pleasant and desirable. 
 
 The earnest welcome received comforted their hearts; the 
 broadness of the prairie gave a free sweep of air especially in- 
 vigorating, calculated to banish the feeling of depression and 
 desolation which the barren flatness at first inspired. 
 
 After getting used to the absence of trees and hills, the 
 extent of view, the ever-changing color of the green expanse 
 caused by the shadows of the shifting clouds overhead, forced 
 the new-comers into conceding that a flat prairie might have a 
 beauty of its own not elsewhere to be found. 
 
 And the sunsets were different from any they had ever seen 
 — certainly unexcelled in magnificent glorv. 
 
 And the lake — the ever-changing, rolling, tossing Michi- 
 gan — was a continual joy. 
 
 Before leaving the little trading-post which has since be- 
 come one of the great commercial centers of the world, our 
 friends became interested in the village and attached to the 
 people as they scarcely thought possible in so short a time. 
 
 They remained but one week, resting and making inquiries 
 as to the wisdom of investing in the swampy little town, instead 
 of going on as they had intended, and settling in the rolling 
 prairie country towards the north-western portion of the State 
 of Illinois. 
 
 Several of the party, with long-headed calculation, under- 
 standing the necessities certain to result in making this trading- 
 post a great mart of commerce and enterprise, decided to put 
 their money into the black, sticky corner lots offered them at 
 sums too small to be believed if told, and they, or their heirs, if 
 not squandering their birth-right, are now the millionaires of 
 the north-west; but the majority of these people unwisely con- 
 cluded " the place would never amount to much, and even if it 
 did they wouldn't live in the nasty mud-hole for any considera- 
 tion," and they left their golden opportunity behind them. 
 
IV/IO WERE TO BLAME. 45 
 
 Our " aristocratic movers " partially deserted their wagons 
 when in town, and stopped at the only hotel, or tavern, as it 
 was called — the old Lake House — which until within a few 
 years was left standing. 
 
 Everybody called to see them during their short stay, and 
 among others they made the acquaintance of a peculiar man, 
 who had before been a pioneer, and as he was about returning 
 to the place they were going to, he gladly joined them. 
 
 You will like him when you know him well, notwithstand- 
 ing his oddities, as our travelers did. . 
 
 Dr. Gascoigne and the congenial companion he found the 
 story-teller of the storm to be, spent the few days of their stay 
 in Chicago pleasantly together, and a bond was formed which 
 each carefully cherished during the after years. 
 
 They did not meet again for a long time, when the same 
 spontaneous kindness, the strength and originality of character, 
 entranced Dr. Gascoinge as before; and towards this courteous 
 gentleman of the olden time, refined, elegant, white-haired, a 
 Frenchman by birth, by education an American — the man who 
 had then risen from frontier life to be one of the first lawyers 
 of his State — was strangely attracted — for Dr. Gascoigne was 
 one of those who draw the best' to themselves from the people 
 with whom they are thrown. 
 
 Leaving the village and their friends behind — except the 
 queer man before alluded to — our party started once more on 
 their journey, over those wonderful prairies, commencing at 
 Lake Michigan and stretching on, broken by occasional wood- 
 bordered streams, to the great Mississipi, whose broad waters 
 move quietly out to the sea; their final objective point being 
 the village of Freelawn, situated mid-way of this vast country, 
 on an insignificant river bearing the Indian name of Picka- 
 tonica; and where circumstances occurred culminating in events 
 which in their inevitable sequence moved the world, and with 
 which some of the persons mentioned in this narrative, especially 
 Myra, are inseparably connected. 
 
40 THE STALWARTS J OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ARRIVAL IN FREELAWN. 
 
 A queer individual indeed was the acquisition of our party 
 during their short stay in Chicago. From an impediment of 
 speech, between a stutter and a drawl, he had been dubbed by 
 the nickname of " Tutty," and " Tutty " Swanson he was ever 
 after called. But if talking troubled him, seeing did not, and 
 what Uncle " Tut" failed to notice was of little account. 
 
 It happened that on the morning of leaving Chicago, he ob- 
 served Eben Grieveau, after scolding his little girl until she 
 cried, leave his w^agon to the care of Dr. Gascoigne, while he 
 took a seat beside brother John's wife, quite fascinating certain- 
 ly in her way, a handsome brunette though somewhat coarse, 
 surely the mouth was large, the lips not well formed and of 
 that hard, decided cherry-ripe color, nothing soft, velvety or 
 sweet about them, but just an aggressive bright red. 
 
 For amusement only, to pass away the dreary time, came 
 Eben, thus he insisted in his thought, to sit and chat with the 
 brother's wife, for he could not converse with Myra, as neither 
 were able to think when together of anything but the one 
 trouble which had separated them — namely his heartless, in- 
 considerate conduct in planning this removal without so much 
 as consulting her wishes in the matter— and which lie was deter- 
 mined to ignore. 
 
 The brother's wife was lively, full of fun and animal spirits, 
 and in her company Eben soon forgot his discomfort. 
 
 He was dissatisfied with himself, and, as a consequence, with 
 every one around him who served to remind of the unpleasant-* 
 ness which existed. 
 
 He could not endure Myra's patient sadness, or little Ger- 
 trude's clinging way with her mother, or Grandpa Gascoigne's 
 shielding, protecting manner towards his girls; Eben's family 
 life was becoming unbearable, and he persisted in looking upon 
 the fictitious instead of the real cause. 
 
 From a beginning, which was simply asserting his just pre- 
 rogative, without waiting to bother by explaining every reason 
 which influenced him to the women folks — making up his 
 mind and acting upon his convictions, as he had a perfect right 
 
117/0 IVEKE TO BLAME. 47 
 
 to do — so he reasoned, had grown this complete estrangement 
 between himself and wife of whom he still believed himself 
 very fond, not acknowledging the new enchantment. 
 
 How easily could this unwise husband have bridged the 
 gulf before forever too late, by conciliating and if necessary, 
 treating his wife with more than ordinary consideration; but he 
 was stubborn and would not; boasting in his mind that he had 
 given no adequate cause for the coldness which he could feel in 
 spite of Myra's effort to conceal it. He had chilled her love 
 and the flame was burning low. He had hurt her, and the 
 wound refused to heal, and as the woman's despondency in- 
 creased, the more unkind became the man. For such a nature 
 as Eben Grieveau's, brooking no opposition, rebels with all its 
 force against the slightest manifestation of patient suffering 
 from a woman whom he knows he has wronged, be it ever so 
 little. 
 
 Women think quiet gentleness appeals to a man's chivalry, 
 but sometimes they are mistaken; for one who would deliber- 
 ately wound the feelings of his wife, never cares very much for 
 a woman who allows herself to be stricken down, either figura- 
 tively or actually. When men lack tenderness they are sure to 
 be cowards. 
 
 Experience proves that both men and women of a certain 
 grade treat exacting, tyrannical partners with more consideration 
 and respect, often seeming to love them better, than they w^ould 
 those of a self-sacrificing disposition. 
 
 Sad comment upon human nature, but true in many instances. 
 
 And thus it was that instead of being drawn together, these 
 two were thrown assunder, and into the widening breach came 
 another who, in no particular of person or character, could 
 be favorably compared with either. 
 
 Julia had never liked her husband's sisters over well — she 
 too fully realized her own coarseness in contrast with their re- 
 finement — and it was a triumph in which she did not conceal her 
 pleasure, that the handsome husband of Myra should seek her 
 side frequently as he did of late. 
 
 Her own consort had shattered his manhood by dissipation, 
 and was in no way satisfactory to her now, whatever he might 
 have been when they were married. It was mainly on his ac- 
 count — hoping to change the current into which he was fatally 
 drifting, by getting him away from bad associates — that Dr. 
 Gascoigne had undertaken the uprooting of his own life, seeking 
 a home in the far west, giving up those comforts to which he 
 
48 THE STALIVARIS, OK, 
 
 had been accustomed and depriving himself of needed consola- 
 tions in his old age. 
 
 As we have said, what Uncle Tut failed to see was not 
 worth looking after; but it transpired that he soon discovered 
 a considerable flirtation going on between Eben G'*ieveau and 
 Julia Gascoigne; deciding then and there to watch their maneuv- 
 ers for his own edification, which he did, with astounding results. 
 
 Flirting was not so alarmingly prevalent in those days as 
 now, but was a pastime occasionally indulged in by both sexes, 
 as has been the case since that unlucky day when the wily ser- 
 pent beguiled Eve in the garden; sly old mother she, telling 
 Adam they were only eating an apple together and cooly in- 
 vited him to take some too — no wonder the race has gone to the 
 bad with such a mother. 
 
 Tutty Swanson and Grandpa Gascoigne soon became fast 
 friends, although as unlike as it is possible for men to be. 
 
 Uncle Tut was short and thick set, with stubbed hands and 
 feet; hands that had done many a hard day's work, feet that 
 had walked many a mile. His broad shoulders were surmount- 
 ed by a small bullet head, a neck he was supposed to have but 
 it was scarcely preceptible; the little round, hard head was cir- 
 cled by a crop of short, coarse, straight, reddish yellow hair 
 just turning grey— not the soft, silky, auburn locks whose gleam- 
 ing waves are so beautiful and rare, but the carroty yellow which 
 is only repulsive. 
 
 Poor Uncle Tut was homely to the extreme, that his friends 
 pitied while they loved him. His features were like those of 
 the famous man in the moon; with eyes of the whitest, dullest 
 blue-grey, utterly stupid, expressionless — blank — when he chose 
 to have them so, which was whenever he did not intend any 
 one should know what he was at. 
 
 When no one was noticing, those same eyes would some- 
 times give a sly twinkle. Uncle Tut had also a peculiar way 
 of chuckling to himself. 
 
 But this twinkle of the eye, this quiet chuckle, was usually 
 reserved for the exclusive satisfaction of the man himself, not 
 shared with another except upon rare occasions with a specially 
 favored friend — some one in whom he had perfect confidence. 
 And the confidence of Uncle Tut was not easy to gain; those 
 of his acquaintances who had been allowed to participate in 
 the peculiar chuckle, upon whom had been bestowed one of the 
 knowing glances, considered themselves favored, and that not 
 lightly. 
 
IV//0 WERE TO BLAME. 49 
 
 Grandpa Gascoigne was one of these — yes, Grandpa Gas- 
 coigne, the elegant, refined, courtly gentleman that he was, had 
 already come to regard the condescension of this new acquaint- 
 ance as an honor not to he despised. 
 
 For Tutty Swanson if an ignorant, uncultivated man, was 
 shrewd and practical, possessing the faculty of concealing his 
 ignorance and producing the impression of knowing more than 
 he chose to tell. A fool often passes for a wise man by keep- 
 ing his own secrets; but Uncle Tut was no fool either, as some 
 people found out in the end. 
 
 Being quick to see and hear, if not to speak, he soon dis- 
 cerned the trouble that was brewing between Eben and his 
 wife, and having a tender spot in his heart left there by the 
 memory of his own dead wife and daughter, all the sympathy 
 of his rough nature went out towards the motherless girls of 
 Grandpa Gascoigne, especially to Myra, after he knew her 
 hard lot. 
 
 While Eben was chatting gaily with Madam Julia, Uncle 
 Tut had noted an observation for future reference, and when 
 the first halt was made, he went over to the wagon where little 
 Gertrude was still grieving at the unkind treatment she had 
 received, and her mother was sadly trying to comfort her. 
 
 Uncle Tut seated himself beside Grandpa Gascoigne where 
 he could look occasionally in the direction of Gertrude and 
 Myra, and commenced talking in his peculiar style about the 
 country they were passing over, the town they had left and the 
 place to which they were going. 
 
 He had been out the year before and entered a "claim"; his 
 wife and daughter having succumbed to the climate and the 
 unaccustomed hardships during the summer, and soon both 
 dying, he felt he could not endure the loneliness of his cabin 
 life after they were gone, and had returned to his Eastern friends 
 hoping to find consolation with his old neighbors; but he grew 
 more and more restless, until finally a longing for the wild, 
 stirring life he had found in the West took possession of and 
 forced him back again. 
 
 Fortunately, as our travelers thought, who were journeying 
 to the same section, for they availed themselves of his invalua- 
 ble experience upon more than one occasion. 
 
 He was most excellent company, too, for if it was difficult 
 for him to talk, he persisted until he made himself understood — 
 Lhe impediment he suffered from seeming to arouse his com- 
 bativeness. 
 
 4 
 
50 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 And just now Uncle Tut had something special to say for 
 Grandpa Gascoigne, besides the topics of general interest which 
 have been alluded to; he soon commenced: 
 
 "I sa-say, Mis-ter Gascoigne, you-your con-con-founded 
 son-in-in-law we must be looking after a-a-bit. Th-that Mis- 
 tress Ju-Julia Gascoigne an-and he are ca-carrying on to-to beat 
 all dem-dem-na-tion." • 
 
 And Uncle Tut's eyes twinkled, as he ended with his char- 
 acteristic chuckle, but this time he added a dissatisfied grunt, as 
 was his custom when angry. 
 
 While he had been getting out this sentence his eye was 
 fixed upon little Gertrude, and he now reached up and forward, 
 beckoning with the forefinger of his upturned palm, until he 
 had attracted her attention, for he always made people look at 
 him too, when he wished to have them. 
 
 The little one scrambled down from her mother's lap and 
 over intervening obstacles until she reached the front seat where 
 the two men were sitting, where she crowded herself content- 
 edly between them. Rough and uncouth as the man was, he 
 had succeeded in winning the child's affectionate trust, no less 
 than her grandfather's confidence, and as she cuddled close 
 down by his side, he, well pleased, placed his arm around her, 
 continuing the conversation. 
 
 Not getting any further special attention the little girl finally 
 volunteered a remark, and peering up quizzically into his face, 
 she broke in abruptly, "Say, Uncle Tut, what makes your 
 winkles so white .?" 
 
 The two men, engaged in conversation, failed to notice the 
 funny question, but Gertrude did not propose being put off with- 
 out an answer; she saw something strange about Uncle Tut's 
 eyes and wanted to know w^hat made them look so different 
 from other people's she had seen. 
 
 Waiting a moment she commenced again — "Uncle Tut, 
 what makes your winkles so white ?" Still no reply; and the 
 persistent child reiterated her question at intervals, for a full 
 mile of their journey. Securing no response, she at last snuggled 
 her head down in his lap, and sleepily drawling out "win-kies- 
 so white ?" dropped off into blessed oblivion ;— and to this day she 
 does not know "juhy Uncle Tut's "winkles" were so white, 
 neither does any one else. 
 
 While Gertrude had been talking herself asleep, the two 
 men conversed of the country they were going to, the climate, 
 the streams, the occasional timber, the grand expanse of rolling 
 
in/0 WERE TO J-ILAME. 51 
 
 prairie so admirably adapted for farming, the rare springs which 
 were considered invaluable by the owners of the land upon 
 which they were located — and many other things interesting to 
 a newcomer. 
 
 Homesick Grandpa Gascoigne found himself cheered and 
 encouraged by the glowing account Uncle Tut gave of all he 
 knew about the land and the people. "You-'ll find every th- 
 thing migh-ty rou-ugh and like-ly be sot ba-back mor-morn 
 wonst by some-thing dif-er-ent fr-from what you-you've ex- 
 pected, but every bo-dy'll try to he-help you the best th-they 
 know how,= and after a-awhde you-you'll find you could-n't be 
 he hired to stay East of Lake Mi -Michigan, if you under-take 
 to go ba-back as I did." 
 
 The morning had not passed so very unpleasantly after all, 
 although Dr. Gascoigne was much chagrined by the hint Un- 
 cle Tut had thrown out as to Eben and Mistress Julia. 
 
 When they halted for dinner and,to feed and rest the horses, 
 the anxious old father went to where Eben was<ilone, and lying 
 stretched full length upon the soft, sweet, green sward, under 
 a tree, the picture of easy content, but really seething with dis- 
 satisfaction and annoyance; saying to his son-in-law, "Eben, as 
 a true friend, I feel it my duty to warn you that your coldness, 
 I will not say un kindness towards Myra, coupled with the 
 marked attention you are pleased to show John's wife, is already 
 attracting the attention of our fellow travelers. I believe you 
 innocent of any wrong intention, but as Myra's father, I wish 
 to say that I have the honor of my daughter's husband, no less 
 than my son's wife at heart, and cannot quietly see things go- 
 ing on, which are liable to detract from the fair name of either 
 or both. Pardon me, Eben, if I seem to meddle, but 1 trust a 
 word in time may not come amiss to you." 
 
 Eben started up angrily, and answered, " Thank you, sir, for 
 your interest in me, but I desire you to understand that I am 
 fully competent of attending to my own business, and prefer 
 doing so m a manner that suits myself," and the irate man 
 stalked ungraciously away, leaving good Dr. Gascoigne grieved 
 and astonished beyond measure that the trouble was so much 
 worse than he had imagined. 
 
 After a rest of an hour or more and partaking of a dinner 
 as palatable as could be asked, everything being packed snugly 
 away again, they started and jogged along as before until the 
 glorious sunset admonished them to prepare for the night. 
 
 Gertrude was the first one to try the bed made for her in a 
 
5? THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 far corner of their wagon, close by mamma and grandpa, where 
 not a breath of wind could reach her should a change of weather 
 occur at night as was often the case after a warm day, when 
 the cold wind and rain accompanied by heavy thunder and 
 sharp lightning would sometimes wake the little girl from her 
 sound sleep, and cause her to creep still closer into her dear 
 mother's arms, no harm could come to her then she thought. 
 
 These rains frequently even in mid-summer made the sticky 
 prairie loam heavy for traveling, and in places exasperatingly 
 near together there were the deep sloughs which never dis- 
 appeared in the dryest weather, and were at times almost im- 
 passable. 
 
 For this reason, principally, emigration was timed as. near 
 the middle of the hot dry season as possible, and the dread 
 which a " mover " experienced when approaching one of those 
 swampy sloughs is incomprehensible to us who now rush over 
 these same prairies whenever convenience, business or pleasure 
 dictate at the rate of forty, fifty, even sixty miles an hour. 
 
 Our travelers of only a few years back were just one month 
 in journeying from near the middle of southern Michigan to 
 the center of northern Illinois, and their trip was considered 
 rapid and successful. 
 
 The day we have described was a sample of every other, 
 except that upon several occasions they found themselves stuck 
 fast in the mud holes of the sloughs which they encountered, 
 and this notwithstanding all their care in attempting to cross 
 safely. Often they were obliged partially to unload the wagons, 
 the women and children sitting patiently on trunks and boxes, 
 while the men brought rails from adjoining fences and some- 
 times horses from the settlers along the route, who willingly* 
 assisted those asking for aid in any emergency. Sometimes 
 hours were spent in prying out the horses and wagons, un- 
 loading and getting under way. 
 
 They had one of these experiences on the afternoon of the 
 last day of their journey, just in sight of their destination; the 
 village only hidden by a bit of rolling prairie, and there, be- 
 tween them and their Mecca, was a terrible slough which must 
 be crossed. 
 
 All had been cheered at the prospect of arriving before dark, 
 and having plenty of time to look around and prepare for their 
 first night in the place which was to be their future home. 
 
 It must be confessed they had expected their arrival would 
 make quite a sensation, their outfit being more than ordinarily 
 
WI/O WERE TO BLAME. 53 
 
 complete, and showing at a glance to the eye of the western set- 
 tler that no trouble or money had been spared in securing every 
 comfort compatible with the circumstance of moving at alf. 
 
 In this case, as in many another, when success seemed as- 
 sured, disappointment came, and our friends'found what had 
 appeared to be only a "soft spot," as inconsequential sloughs 
 were termed, one of the very worst they had essayed to con- 
 quer in all their journey. 
 
 Elated at being so near the end of their tedious travels, they 
 neglected to use the precaution which they had learned to be 
 indispensible in crossing one of those diabolical black mud-holes. 
 
 Uncle Tut warned them, for he knew the place of old, but 
 not heeding, they drove gaily along without waiting to lighten 
 the load, until suddenly down went the horses up to their knees 
 in soft slush where the bottom had fallen out. 
 
 The whips were applied to no purpose, hallowing did not 
 help the matter at all, either; there they were, at three o'clock 
 the last afternoon fast in the mud. What wonder if every man, 
 woman and child was thoroughly disgusted and exasperated. 
 
 The women sat on the unloaded trunks and scolded the 
 children and cried; the men lashed their horses, and one or two 
 swore; no doubt every one of them felt like it. Eben was one 
 of those who refrained from sw^earing, but he wished in his 
 heart that he had never started from Barrytown. 
 
 At last sense and patient reason gained the supremacy, the 
 women and children became quiet and reconciled to the situa- 
 tion, the men unhitched the horses and pried them out with the 
 rails, also the wagon wheels; and adding fresh teams to their 
 own jaded animals, with combined strength and effort succeeded 
 in hauling the wagons out of the hole; dragging them across 
 by a slightly different route from the one they had at first 
 chosen, the people, children as well, being obliged to walk 
 across, although the rains of the night before had rendered the 
 road, if such it might be designated, very "muddy." The men 
 had besides to carry all the heavy articles of baggage across as 
 best they could. 
 
 Just at nightfall all were reloaded, and, tired, wet with dew, 
 which fell upon them as they waited, bedraggled, discouraged 
 and uncomfortable beyond description, our forlorn' travelers 
 came into the small village of twenty houses all told — no more 
 — the village which was to be the only home the majority of 
 that party should in the future know — the home where they 
 were to live and from which they were to be buried. 
 
54 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 Imuiediately when it was known that some " movers " had 
 arrived from the east, every one hastened to meet and welcome 
 thems And this means they took them to their houses, to their 
 tables, and shared with them their beds^-that they opened wide 
 their hearts, their homes and in true western fashion " took the 
 strangers in" — sharing all they had with them. 
 
 The dreary, homesick, hungry travelers were soon provided 
 with food, and made comfortable for the night; the worn horses 
 were not forgotten. 
 
 A public house had not yet been built for the accommoda- 
 tion of people coming to this new town, but no stranger was 
 allowed to feel himself such for very long among the genial 
 settlers of those early days. 
 
 Patiently enduring every hardship, carrying many heavy 
 loads of sorrow, our fathers and mothers labored to establish 
 homes, and lay the foundation of our present prosperity. 
 
 Although the exterior sometimes became hard and rough, 
 they someho\v kept the heart tender and the feelings fine. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 55 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The morning after their arrival in the httle town of Free- 
 lawn, our friends were out early, even before the sun had dissi- 
 pated the fog which arose dense and wet from the broad prairie 
 as far as the eye could reach, everywhere covering and hiding 
 from view the green expanse beneath — wood-bordered stream, 
 farm-houses, all except the nearest objects. 
 
 It was a strange sight, differing from any they had ever 
 seen before, imparting the feeling of having gotten above and 
 away from the world. As the sun rose in the Heavens his rays 
 pen-etrated the clouds of mist, until, permeated bv a rosy hue, 
 they were wafted upward on the morning air and finally 
 vanished. 
 
 When the fog lifted from the landscape, a break here and 
 there revealing the verdure below, the effect, looking off over 
 the vast prairie, was most enchanting, resembling a sea dotted 
 with green islands. 
 
 Very beautiful was the poisonous, malarial fog, and deadly, 
 as our friends learned to their cost. The old settlers cautioned 
 them against again indulging in such early rising: " You must 
 not do it, you'll have the ague sure if you do; but must stay in 
 doors night and morning until the fog is gone. It's the only 
 way for new comers to escape, and even with this precaution 
 you may have it." 
 
 Besides the beauty* of the misty sea dotted with islands, the 
 suffering of the ague and many other things new^ to them, our 
 friends found in this very small village a strange medley of 
 people. 
 
 There were a few ladies and gentlemen whose equal can 
 scarcely be met with even now, there was also the gossip who 
 meddled with everybody's business; the rough, uncultivated 
 bore; the loud-mouthed, sanctimonious hypocrite, who thanked 
 the Lord daily that he was not as were other men ; the dis- 
 honest, pettifogging lawyer; the doctor, who never ought to 
 have been a doctor; all the discordant and disagreeable elements 
 to be found in older and larger towns, no less than the people 
 capable of doing wxll iheir part and whose influence was help- 
 
5(j THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 ful, improving and ennobling; those of different vocations and 
 degrees of refinement, w^ho, for one cause and another, had 
 seen Hfe in the communities and surroundings they had left to 
 be for them unprofitable and uncongenial. 
 
 The society of the village of Freelawn was gathered from 
 miles around, and on Sunday everybody came to meeting; it 
 was the only change to be had from their week-day life. 
 
 Before the Court House was erected these meetings were 
 conducted at the houses of one and another of the more respect- 
 able and comfortably quartered settlers, among whom were our 
 friends the Gascoignes and Grieveaus; after that they were 
 held in the Court House, until in the progress of events a 
 Methodist meeting house was built, and when the place was 
 recognized as old and established a Presbvterian church, then a 
 Baptist, and finally a very high-toned Episcopalian — " The 
 Church " — but a number of people were born in our little 
 village, and died, and went to Heaven or some other place, be- 
 fore *' The Church " came along or its clergyman arrived. 
 
 Ere this happy consummation of church building and a 
 settled ministry, these people, who had been accustomed to 
 regular attendance upon religious services in their eastern 
 homes, uprooted as they felt themselves to be, torn from old 
 and dear surroundings, would not willingly have dispensed 
 with the comfort derived from meeting together — singing, 
 prayincr and exhorting one another. 
 
 Ofttimes those men and women through much tribulation, 
 developed a saintliness of character which we search for almost 
 in vain in these latter days of frivolity, worldliness and self- 
 seeking. 
 
 One dear, white-haired, sweet-faced woman, our motherless 
 girls, Myra and Lucille, made the acquaintance of very soon, 
 who from the hour of their meeting became a true friend to 
 them — Mother Brewster she was called throughout all that 
 section. In a short time after their arrival both Myra and 
 Lucille were attacked with chills, and immediately Mother 
 Brewster was on hand with good cheer and advice, as was her 
 custom when anybody was sick or in special trouble. 
 
 Grief weighed heavily upon them now that the excitement 
 of the journey was over, and had much to do with their falling 
 an easy prey to the malarial climate. 
 
 They both had the chills regularly, but for an unaccountable 
 reason or for no reason^ their sickness occurred upon alternate 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 57 
 
 days; some people do not believe in Providence but little Ger- 
 trude did. 
 
 "God w^ill keep your shakes away to-day, Mamma, it is 
 Aunt Lucille's turn," she w^ould say. 
 
 It seemed hard that these two who were least able to bear it, 
 and were sadly tried in other ways, should be the ones to have 
 this affliction. 
 
 The brother's wife was never stronger or happier in her life, 
 and she continued her desperate flirtation with Eben, partly for 
 the excitement and the spite, but also because she really liked' 
 Myra's handsome husband better than she had ever any one be- 
 fore, and fully as much as her selfish nature was capable of 
 caring for any one. 
 
 Poor Myra, pale, weak, forlorn, was in no condition to com- 
 pete for her husband's favor with the robust, jolly, red-lipped 
 beauty; for a beauty she would be called, possessing a certain 
 attractiveness which might take temporary hold of a man dis- 
 satisfied with or estranged from his wife. 
 
 And Myra did not act the part of wisdom ; she should by 
 every means have concealed her coldness from her husband; 
 even though the hurt was sore, the wound deep, she should 
 have sedulously kept it from his sight, perhaps after a time it 
 might have healed, for true love will accomplish wonders. 
 
 At any rate Eben would not recognize her present mood, 
 and had no patience with his wife, persisting in feeling that she 
 was changed, refusing to acknowledge he had given any real 
 cause for the estrangement. 
 
 Long years after as he looked back, remembering her piti- 
 ful white face those days he blamed himself — oh! how bitterly! 
 
 Myra's mistake was in brooding over her grief until she 
 lost her wonted vivacity, and consequently the power of pleas- 
 ing her husband; had she crowded down her sensitiveness, put- 
 ting on a kind, cheerful air, he would after awhile have him- 
 self realized how much dearer she was to him than any other, 
 and shown his regret by his actions if not in words. 
 
 Such a course might have cured the disposition for straying, 
 which all the circumstances of the case now encouraged. 
 
 Men being fickle and prone to wander, it behooves wives as 
 well as maidens that they use every endeavor in keeping any 
 influence they may have over those they love. 
 
 Dissatisfied husbands and lovers then, as now, had no difii- 
 culty in coming across women quite ready to go fully half way 
 
58 THE STALW'AR'I S; OK, 
 
 \\\ pleasure with men who belonged to other and better 
 women than themselves. 
 
 Myra learned this when too late. 
 
 An incident here occurred which, with a hint from Uncle 
 Tut, started her thinking seriously of the situation, and she 
 determined upon going about the business of regaining her 
 lost place in her husband's heart forthwith. 
 
 This is how it came about. 
 
 Shortly after arriving in Freelawn, finding no suitable home, 
 the men of the family, with the help of a carpenter, an old 
 settler, had erected a comfortable house, also a shed for the 
 horses, and completed arrangements for living through the 
 winter. 
 
 The building being store and dwelling combined, was on a 
 corner, giving one front for the store on the main street, and 
 one for the dwelling which was a continuation built on the side 
 street, less traveled than the other. 
 
 The goods arriving were snugly placed upon the shelves of 
 the store, which being patterned after the one they had left in 
 Barrytown, contained everything necessary for the comfort of 
 man in the line of merchandise. 
 
 Grandpa Gascoigne, Eben, Myra, Lucille, little Gertrude, 
 John and his wife Julia, besides Uncle Tut, took possession of 
 the new home with thankful hearts. 
 
 Uncle Tut declared he could not live alone in his cabin, even 
 though he lost his "claim," and he had become so helpful in 
 every way. Dr. Gascoigne's family w^ere very glad of having 
 him with them through the winter. In the spring he might 
 feel better about the cabin and the claim. 
 
 Whenever he would say anything about going away, Ger- 
 trude, putting her little fat arms around his rough old neck, and 
 snuggling her curly head on his shoulder, would insist, "she 
 couldn't spare her ovv^n dear old Uncle Tut, not a bit." 
 
 And thus Providence, or Fate, ordained that he should re- 
 main through the winter with his friends, a decision which 
 changed the current of all their lives — the affairs of a great 
 nation as well — a decision the results of which are not even yet 
 fully foreseen. 
 
 Myra and Lucille, so it happened, busied themselves with 
 the housework and the care of the child, and with many kind- 
 nesses from grandpa and Uncle Tut, who were not so busy as 
 John and Eben, they managed to accomplish the necessary 
 work between them. 
 
IV//0 WERE TO BLAME. 5{> 
 
 )ulia being the well and strong one, volunteered to do the 
 washing and ironing. She said, "she'd rather have a good day's 
 work and be done with it, but could not endure puttering around 
 all the time." 
 
 The fact was she had a scheme she was particularlyanxious 
 of carrying out, and which would take her away from the 
 kitchen, where Myra and Lucille vv^ere mostly occupied, and in- 
 to a far part of the house. About this time, very obligingly, ; s 
 a cold winter was prophesied, Julia offered to tie some comfort-, 
 and make some quilts for the beds. The large front room ov< i^ 
 the store not being much used, Uncle Tut sleeping there, but 
 being unoccupied during the day, this place by mutual consent 
 was devoted to the quilting and tieing, when the work had 
 been suggested. The apartment was warmed by the heat from 
 a sheet-iron drum, connected with the immense box-stove, large 
 enough for holding cord wood, being in the store below, and 
 by the pipe passing through the floor into the drum and thence 
 into the chimney of the room, producing an even temperature 
 night and day. 
 
 In this secluded spot, away from the noise of the family, 
 there afterwards occurred illness long and grievous, nigh unto 
 death — even death itself — and a birth^ which had better have 
 been a death. 
 
 A memorable room, filled with sad, gloomy histories con- 
 nected with never to be forgotten tragedies. Alyra's unhappi- 
 ness was at last rendering her very restless, but no one suspect- 
 ed how" much she was suffering, outwardly she remained so 
 calm, so sweet and patient. 
 
 Even Lucille failed to notice the tempest, the whirlwind, 
 the tornado of passionate longing and regret which was rack- 
 ing her sister's inmost soul. 
 
 Lucille was aware Myra did not take kindly to their new^, 
 rough life any more than did she. They were both too utterly 
 disheartened and sick much of the time, and incidents which 
 would have amused, had the sisters been well and happy, now 
 seemed dreary and uncomfortable. 
 
 Lucille knew Myra talked longingly when she conversed 
 at all, wiiich was seldom now, of going back to the old home 
 and to the friends they had left, but she had no idea of the 
 turmoil agitating her sister's mind and heart. Her own trouble 
 absorbed her whole attention, and perhaps dulled her percep- 
 tions. 
 
 While busy with her work, Myra would partially forget, 
 
60 THE STALIVARTS: OR, 
 
 but a delicate woman cannot be incessently busy, neither will 
 the society of a child compensate the heart for the idol lost 
 either by dethronement or death, or cure its utter loneliness. 
 
 Myra felt that the work did her orood, the prattle of little 
 Gertrude was a relief, but there were times when all failed to 
 subdue her unhappiness, and it seemed she could not endure 
 her life or her surroundings another moment. She sometimes 
 feared she should lose control of herself — should go wild. 
 
 As she wandered from room to room looking dejectedly 
 from the windows, she was conscious of an almost uncontroll- 
 able impulse to spring through, and fly away — far away — from 
 all the trouble. 
 
 She longed to get bank to dear old Barrytown and throw 
 herself upon her mother's grave and w^eep her life out there. 
 
 This intense desire to get away from her surroundings — to 
 fly away — anyivhere — only to get away — was increasing until 
 it was becoming an actual torture. 
 
 Myra rarely sought her husband's presence now, and he 
 did not seek her, he had found more entertaining companion- 
 ship, at least for the time being, and at last his anger and re- 
 sentment towards his wife were taking the form of antipathy. 
 
 Marvelous as it may seem, this man who had been a loving 
 husband, was so annoyed by his wife's persistent sadness, wdiich 
 he was pleased to construe as a reproach to himself, that really 
 he would have been glad never to have seen her more. 
 
 Her wan face nettled and exasperated him beyond measure, 
 he could not drive her from his mind a moment except when 
 intensely occupied by business or pleasure — because he still loved 
 his wife, and knew in his heart he was not doing right by her, 
 but he was too proud to yield and make the first advances to- 
 wards a reconciliation. Little did he realize the bitter sorrow 
 he w^as storing up for himself and for her, by his unreasonable 
 willfulness. 
 
 Poor Myra did not understand her own condition, she only 
 knew it was now becoming impossible to overcome her sadness 
 and restlessness, strive as she would — she was a mystery unto 
 herself. 
 
 If she could have appreciated the effect of all she was pass- 
 ing through — of all the happenings — if her husband had been 
 apprised of the facts, Fate might yet have been cheated of her 
 prey — but ignorance spoiled lives then, as ignorance spoils many 
 a life to-day. 
 
 The fall rains were now rendering the roads impassable, at 
 
U'//0 WERE TO BLAME. 61 
 
 least for women, and the necessity of remaining indoors had 
 increased Myra's nervous irritation ahnost tothe pitch of frenzy. 
 She u^as at hist losing self-control, and Lucille was surprised 
 at the unusual harshness several times manifested towards little 
 Gertrude. Soon Myra must have developed symptoms which 
 would have aroused the family as to the state of her health, 
 and a dire calamity and the grief of a lifetime might possibly 
 have been prevented. 
 
 But just here an unlooked for occurrence brought her con- 
 dition to a crisis, and changed the whole situation. 
 
 Of course the quilts and the comforts at which Julia was 
 working industriously, must be marked, which was done with 
 a chalked cord held by two persons one on either side of the 
 frames, holding tightly, and when all was ready in place, one 
 . lifting the cord and letting it fall suddenly, a mark would be 
 left for the guidance of the stitches. 
 
 Uncle Tut noticed that Mistress Julia often came down in- 
 to the store for Eben to go up and help mark her quilt; 
 sometimes a rap on the floor would be her signal, and that 
 Eben seemed ready at any moment to leave what he was do- 
 ing and obey her call, and he did not hurry back either. 
 
 One day Eben was gone so long that Uncle Tut thought 
 he'd go up to his room and change his coat — while he took an 
 observation; opening the door without knocking, (for why 
 should he knock at his own door?) he surprised the marker, 
 "taking toll" from the quilter over the frames. 
 
 The lips, yes — brow, cheeks, neck of the red-ripe beauty 
 were even redder than usual, w^hen Uncle Tut opened the door— 
 so were those of Myra's husband. 
 
 Eben got himself downstairs to his work as quickly as pos- 
 sible, neither of the men saying a word, and Eben entirely in 
 doubt as to whether a discovery had been made or not. 
 
 Uncle Tut had seen enough to cause alarm as to the state of 
 affairs between Eben and Mistress.Julia, and made up his mind 
 he'd do a little scheming himself, and if necessary give Myra 
 a hint, perhaps also Grandpa Gascoigne, before it was too late 
 for reclamation. 
 
 He contrived after this to have Gertrude in the quilting 
 room as much of the time as possible, upon the pretext of its 
 being a nice, warm place for her to play, now that the weather 
 and the ground were unfit for her to be out of doors, but Uncle 
 Tut kept an eye out and was getting more worried every day. 
 
<52 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 He had lately found Myra several times wandering alone 
 f lom room to room, looking strangely, he thought, gazing with 
 an expression almost desperate through the windows, over the 
 broad and now dreary prairies, which stretched as far as the 
 eye could reach; and once or twice he had seen her throw up 
 her arms suddenly, press her hands convulsively upon her head 
 and rush from the window with a cry, almost a shriek, away 
 into another room, far from the family. 
 
 Said Uncle Tut at last to himself: "I'll speak to so?nebody 
 this very day, to Grandpa Gascoigne or to Lucille, perhaps to 
 Eben."" 
 
 But he had come to dislike Eben so thoroughly, he could 
 not endure to talk with him about anything, much more such 
 a matter. 
 
 Finally he concluded, "I'll give Myra just a hint and let her 
 manage her husband as she thinks best." And Uncle Tut 
 taxed his brains for another day as to how he should commun- 
 icate in such a manner as to shock Myra as little as might be 
 what he wanted her to know, namely, the danger she was in 
 of losing her husband absolutely, unless something was done to 
 break up the intimacy between himself and Mistress Julia. 
 
 After all the delay and cogitation, when he did tell her it 
 was in the clumsiest manner, abruptly, without immediate in- 
 tention of doing so; exactly as people nine times out of ten 
 approach a delicate subject. 
 
 He had made an errand up to his room, where, as often be- 
 fore, Eben and mistress Julia were having a gay time laughing 
 and chatting (to say nothing of anything worse) over the mark- 
 ing and the quilting; coming down exasperated, he was yet 
 more annoyed at finding Myra, who had just finished her morning 
 work, sitting listlessly, tired, pale and half sick, her hands folded 
 hopelessly in her lap, and tears falling quietly from those sweet 
 violet eyes. 
 
 Not one word of repining had she uttered through all her 
 sorrow; she was too heart-broken for complaint. As Uncle 
 Tut looked upon the dear little woman he felt like shooting 
 somebody, but, instead, he marched up in front of Myra and 
 stammered out: "I — I say, Myra — Grie — Grieveau, — quit that, 
 an — and go up and lo-look after that hus-band o' yo-yourn;" 
 and off he went, knowing that at the last he had blundered and 
 stumbled head foremost into the hidden trouble, making matters 
 even worse than they were before. 
 
ll'I/O WERE TO BLAME. 63 
 
 Alas! that Uncle Tut had not realized the extent of the 
 mischief he was doing, for his thoughtless precipitation may 
 surely be blamed that a beautiful life was wrecked, destroyed; 
 yes, more than one, more than two — many more — before the end 
 was reached. 
 
 At first Myra was bewildered by Uncle Tut's strange speech. 
 She had not believed her husband really cared for the society of 
 such a coarse-grained woman as she knew her brother's wife to 
 be; she had never suspected his honor or doubted his truth; she 
 had hoped that eventually he would be touched by her patient 
 sadness, and that somehow they would be reconciled; would 
 understand each other, and be once more happy as they had 
 been before the dreadful estrangement. She knew Eben neg- 
 lected her, and spent more time chatting with Julia than he 
 ■ought, but the thought that her husband would desert her for 
 another had not entered her mind. And such another! — utterly 
 heartless and frivolous, not to say unprincipled — perhaps im- 
 moral ! 
 
 The blow was crushing, and, coming unexpected!}-, nearly 
 took away her breath; but as a hard fall, a hurt on the head, or a 
 severe shock, to an insane person will sometimes restore reason 
 when all else fails, so Uncle Tut's abrupt hint had the effect of 
 bringing Myra to her senses, and she resolved to put away her 
 -despondency, giving her whole and immediate attention to the 
 object of regaining her lost place in her husband's affections. 
 
 Leaving Gertrude in charge of Aunt Lucille, who, after having 
 passed through the ordeal of a chill, was feeling somewhat bet- 
 ter now that the fever was coming on, but not at its height, 
 Myra acted upon Uncle Tut's advice, and betook herself to the 
 quilting-room without delay. 
 
 It was a terrible mistake — weak, heart-sick, worn woman — 
 she overestimated her strength sadly when she essayed to go up 
 for her recreant husband. 
 
 Her only thought was that something she loved more than 
 her life was drifting away from her arms, beckoned on by a 
 *' will o' the wisp " as false as it was alluring. 
 
 Save her husband she must at any hazard; she would go 
 directly to the room where she knew the red-lipped, unprin- 
 cipled siren was busy weaving her charms about him, and, 
 making some excuse, get him to come down w-ith her, and 
 henceforth she would devote every energy of her life to her 
 husband's pleasure; he should lack for nothing in the power of 
 woman to bestow. 
 
64 THE STAUVAKl S; OR, 
 
 How bitterly now she blamed herself for her cold, exacting- 
 reserve; that she had not ignored self entirely; abnegated her 
 own personality, if need be, in the effort to retain her husband's 
 love. She knew now, when she feared it might be too late, 
 that she had not understood a man's nature more than ahd he 
 a woman's, that the mischief was indeed beyond repair. 
 
lVJ/0 WERE TO BLAME. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MVRA S DISCOVERY 
 
 Myra's imagination had not pictured what her eye beheld 
 through that opened door — her own husband, her Hfe's darhng, 
 his arms around another woman, his lips pressed to hers! 
 
 Unhappy ]Myra — one moment she stood spell-bound — then 
 fell headlong upon the floor — not a sound, not a moan escaped 
 her, she lay as one dead. 
 
 Instantly Eben disengaged himself, more angry than he 
 could express that his wife should have discovered his folly. 
 He lifted her in his arms and placed her on Uncle Tut's bed. 
 
 Both Mistress Julia and himself hastened to use every known 
 means for the restoration of the wronged woman to concious- 
 ness. At last she breathed, she opened wide her beautiful eyes, 
 but stared vacantly in her husband's face. 
 
 Overtaxed in body, distressed in mind as she had been for 
 months past, having besides the unfavorable climate to contend 
 with, and more than all, a dear, sweet, cherished secret which 
 only mothers can understand, and which she had carefully con- 
 cealed, even from her husband, feeling in oversensitiveness that 
 he did not care for her now, but hoping by a glad surprise to 
 win him to her side again; overburdened little woman, what 
 wonder if heart, strength, life, failed her. 
 
 For weeks and months after that day those vacant eyes 
 when they opened at all, only stared reproachful from their 
 sunken sockets, while the thin lips muttered in delirium of 
 things which no one but the guilty husband. Mistress Julia, and 
 Uncle Tut could comprehend. Eben and Julia vied with each 
 other in their ministrations. Grandpa Gascoigne, sister Lucille 
 and John were surprised and thrown off their guard by the un- 
 expected devotion displayed on the part of those heretofore 
 deemed incapable of deep affection, and regretted the supposed 
 unjust estimate of their characters in times past; especially did 
 John blame himself, thinking he had not fully appreciated his 
 wife; for long before the project of moving west was broached- 
 she had come to be regarded by him as the embodiment of self- 
 ishness and heartlessness. 
 
 He had been, when very young, thrown in her way and cap- 
 
 5 
 
66 THE STA-Ll'VARTS; OR, 
 
 tivated by the pronounced though decidedly animal style of 
 beauty, married hastily, neglecting consultation with his father 
 and sisters; the mask was soon dropped, the illusion roughly 
 thrown away, and the young husband found in the place where 
 should have been a wife tender and true, a loud-voiced, heart- 
 less, exactingly selfish woman, one of those who care for a 
 husl3and but as a provider for their wants. 
 
 He being of the same fine nature which his sister possessed, 
 inherited from both parents, soon, from having his sensibilities 
 daily shocked, became reckless, dissipated and hopeless; a tithe 
 of the man he should have been, and was now fast becoming a 
 besotted drunkard, health, ambition, self-respect almost gone. 
 
 But at the perception of apparent goodness in his wife 
 which perhaps had been overlooked, he was ready to take her 
 lovingly in his arms, trying once more, and be a man worthy 
 of a true woman. 
 
 Although a mischief had accrued for w^hich no earthly 
 power could now find a harmless remedy; naught but the death 
 of an unborn babe could checkmate Fate, and it v/as forever too 
 late for the cure of all the evil which had resulted from the sad 
 mistakes; yet just here was a place in the lives of this badly 
 mixed family, where, had they gotten hold of the true end of 
 the tangled thread, the gordian-knot might have been untied, 
 the skein of their destiny unravelled, the broken woof reunited, 
 and a garment of beauty, the work of sweet charity, woven 
 from their daily lives, gently covering from view the past, 
 lovingly enfolding the present, bestowing comfort and peace 
 instead of the sorrow to all, the remorse to those in the wrong 
 which was coming irretrievably upon them. 
 
 Repentance, restitution, prayer unceasing, might have lifted 
 prostrate Myra from her sick bed, and possibly brought the 
 good angels to bear the little shattered life tenderly away in 
 arms of love to its Paradise home, where restoration comes to 
 all w^ho desire the attainment of that purity and goodness of 
 which misfortune or inheritence has defrauded them here. 
 Restoration — Paradise — Joy — to the innocent unborn babe, and 
 to those who meekly, trustingly as little children enter in, 
 patiently waiting until Christ shall send to their sin-sick souls 
 His ministering spirits — Chastisement — Purgatory — knashing 
 of teeth, to those who defiantly ignore the true, the right, the 
 just, seeking their own aggrandizement. 
 
 The Lord's helpful angels coming evermore alike to the just 
 and to the unjust at repentant, suffering humanity's call, coming 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 67 
 
 in answer to prayer; for prayer is to blessing what the burstmg 
 longing in the heart of the bud, bound tightly leaf by leaf in 
 waxen coldness, is to the sun benignantly waiting ready to im- 
 part warmth and comfort, while the imprisoned bud strives to 
 absorb its invigorating beams; until, at last, penetrated by the 
 blissful life-o^iving rays, bursting forth in eager aspiration, leaf 
 by leaf is unfolded, expanded, giving back hues rich in the 
 radiance of glowing happiness; and thus are both filled w^ith 
 ineffable joy, for it is even more blessed to give than to receive. 
 
 But the desire must precede benediction, mark the injunc- 
 tion, "Ask and ye shall receive." 
 
 No man's prayer can darken the sun, or cause the rain to 
 fall perhaps, the Ruler of the Universe chosing good for the 
 whole creatiop, as seemeth best, but special need causes special 
 asking, and special disease requires special treatment — hence 
 prayer as a means of benefit — prayer! w^hereby even the be- 
 hests of Fate, the edicts of destiny may be overruled. 
 
 Uncle. Tut, with his unfathomable, know-nothing grey-eyes, 
 saw all that was going on, and knew what it meant, but earn- 
 estly as he longed to set matters right, he felt himself unable, 
 and a Higher Power he did not invoke. Prayer w^as not in 
 his creed, the thought w^as to him incomprehensible. 
 
 And the stoney mill of Fate kept grinding, round and round, 
 a steady, slow, but sure and unrelenting grind. 
 
 The one thing which Uncle Tut could, and did do, was to 
 tend by Myra's bed-side constantly — literally night and day, 
 dozing occasionally in the old fashioned straight backed rocking 
 chair Myra had brought from the Eastern home. 
 
 Eben and Mistress Julia were not more vigilant, much as 
 they feared exposure from Myra's delirium. 
 
 Fortunately for them it was mainly of the low, muttering 
 kind, in which words can only be distinguished with the greatest 
 difficulty. A person not knowing what was in her mind, could 
 not understand her at all; but Eben knew and Mistress Julia, 
 and Uncle Tut, although h« kept so still. 
 
 Poor Myra lay now day after day, with shaven head drawn 
 back deep into the crushed pillows — shorn of all those rippling 
 waves of golden brown hair, her eyes closed, half open or star- 
 ing vacantly, sometimes appealingly, then again wildly, the 
 thin, parched lips muttering so pitifully, so low, only they could 
 understand : 
 
 "My darling, oh! my darling! how could you do it? Hoiv 
 could you do it .^" 
 
68 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 "Come back to me, husband dear, I'll be so good, I really 
 will, if you'll only come to me." 
 
 Then opening wide her glassy eyes, raising her trembling 
 hands, white and wan, reaching for his face, she seemed to be 
 stroking it tenderly, muttering; "Eben, dear, Myra's sorry she 
 vexed you, Myra'll be good, Myra loves you — just the same." 
 
 And then in a sudden frenzy, raising herself with unlook- 
 ed for strength, trying to strike an imaginary foe, screaming 
 now in wild fury, "Get away you serpent! She's got her coils 
 around him, her fang is on his throat. Take her away — she'll 
 drink his blood! Take her away — he's mine — he's mine! Let 
 me kill her — let me kill her!" 
 
 And falling back exhausted into the strong arms of Uncle 
 Tut or Grandpa Gascoigne, or of her sorrowful husband, who 
 had each or all been trying to hold her, she would sink again 
 into a stupor, breathing heavily with half shut eyes, and shaven 
 head drawn back d^ep into the wet pillows. 
 
 These attacks of frenzy were rare, and came when they 
 thought her better, and she seemed almost to know he7' attend- 
 a7its. Those who were aware of what was in her mind, noticed 
 that they occurred, if at such times her eyes settled upon Mis- 
 tress Julia, and she, guilt stricken, learned to keep out of the 
 sick woman's sight, fearing an outbreak. 
 
 Twice during this long, memorable illness, Myra seemed to 
 rally, and then a relapse would come, discouraging those w^ho 
 loved her so well — but not once did she regain her reason — not 
 until the sad wail of a little new born babe was heard in that 
 chamber, where the mother had lain so long prostrate in the 
 valley of the shadow of death — in the shadow, but not over- 
 come — for not yet was her mission fulfilled. 
 
 The little boy-baby was tenderly cherished, day by day, his 
 feeble life watched over, and the flickering flame gently fanned 
 into a stronger, steadier glow, for was he not to fill the place of 
 the first-born, the dearly loved one, whose grave they had left 
 behind nearly a year ago? 
 
 Even Eben was proud and elated at the thought of another 
 heir to bear his name, and his heart warmed with somewhat of 
 returning affection towards his broken wife. Had Myra re- 
 covered rapidly, regaining her former health and buoyancy of 
 spirit — chief among the charms which had first attracted him — 
 Eben might have been entirely weaned from his new fancy, 
 perhaps, but she remained in that sick room nearly a year, and 
 there are few men whose fidelity can endure such a test. 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 69 
 
 After the novelty of the new baby wore off, and Myra still 
 continued an invalid, both wife and child requiring much care, 
 he began to consider his visits to the sick room as annoying epi- 
 sodes in his daily life. Soon they were so far apart as to cause 
 remark from the members of the family, and finally from the 
 gossips of the little town. 
 
 As for Myra, she had been near deatJi's door, and could 
 now be reconciled to life, even though accompanied with sor- 
 row and much tribulation. 
 
 From the day she had seen another woman in her husband's 
 arms, her heart-strings had loosed their hold of him — she did 
 not fully realize this, but such was the fact. 
 
 The babe being very delicate, absorbed her attention, and 
 the poignancy of grief gradually wore away, although at 
 times her love struggled with terrible violence for the possess- 
 ion of its lost idol. 
 
 If she could have filled the vacancy as men do with another 
 object, it would have eased her suffering, but she could not; 
 even the devotion she felt for her children failed to close the 
 gaping wound in her sore heart — nothing can compensate 
 a true woman for a lost love. 
 
 Little Gertrude's quiet, gentle ways, and her cheerful 
 prattle, were much company and comfort to her lonely mamma. 
 Sister Lucille was her attendant and constant companion, but 
 not even to her did this loyal wife confide what she had seen 
 on that'day, when the whole family had qeen summoned to her 
 bedside, scarcely leaving it for weeks and months after. What- 
 ever her husband might do or leave undone, his wife would not 
 betray him ; with her, come weal or woe, his secret should be 
 safe. 
 
 Myra, as does many another heart-broken mother, clung to 
 life for her children's sake. She tried steadfastly to overcome 
 her weakness, and lived on for a time, growing lovelier each 
 day, to all who knew her; especially to the sad old father, Lu- 
 cille and Gertrude, the memory of her last days on earth was 
 as the dream of an angel's presence. 
 
70 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 myra's strange condition — eben's trouble. 
 
 While Myra was confined a close prisoner all those weary 
 months in the seclusion of her chamber, the world outside did 
 not cease from moving on. Many changes occurred in the vil- 
 lage, new people kept coming, several houses were erected and 
 every living thing was stirring in this growing western town. 
 
 One of the questionable improvements was the establish- 
 ment of a grocery for the sale of liquors, containing also a 
 drinking bar, on the corner just above Eben's store, he .dealing 
 only in general merchandise. 
 
 Dr. Gascoigne had been appointed post-master, and the idea 
 of putting up a Court House was being broached. A tavern 
 or hotel had been actually built; one of the long, wide upper 
 rooms, ordinarily containing a dozen or more beds for the ac- 
 comm.odation of travelers, could, when occasion required, be 
 turned into a ball-room, and the sitting room upon the first 
 floor was used on Sundays for holding the meetings before 
 mentioned ; a needed convenience most surely was the tavern. 
 
 When the stage, drawn by four horses, even six, driving 
 up to the front with a flourish of long whip and loud tin horn, 
 after leaving the great leathern mail bag with Dr. Gascoigne 
 at the post offlce, the passengers alighting upon the broad tavern 
 stoop, all the people of Freelawn felt that they were the inhab- 
 itants of quite a town. 
 
 Gertrude delighted in going behind the counter and watch- 
 ing Grandpa while he sorted the mail. She was a pet with the 
 people who came to the store, and seldom did anyone neglect 
 asking the child the oft repeated query: "How is your mother 
 to-day, little one?" Her invariable answer being: " As well as 
 usual, thank you." For in Myra's condition there was no 
 material change, although the winter had passed and the spring 
 come again. 
 
 Not the clean, sweet spring-time they had enjoyed in the 
 pretty eastern village, with its stone walks, graveled roads, 
 magnificent shade trees, velvet lawns, flower beds, roses and 
 shrubs; they missed all these sadly and the blossoming fruit 
 trees, too, besides many a comfort and joy. Myra, in her lonely 
 
IV J /O WERE TO BLAME. 71 
 
 sick room, would sometimes forget -herself, and imagine she 
 could smell the fragrant apple blossoms of the old <-ree which 
 had grown by her window in the Barrytown home; the ex- 
 quisite perfume from the delicate pink roses of the sweet-brier 
 bush her own hand had jolanted, came to her as a reality: she 
 was sure it was not the scent of the wild crab-ap2:)le, or the 
 thorn bush, although they were lovely too, in their way, grow- 
 ing near the kitchen and wafted up to her on the fresh prairie 
 air, and she could hear the bell pealing from the tower of the 
 church over by the grave yard, where she had left the dead 
 mother and the child. Nothing could convince her these im- 
 pressions were not real,, dear little woman, her head was not 
 quite right yet. 
 
 Doubtless, had she lived in these latter days of wonderful 
 scientific pretension*, she might have been consigned to the tender 
 care of some asylum superintendent, as a victim of insane de- 
 lusion. A man, astonishingly wise, who having his own cranky 
 eyes set corner-wise, could see a lunatic in every fifth person he 
 chanced to meet; a man who it will be remembered, gave this 
 sort of testimony in a celebrated criminal trial, not many years 
 ago; a man with most scholarly air intensified by the high, 
 white forehead and piercing black eyes set toward the shapely 
 nose with the peculiar inward slant alluded to, and a habit of 
 always looking down at something he seemed to be holding, 
 and closely studying. 
 
 Should he glance up at you as you talk to him, it is only 
 with an amused quizzical expression, as though he said," You 
 may know something, but / have the whole subject right here 
 in my hand." 
 
 You speak of mankind, meaning an animal to be sure, of 
 the genus homo, but an animal with a soul, an animal who 
 can think, who can love, who can plan and act intelligently, 
 who can look forward to a future life, where all thinking, loving, 
 planning, acting is bliss forevermore. This wise Doctor stares 
 at you with an incredulous, almost contemptuous manner, and 
 asks, "Will your man of the future world have bones, blood, 
 nerves, flesh, heart, brain, if not I know nothing about him. 
 I have a man here before me on this dissecting table, I have cut 
 his flesh, sawed his bones, torn his nerves, stripped, his brain, 
 uncovered his heart — know all about him through and through." 
 You answer, "Sir, you know nothing or nearly nothing, about 
 the animal called man, for all that. You have not caused his 
 blood to flow, or a nerve to quiver, you have only been handling 
 
72 THE STALWARTS; Ok\ 
 
 what he formerly inhabited; him you have not touched. If 
 he were here, I could cause his heart to throb, his blood to 
 course through his veins, electric thought to flash from his 
 brain through all his nerves, 'till they should tingle with the 
 pain of wild desire, by just one look of my eye, one touch of 
 my hand." 
 
 The cold, earth-groveling scientist stares at you again, but 
 only a sidelong, soulless stare, not the quick, honest recognition 
 of spirit squarely meeting spirit in debate, and he concludes, 
 "here's another lunatic, another of the one in Jive ^ we must see 
 about this, and forthwith confers with an enemy he knows 
 of, also a fellow scientist, (reduced to the necessity of manag- 
 ing a private asylum since being removed after an investigation 
 from the state asylum) and soon has the satisfaction of acquir- 
 ing notoriety as well as fees for himself and friend — the asylum 
 superintendent — in a celebrated insanity trial. For the less real 
 insanity in the victim, the more famous the trial becomes; oc- 
 casionally, by rare adroitness, are the prosecutors outwitted; 
 but to-day, in free America, an individual has more reason to 
 dread being placed upon trial for insanity, than if for murder, 
 so little do we understand this subject, so fearful are we when 
 once the cry of '-'-jnad dog^ catch him, chain him!" is raised. 
 
 Had gentle, sensitive, loving Myra, been subjected to the 
 inhuman treatment now common in similar cases; the mere fact 
 of being separated from her children, deprived of the care of 
 those who loved her, missing her accustomed surroundings, the 
 thought of being deserted by friends because they did not wish 
 to be troubled, the knowledge that night after night she was 
 under lock and key, helpless in a prison cell, where, cry and 
 moan and call as she might, no one would come at her bidding, 
 unless perhaps the attendant — prison -keeper — who should be 
 placed over her, might from inherent kmdness of heart heed 
 her distress, bring a matter of option with no one to know, no 
 one to tell; the consciousness that any neglect, unkindness or 
 cruelty might be practiced, and complaint, when made, regard- 
 ed as only the imaginings of a maniac, if happily not alto- 
 gether suppressed; these wrongs and outrages surely must have 
 hastened the pitiful ending of a beautiful, devoted life. 
 
 Certainly had feeble, shattered Myra lived in these latter 
 days, she might have been the victim of such wicked incarcer- 
 ation, and by the advice too of the family physician. Under 
 this regime, her tortured sensibilities must have wrought upon 
 the brain, until a true frenzy were developed, ere death came to 
 
iri/0 WERE TO BLAME. 73 
 
 her relief, and thus ignorance have basely claimed its inhuman- 
 ity justified. 
 
 Happily, in that olden time people had not yet learned to 
 shirk responsibility in this fashion, but cared patiently, in- 
 telligently, with loving service, for their sick and disabled, 
 whether the nerves, the stomach or the brain were at fault. 
 
 And most tenderly was Myra watched over day and night, 
 not for a moment was she left alone, they dared not, for none 
 could predict future developments. 
 
 Lucille, Julia, Eben, Grandpa, John or Uncle Tut were one 
 or another constantly with her, but she could not get used to 
 Julia; her attendance, they said, made her nervous, the sight of 
 Eben often set her crying. How strange! thought the neigh- 
 bors and those of the family who did not know the truth and 
 all that had happened. 
 
 Mistress Julia and Eben continued their intimacy, though 
 carefully concealed, especially from the eyes of Uncle Tut. 
 He kept his own counsel and their secret, now that the mischief 
 was done and Myra's health and happiness destroyed, he did 
 rot much care; her intense sufferings were ended and she was 
 settling into an apathetic indifference from which nothing had 
 power to rouse her; all force, vigor, animation gone, only her 
 matchless sweetness and marvelous patience remained. Father, 
 liusband, sister and all her friends could see as well as Uncle 
 Tut, that Myra's life was wrecked; there was no help for it 
 now, but only he and the other two knew all, understood the 
 wrong which had been done. 
 
 More mischief was brewing in another quarter. It might 
 not be too late there for a remedy, and to this Uncle Tut turned 
 his attention, determined upon preventing the only son of his 
 friend. Dr. Gascoigne, from ending his life as a drunkard. 
 
 Although John had partially recovered himself after the 
 shock of Myra's illness, and the seeming change for better in 
 his wife, since the drinking bar had been started on the corner 
 and was the resort of the town loafers, he was a constant patron, 
 and the poison and debauchery were beginning to tell upon 
 him sadly, as in the case of several others; — more than one wife 
 vt^as ^vatchino: and gfrievinof, more than one mother in that little 
 village, no inhabited place being too small for a rum-seller's 
 thriving, or to contain its drunkards, certainly no western town. 
 
 Uncle Tut meant, if possible, to change the current into which 
 John was drifting, and as a preliminary step essayed to break 
 
74 • THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 » 
 
 up the infatuation between Eben and Julia, and arouse some 
 feeling on her part towards her husband. 
 
 This was not so difficult as he had feared. Now that the 
 novelty of getting Myra's handsome husband away from her 
 had worn off, Julia was beginning to tire of him; there w^as 
 scarcely enough excitement in keeping a man from the side of 
 a sick wife who made no resistance, and whose patient sweet- 
 ness appealed to the most callous heart. And Julia could scarcely 
 be called hard-hearted, she exhibited usually a good-natured 
 kindness towards those of whom she was not envious, was sel- 
 dom vindictive, but just ordinarily selfish and narrow-minded. 
 While lacking depth and tenderness of feeling, she was never 
 malicious, surely not towards a fallen foe, and since it was ap- 
 parent how Myra had taken the loss of her husband's affection, 
 she would most gladly have remedied the evil she had helped 
 bring about. 
 
 Watching faithfully over Myra as she had at the first for her 
 own protection, afterwards because she came to love her in her 
 helplessness and suffering, she found all her sympathies turning 
 away from the recreant husband, to the woman they had sorely 
 wronged. 
 
 And Eben too, man-like, now that nobody troubled about 
 or tried to keep him away from the forbidden fruit, found he 
 did not want it after all. 
 
 How he regretted in those days when he was awaking from 
 his delusion, that he had not discerned the truth before his wife 
 became the wreck she now was in body and mind, and how 
 those happy days in the pleasant Eastern home haunted him. 
 Myra was continually before his eyes as she used to be, her 
 manner of doing things, the way she dressed, the sprightly, 
 cheerful, amiable speeches she would make, all passed before 
 him as the vision of a dream. 
 
 His tribulation was upon him now ; his time had come, he 
 was never more miserable in his life; at last he could not bear 
 the sight of Mistress Julia, neither could he endure the thought, 
 or to look upon Myra's pale face; truly was Eben between two 
 fires — Gertrude his only solace; he was more considerate of the 
 child than he had ever been before, and was winning back her 
 love, she could see her father's unhappiness, doing her best to 
 comfort. 
 
 Just then Uncle Tut discovered the opportunity for doing- 
 good, and he went at it in his own direct way. 
 
 His claim had remained unmolested during the winter, but 
 
IF I/O WERE TO BLAME. ^ 75 
 
 now the spring had fairly opened and something must be done. 
 New comers would not scruple at taking possession of his claim, 
 cabin and all, unless some one occupied it, and even then vigi- 
 lance might be necessary in keeping all the land, for a rough 
 fellow had settled beside him, driving stakes to suit himself, 
 and neighbors reported had encroached upon Uncle Tut. Quite 
 likely violence might result from any attempt at regaining his 
 lights; not unfrequently were people murdered in those earl v 
 days, when enforcing possession of disputed claims. 
 
 With Myra's sickness and all the rest, so many things had 
 occurred in the family of his friend during the winter to occupy 
 the attention, that he hardly thought of his own affair at all, 
 but some ideas of a personal nature, which we shall tiear more 
 of further on, coming lately to his mind, he naturally turned 
 to his claim, his cabin home. He might iva?it a home again 
 before very long 
 
 Yes, he must look after that claim, and thinking over the 
 matter he concluded upon asking John and Julia if they would 
 live with him during the summer. Julia was a good house- 
 keeper. John could by this means be removed from tempta- 
 tion, and Eben, who was rapidly getting over his infatuation, 
 would be given an opportunity for recovering his equilibrium. 
 
 Uncle Tut never delayed after he had decided about a pro- 
 ject, and that very evening John and Julia had consented to the 
 change and to live with him through the summer. 
 
 Grandpa and Lucille were only too glad that the ^on and 
 brother could be placed under better conditions. They hoped 
 Uncle Tut's influence, his wife's improved behavior and the 
 out door work, would make a reformation and restoration in 
 his life. 
 
 Julia seemed really benefitted by the lesson of Myra's sad 
 illness, and truly sorry for her part in the wrong, and though 
 she never became a refined, tender-hearted, unselfish woman, 
 this could not be expected, she tried to atone in every way, es- 
 pecially as regarded her husband, not without good results. 
 
 After they were gone, Eben devoted himself more and 
 more to his invalid wife, resolved to remedy, so far as possible, 
 the injury done. 
 
 The babe was growing stronger, but the mother preceptibly 
 weaker each day. Do what they would for her, the shock had 
 been too severe, recovery impossible. She had improved for 
 a time in the early spring, but now was again declining. 
 
 The climate was adverse, and she pined for the air of the 
 
76 • THE STALIVAKIS; OR, 
 
 far away Eastern home where she was born, longing for old 
 Barry town too, and all the kind friends there; but her native 
 air was what she needed most, nothing else could restore her 
 lost vitality. 
 
 But a journey for one in her condition was not to be con- 
 sidered, even had their finances allowed of the expense. 
 
 People could not then, as now^, travel round the world on 
 easy beds in swift steam-drawn coaches, containing the com- 
 forts and conveniences of every day life, thus slipping away 
 from the clutches of the grim monster when almost at death's 
 door. 
 
 And IMyra pined and longed, growing feebler each day; 
 not even her husband's tender care could bring her back to 
 life — it was too late. 
 
 Mother Brewster, who had been absent visiting one of her 
 daughters, returned when Myra was visibly failing, the family 
 exhausted with long watching; calling upon her friends and 
 finding the invalid sinking, every one in great alarm at this 
 new and unfavorable symptom; she forthwith installed herself 
 at the bedside, and remained with them until the end came. 
 
 Myra declined so rapidly now day by day, her friends 
 knew nothing could save her. Eben and the others went 
 about sorrowfully doing what they could, but it was not much. 
 
 One day they called the sad husband to come in haste, but 
 before he could reach her bed-side the patient little wife was 
 gone — gone to her rest — a saintly smile on her wasted face. 
 
 Had a dagger struck him to the heart Eben would not have 
 cried out — he did not then — but the wound was deep never- 
 theless. 
 
 He knew at last how much of happiness his own willful- 
 ness and recklessness had lost him. 
 
 Lucille and Gertrude were for a time inconsolable, and Dr. 
 Gascoigne grieved as only a wifeless old father can when he 
 buries his favorite daughter. 
 
 Uncle Tut took Myra's death almost as much at heart; he 
 understood better than any one except those who were guilty 
 why she died, and it was hard to forgive them. Julia truly re- 
 pented her conduct, and her frivolous nature seemed deepened 
 and softened; whether the change would be life-long none 
 could tell. 
 
IVJIO WERE TO BLAME, Ti 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LUCILLE. 
 
 Her sister's death came with crushing weight upon Lucille, 
 adding another to her own special sorrow which never left her 
 for a moment; that face, those eyes, his presence were with all 
 her waking hours, and at night they haunted her. 
 
 During the first year of the cruel estrangem.ent she had been 
 comforted by Myra's sympathy until, becoming delirious in her 
 sad illness, and then Lucille found that pent-up grief is ten-fold 
 harder to bear; when Myra partially recovered and they could 
 sometimes converse as of old, she had again experienced relief; 
 but now her loved sister was far away in the Great Beyond, 
 and Lucille could speak to no one. Her one resource consisted 
 in the question asked each day — " Any letters for me ? " 
 
 She was almost sure when she had been disappointed more 
 than three hundred and sixty-five timei, that the one letter she 
 had longed to see would never come. She heard frequently 
 from Barry town and of the marriage of one and another of her 
 former mates, and occasional rumors reached her that Henry 
 Armstrong intended taking on the yoke matrimonial; but as 
 none proved true, Lucille continued hoping that sometime she 
 should receive the long looked for letter; or that some day 
 when the stage drove up Henry would be one of the passengers. 
 
 She could not get rid of the idea that he cared for her after 
 all, and finding she did not marry, he would at last know she 
 was true and w^aiting for him; till finally his heart must be 
 touched, and he would come to her; and thus, day by day, she 
 grieved over her lost love, hoping still. 
 
 Outwardly she was calm and cheerful, maidenly pride as- 
 sured this, and when the first intense grief for her sister's death 
 had passed she seemed to the eyes of strangers almost the same 
 bright little Lucille she had been in Barrytown. 
 
 Lovers, even offers of marriage, came in plenty, that is as 
 many as the village and country round could muster, for Lu- 
 cille was one of those rare women, a man looks upon but to 
 love, they would offer themselves in marriage before she even 
 felt acquainted; but she had nothing to bestow upon any one 
 
'".6 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 of them all, and could not understand their feeling towards her, 
 for she avoided giving the slightest encouragement. 
 
 Neither could they comprehend her, always lonely they 
 were sure to imagine an especially tender regard towards them- 
 selves on her part, and their avowal not being reciprocated 
 were sorely disappointed, but she would remain firmly of the 
 same mind yet entirely kind, and the}^ could not be vexed with 
 her. Lucille had that unusual faculty possessed by some beautiful 
 women, of making her repulsed lovers life-long friends, and 
 they estimated her, after the first ebullition of passion had 
 passed away, as a veritable saint whom no man could approach 
 beyond a certain well-defined limit. 
 
 Poor little girl, could they have seen her in the pangs of 
 heart sorrow, walking the floor, wringing her hands, pressing 
 them on the aching head, over the struggling heart, heard her 
 cry out in agony : 
 
 " Henry, oh! Henry my own beloved! when will you 
 come? when will you come? My God! my God! I shall sure- 
 ly die;" then they might have understood why the peerless 
 Lucille was to all unapproachable. 
 
 This one love absorbing her whole being, how could she 
 give aught to another? It was impossible — but instead, she 
 grieved and agonized, enduring stoically — giving no sign. No 
 sign? She thought not, but her old father's love-quickened 
 eye discerned all that was in his daughter's heart. He could 
 not but notice the sudden paleness overspreading her face; upon 
 receiving the answer: "No letter to-day," or if one were 
 handed her, glancing at the superscription, missing the hand- 
 writing she longed to see; nor how eagerly she watched the 
 the passengers alighting from the coach each day, and when 
 Henry was not among them with weary footsteps turning to 
 the seclusion of her own room ; he had seen her stagger, almost 
 fall several times of late before reaching the door. 
 
 Dear old man, life was growing very sorrowful in his de- 
 clining years; he needed a tried and true counsellor, in whom 
 he might confide; such he found in Uncle Tutty Swanson. The 
 more intimately he knew this rough, uncouth man, the less his 
 hesitancy in trusting him. As his heavy burden pressed hard, 
 and he felt unable longer to carry it alone, he told his faithful 
 friend all he could of Lucille's trouble. 
 
 At first Uncle Tut was very angry with that "fool fellow," 
 as he called Henry, then he cooled down and set his wits 
 working to unravel the tangle, but before he got through he 
 
irilO WERE TO BLAME. 79 
 
 found it a task fully his match. When a man or woman un- 
 dertakes to change the edicts of Fate, we won't say but they 
 sometimes accomplish their desires; but if so, it is like command- 
 ing a mountain, "Be thou removed, and cast into the sea," this 
 the Good Book says can be done, "if ye have faith," and Uncle 
 Tut had great faith in God's goodness, and faith in himself. 
 
 Laboring long and patiently, sometimes hopefully, then again 
 despairingly, at his self-appointed task, he would, as he thought, 
 seize the right end of the skein, and proceeding, attempt un- 
 tying the knot, when a power beyond his ken would grasp 
 another, and he would find the net of events snarling tightly 
 in his hand, until suddenly the mysteriously twisted threads 
 slipping away, eluded him altogether. 
 
 And what had seemed at first but a simple misunderstand- 
 ing between young lovers, grew, as the years went by, to be a 
 momentous affair, dragging down and involving these two and 
 many others, in the slimy meshes hidden beneath those slums 
 where political intrigues love to wallow, and in this instance by 
 their mischievous working, came near wrecking a prosperous 
 nation. 
 
 After Myra's funeral, the family resumed the routine of 
 their daily lives undisturbed, aside from the anxiety caused by 
 Lucille's unhappiness. 
 
 As for Eben, whatever he thought, nothing escaped him, 
 but by kindness towards Grandpa Gascoigne and Lucille, and 
 devotion to his children, he proved his regret. From Gertrude 
 he was inseparable, holding her fondly in his lap when he 
 could spare time, looking into her eyes, stroking her bright 
 hair, listening to her ceaseless prattle, thinking how like she was 
 toiler mother. 
 
 Gertrude talked a great deal about her lost Mamma, and 
 Eben liked to hear her. Myra was sadly missed by all, but 
 Aunt Lucille had a philosophy of her own, perhaps not in ac- 
 cordance with the received opinions of those distant times, or 
 indeed as yet of these latter days, which she was able to im- 
 part to the little one comforting both herself and the child. 
 
 Before Myra's release, her mind became preternaturally bril- 
 liant, active, spiritualized, and Lucille thought her sister as near 
 being an angel as humanity can possibly attain on earth, and 
 now as she recalled their conversations about the future, and 
 the life both hoped for in the hereafter, she could scarcely real- 
 ize that she had passed from her side; her presence had so sav- 
 ored of Heaven, the very air of the room she occupied so long 
 
80 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 seemed filled by the balmy breezes from the better land. What 
 wonder if the one left to mourn, believed in the near- approach 
 to us, at times, of departed friends, after they have passed be- 
 hind the veil of death. 
 
 Lucille was obliged to spend much time in Myra's room, 
 which, now that she was gone, was appropriated to the use of 
 herself and the delicate babe; the infant requiring constant care; 
 and there were days when her sister came to her so life-like, 
 she felt she could almost see her, hear her speak, and these 
 wonderful experiences during those months gladdened her heart, 
 steadied her faith, causing her to rest upon the promises of 
 Immortality they corroborated, and the reality of things unseen, 
 as upon a mighty rock, for safety. 
 
 Only for this, Lucille thought she never could have lived 
 through the dreary summer and desolate winter; and for years 
 after, the memory of those days, when she went back to them, 
 fell upon her as a wierd spell. 
 
 While the babe was awake, demanding her care, she could 
 endure the loneliness and sorrow, but wdien the boy slept, or 
 during the long evenings and the still nights, memory goaded 
 without mercy; then Myra's mystic talks would fill her mind, 
 comfort her breaking heart, and she seemed almost to hear her 
 voice, to see her heavenly smile. Ahtiost^ almost, oh! how she 
 longed for the real presence, the actual touch of the dear hands, 
 the living fleshly body to be with her once again. 
 
 But this could not be, no prayer or love would restore the 
 lost one just as she was before the change had taken place; 
 there could be no stepping back to the same conditions; all life 
 7nust go forzvard^ stagnation is actual death; the 07tly death; 
 and there is no such thing as positive standing still in spirit or 
 in matter, thei'efore — there is no death — but alas! when the 
 thin veil intervenes it is as effectual in separating loved ones as 
 the iron bar which cannot be broken, the chasm which cannot 
 be bridged. 
 
 And Lucille, as does every bereaved heart to-day, philoso- 
 phised, and theorized, trying to reason and become reconciled 
 to the inevitable, but, in spite of all, grieving, agonizing, rebel- 
 ling just the same. And to her mind the separation from her 
 lover was quite as effectual, causing the same suffering in kind if 
 not in degree as the death of her sister; only that she believed 
 him to be alive, as wx say, still in the material body, and that 
 some day he would in reality come to her, this was her hope, 
 her solace — this the difference between life and death. 
 
IV//0 WERE TO BLAME. 81 
 
 Lucille had heard nothing for a long time, even incidentally, 
 from Henry, no one who wrote from Barrytown mentioned 
 anything about him, and she had been very uneasy and anxious. 
 Soon after Myra's death, when the blackberries were ripening, 
 she received such an impression she could not shake it off, or 
 divest herself of the idea that some calamity was impending re- 
 lating to herself and Henry and which would separate them yet 
 more completely. 
 
 It came to her in this wise: On a sultry day, the babe taking 
 his afternoon nap slept longer than usual, Lucille too dozed in 
 her chair, the old wooden rocker Myra had brought from 
 Barrytow^n. Suddenly she awoke with the feeling that her sister 
 stood by her side calling her attention to something she wished 
 her to know, and immediately her sorrow came upon her with 
 unwonted force — loneliness at the loss of Myra, intense longing 
 for Henry. 
 
 She had been unusually cheerful during the day, for it 
 seemed to her that at last her loved one was surely coming; but 
 now she had awakened in an agony of apprehension and could 
 not dispel the thought that Henry was going further away even 
 than he had been — a long way off — and the distance widened, 
 the space lengthened into years, until a great gulf yawned be- 
 tween. 
 
 Lucille seemed to herself reaching out after her vanishing 
 idol, trying to span the abyss; at last drawn by an uncontroll- 
 able impulse, she stood upon her feet and with out-stretched 
 arms and beseeching voice, cried aloud: " Henry! Darling! do 
 not go away so far^ come back to me! Come! Co?ne! Come!" 
 and exhausted she sank down, a wonder, a mystery to herself. 
 Recovering from the bewilderment caused by her strange con- 
 dition, and trying to reason, she could think only of one event 
 likely to widen the breach — Henry's marriage — yes, this must 
 be what ailed her; and in some mysterious manner the fact had 
 been conveyed to her mind, her heart. But, as she pondered, 
 less willing was she to consider this the truth, or that Henry 
 had any desire stronger than his w4sh to reach her. 
 
 Then why did he not come? Here was the puzzle, surely 
 he had but to put forth a man's indomitable will and any ob- 
 stacle, however stubborn, must 3'ield. 
 
 Perhaps he was dangerously ill — dying — or dead. Poor 
 Lucille was again in extreme distress, but her sufferings inten- 
 sifying her perceptions, she could not ignore the knowledge 
 obtained that Henr^^ was neither dead, dying or married. The 
 
82 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 estrangement was certainly less than it had been, still she could 
 feel her loved one drifting further away on the current of 
 events though outside his own volition. And now there 
 seemed a real and tangible something that was more than a 
 mere sentiment, coming between them, yes, a slender, delicate, 
 beautiful woman and Henry standing side by side. Nor could 
 she believe it was Myra her own sister who pushed her away 
 beckoning Henry to go with her, until Lucille, trembling with 
 grief, was left standing — alone. 
 
 Dr. Gascoigne came up for a chat with his lonely daughter 
 and to see how the babe was getting on. Finding her in an ex- 
 tremely nervous state, he prescribed valerian to quiet and give 
 better sleep. Throwing her arms about her old father's neck the 
 little woman sobbed as if her heart would break: " Oh! father, 
 father, medicine for the nerves is not what I need; but peace 
 for my heart, rest for my mind!" and the white-haired man 
 who had himself passed through grievous sorrows, wept with 
 her. Full well did he understand that not one of his favorite 
 remedies could reach her ailment. 
 
 "My child, vay poor child" — was all he could say. 
 
 Soon after the remarkable episode of that summer after- 
 noon, Lucille learned that Henry had left Barrytown about this 
 time, going to a place in York-State, for the purpose of attend- 
 ing to some property devised him ; whether he returned she was 
 not informed, and could not under existing circumstances in- 
 quire, what other foreshadowing of events was meant to be 
 conveyed, she received no immediate intimation, but at the last 
 all was made plain. 
 
IVNO WERE TO BLAME, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 UNCLE TUT AXD AUNT DEBBY. 
 
 At the time Myra was taken sick the family of Dr. Gas- 
 coigne had secured the services of Aunt Debby Jones, an ex- 
 cellent but gossippy woman, she assisting with the housework, 
 who will be remembered as the officious friend trying to set 
 matters right between Eben and his wife, in the commence- 
 ment of the trouble, making such a botch of it as to call for re- 
 proof from her usually quiet husband. He, poor man, yielded 
 to the unfortunate climate, dying from malarial fever, the fall of 
 their arrival in Freelawn. 
 
 Aunt Debby remaining with them through the sickness and 
 death of Myra, was regarded by the stricken family as a special 
 providence. She had not failed to discover with those eyes of 
 hers, black and brilliant — they could snap and sparkle too upon 
 occasion — not one bit like Uncle Tut's, nearly as much as had 
 he of the trouble; and Aunt Debby never entirely forgave 
 E ben's neglect of his wife, during the convalescent period of 
 her illness, declaring privately to a dozen or more intimate 
 friends, that "Myra Grieveau might have recovered then, had 
 Eben attended to her instead of spending his time flirting with 
 Mistress Julia Gascoigne;" and when she saw his remorse, said 
 *'it was just good enough for him," 
 
 Many a knowing look had been exchanged between those 
 dull, blue-grey eyes and the snapping black ones, while these 
 things were transpiring; Uncle Tut even condescending to give 
 an occasional chuckle in Aunt Debby's presence, and a few 
 times attempted talking with her, but "law sakes," as she would 
 say, "I couldn't keep my own rattling tongue still long enough 
 • to listen, while he drawled out one of his stammering speeches." 
 
 Dr. Gascoigne surprised them one day when Myra wiis 
 better, soon after the babe was born, trying to converse, and 
 heart-sick as he was, could not stop laughing, though it was 
 the only sense of jollity he had known in months. 
 
 Here is a specimen of what they were saying; "Miss Jo- 
 Jones," began Uncle Tut, "ca-can I ge-get yo-you some kin- 
 kind-" Aunt Debby catching the idea,"Kindling-wood ? Yesif 
 you please, I shall be glad to have vou." 
 
84 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 "We-well Where's th-the-" 
 
 "Ax? You'll find it behind the wood-box. Scat, you cat, 
 there now, get out will you; you're always poking your nose 
 into everything; I declare to it, if you ain't lickin^ your chops 
 now, for all I watch you every minute — scat, get out." And 
 after poor pussy went the irate woman with the broom. 
 
 "Lo-look out, Mi-Miss Jo-Jones, yo-you'll hi-hit-" 
 
 "Hit you, no I won't, if you'll keep out of the way; there 
 now." And bang went the door after the retreating cat, and 
 also Uncle Tut, he, ax in hand, for the needed kindling-wood ; 
 firmly of the opinion he should never he able to keep "Miss 
 Jones" as he called her, quiet long enough to tell how he thought 
 her about the smartest woman he ever met, and had a notion, if 
 she did not object, to try if they two could pull together the 
 remainder of their lives. 
 
 And he continued thinking it over, how he'd like to have 
 her keep house for him, on the claim, through the summer and 
 longer; but as he dared not undertake the job of asking, it hap- 
 pened that finally John and Julia w^ent with him — but this was 
 only for the first summer. 
 
 After her mother's death, Gertrude was a great comfort, 
 and furnished much amusement for them all, with her peculiar 
 ways and odd speeches, her dollies and kittens, which she loved 
 dearly as ever^ managing to have a multiplicity of both. Be- 
 ing old enough now, she might be trusted in Aunt Debby's 
 kitchen, and they were becoming fast friends, although Ger- 
 trude carefully kept her pet cats out of the way as much as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 The hard working woman liked the child, she was so quiet, 
 orderly and winning, "no one could help it," all the neighbors 
 said, and besides Aunt Debby pitied her because she was mother- 
 less, bestowing many a kindness on this account. 
 
 Gertrude, like all little girls, was fond of playing with dough, 
 and would watch patiently while Aunt Debby rolled out what- 
 ever she was making, bread, pies or cookies, w^hen, getting her- 
 own little bread board and rolling-pin she had coaxed Uncle 
 Tut to make for her, climbing into a chair at the end of the 
 table, she would peer up in her face, wath those violet eyes like 
 her mother's, saying in a queer, lisping w^ay: 
 
 " Peathe, Aunt Debby, dive me a 'ittle piece of dough to 
 make a pie wiv." 
 
 No w^oman with a heart could resist her, and Gertrude se- 
 cured many a scrap to roll and muss with. Aunt Debby letting 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 8.> 
 
 her bake and actually eat the brown, dirty lump although she 
 declared "It went agin her stomic;" but, said she, by way of 
 excuse, "that young 'un has away with her as would soften 
 the heart of a stone." 
 
 Besides her cooking accomplishments she was learnmg to 
 sew and make dollies' clothes, and they were tailor-made, too; 
 at any rate manufactured in a tailor's shop; this happy aristo- 
 cratic consummation being thus achieved; Gertrude, spendmg 
 much time in the store for the edification of Grandpa, Papa and 
 herself, saw here different gentlemen; one especially friendly 
 was her fancy, and, being the village tailor, often took her 
 home with him, teaching her to sit cross-legged on his table as 
 he did, and here she would sew contentedly for hours, he 
 threading her needles. 
 
 Years after, when he had become one of the wealthiest men 
 in his section, and Gertrude the most sorrowful women living, 
 meeting in Washington, these two recalled the good times they 
 spent together when she was a wee little girl. 
 
 Diverted by these and other immaterial incidents, our friends 
 soon found the winter had passed and spring come again. * * * 
 While Myra had been sinking away in that quiet chamber, 
 and those left behind were grieving after she was gone, a very 
 different existence was coming to our friends on the claim, one 
 full of activity, some excitement, even danger. 
 
 Mistress Julia was installed as housekeeper, and Uncle Tut 
 and John were busy breaking up the deep prairie soil, using 
 heavy ox-teams instead of horses, and planting in the newly- 
 turned sod potatoes and corn, the first resort of agriculturists 
 in tilling virgin soil; wheat, oats and other products coming 
 after, with the crops adapted to older farms; this, v^ith the 
 building of sheds for one purpose and another, preparations for 
 fencing and the care of the stock, kept the men well occupied; 
 while Julia's dairy and garden filled in her spare time. 
 
 Besides the regular work, one whole side of the claim had 
 to be restaked, and this more than once, for no sooner were they 
 in place than little by little they disappeared. Unaccountably? 
 Well, not exactly. Uncle Tut felt sure how it was, and why 
 the same thing had occurred during the winter. 
 
 The claim being a very desirable one, situated on high, roll- 
 ing prairie, sloping to a nice piece of bottom land near the 
 riv'er, wooded on either side, giving a strip of timber, quite a 
 disideratum, and close by the cabin home was a large spring, 
 from which flowed a clear brook, another rarity; these unusual 
 
86 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 advantages causing a new-comer, a hard, grasping, ugly cus- 
 tomer, to covet his neighbor's possessions; for though there 
 w^as plenty of land to be had for the taking up, such farms as 
 this were far apart. 
 
 Much trQuble was caused in those early days by men who 
 maliciously endeavored to secure choice land already entered. 
 
 A man would honestly* comply with the requirements 
 of the Government that settlers taking land must improve and 
 live on the same, pay his fee, driving stakes to mark the 
 claim, build a cabin, and with his family commence farming 
 in earnest; when something occurring to discourage, sickness or 
 unusual hardship, he would temporarily abandon his new 
 home, as did Uncle Tut. 
 
 This often happened in the fall; having obtained more com- 
 fortable quarters, and likely employment during the winter in the 
 nearest village, intending a return in the spring. If no one re- 
 moved the stakes, took possession of the cs^hm^jufnpedthe clai?n 
 while the rightful owner was absent — all was well — but fre- 
 quently this took place and then trouble followed. 
 
 Or the stakes being partially broken down by accident and 
 neglect, a prospector not finding them, would, by mistake, lay 
 out a claim over on his neighbor's, and then a disputed bound- 
 ary would cause much bitterness. Sometimes dishonestly, from 
 pure avarice, the same thing occurred as in Uncle Tut's case, 
 and on one side of his land he could not keep the line defined, 
 work as he would. 
 
 This new neighbpr had decided upon taking possession of 
 the vacant cabin, when Uncle Tut and party arrived to reoc- 
 cupy, and, coming a day too late, made no effort at concealing 
 his disappointment. 
 
 Being one of those unreasonable persons who are sure to 
 consider themselves aggrieved when the fault is their own, he 
 had been heard more than once to vow vengeance and declare 
 that under the law the whole land belonged to him, as he lived 
 in the cabin during the six months of Uncle Tut's absence; but 
 of this there was no proof, and his assertion was not credited; 
 nevertheless his threats boded mischief, for not unfrequently 
 w^ere lives lost and property destroyed in these contests. 
 
 Meantime John and Uncle Tut possessed their souls in pa- 
 tience, working steadily at the contemplated improvements. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 87 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE PIC-NIC. 
 
 As everything is moving smoothly at present, if not entirely 
 satisfactory, both with our friends in the village and on the 
 claim, at any rate, as we can do nothing to help them, we will 
 go back to Barrytown, which they left nearly two years ago, 
 and ascertain the changes which are taking place there, no less 
 than in the Western home, also tracing the outcome of some 
 unexpected events. 
 
 Dr. Gascoigne has been sadly missed; his place poorly sup- 
 plied by young Dr. Bankson, who came from near Boston to 
 Barrytown, soon after the good Doctor and the Grieveaus had 
 departed for the West. 
 
 The young doctor, possessing money, was of course con- 
 sidered decidedly a better catch than Henry Armstrong, and the 
 wildest of those giddy girls, who had caused Lucille's grievous 
 trouble, deliberately laid siege to the citadel of his affections. 
 Being somewhat of a beauty, and one who could be demure as 
 a saint when she. choose, the gentleman was soon in her toils; 
 they were married in a hurry, and he had all his life before him 
 for leisurely repentance, really deserving a better wife. 
 
 Edward had not sold Myra's snug home when the event 
 occurred, .and Dr. Bankson purchased the cottage, installing his 
 wife therein, expecting many days of comfort and joy to fol- 
 low; but alas, her slatternly ways soon played sad havoc with 
 the appearance of everything inside and around the house. As 
 time passed, dirty, crying children about the front door, broken 
 crockery and rubbish at the back, told the tale of discomfort 
 and waste within. 
 
 Here was a husband who had most excellent cause of com- 
 plaint, here a most unsatisfactory wife and home; as they num- 
 ber but one in the myriads of criss-cross matches thickly 
 scattered throughout the world, we will follow their history no 
 further, introducing them here to show what Henry Armstrong 
 discovered as to the stuff such girls prove to be, and the kind 
 of wives into whicb they grow. 
 
 Every time he passed Dr. Bankson's door, it was to contrast 
 the difference between the motherless daughters of Dr. Gas- 
 
88 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 coigne and the silly girls he had allowed to prejudice him against 
 Lucille, the one he truly loved. 
 
 Jealousy had ailed him, and now as the months, even years, 
 w^ere passing, bringing no tidings of her marriage, or that she 
 was receiving special attention from old or new admirers, he 
 began to realize what a simpleton he had been, and how much 
 of sweetness and devotion foolishly thrown away. 
 
 Although at times his sense of loneliness and loss, the de- 
 sire to see Lucille and take her in his arms, was overpowering, 
 his pride would not let him acknowledge this mistake, at least 
 in writing, but promising himself that after a little, he would 
 go West prospecting, find Lucille, and if she did not resent his 
 unkind treatment, bring her back, or even settle there himself; 
 he would consider the idea. 
 
 Henry's friends noticed he was very uneasy, was getting a 
 touch of the "Western fever," and surmising the old liking for 
 little Lucille Gascoigne had something to answer for, they did 
 not hesitate to banter him accordingly, but soon stopped that, 
 the spot was too sore for careless probing, they found Henry 
 was not a man to be trifled with, though so genial and good 
 natured. 
 
 About this time, the latter part of the summer after the 
 Grieveau party had left Barrytown, as Henry was firmly resolv- 
 ing to go West that very fall, and before he returned see Lucille, 
 he received news of the death of an uncle who had lived in 
 eastern New York, or York State as people used to say; a 
 wealthy man as riches were estimated in those days, and being 
 a bachelor, had left the bulk of his fortune, a few thousand 
 dollars, to the only son of his only sister; Henry must come 
 i?nmediately^ the letter said which had been a month on the 
 wa}^, postage twenty-five cents, and attend to his inheritance, 
 being as some might think, encumbered by the old mother of 
 the legatee, who must be looked after and cared for. 
 
 And thus nothing remained for Henry but to turn his head 
 towards the rising instead of the setting sun. Thus does Fate 
 blow us about as the shuttle-cock — the battle-dore, at the mercy 
 of every breeze; or is it Providence directing our devious course? 
 Let us choose the latter belief, it will make us happier — per- 
 haps better. 
 
 And Henry's pill was not so hard to swallow as those un- 
 gilded or not even sugar-coated; his western trip must plainly 
 be deferred; but when he did go he could establish himself to 
 his mind or come back, as he chose; perhaps he'd remain, select 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 89 
 
 a suitable location, lay out a town and call it by the respectable 
 old name of Armstong. 
 
 Disappointed, but not altogether discomfitted, Henry made 
 preparations for turning squarely around and away from the 
 road his inclination prompted him to take. 
 
 Waiting Lucille! I fear your heart will break before he 
 comes. 
 
 Now that he had inherited a fortune, Henry Armstrong was 
 the "' Lion " of the village, and several of those same wild girls 
 tried to fix their fangs upon his heart with utmost endeavor; 
 not accomplishing their purpose, for there was more trans- 
 parency than wisdom m their scheming^ 
 
 It was Mr. Armstrong, and Mr. Armstrong, and now please 
 do Air. Ar7}istrong do this, and come here, and go there, and 
 invitation to tea, to luncheon, to parties, to pic-nics, and adula- 
 tion, and flattery, and flumery until he was sick with disgust, 
 annoyed beyond measure from attentions he knew to be heart- 
 less. 
 
 All this only brought sincere, quiet Lucille^ with her honest 
 affection and modest ways, more vividly before him, and he 
 realized how deeply in love he had been all along and that the 
 love was growing now day by day. 
 
 Occupied with preparations for leaving Barrytown not to 
 return again, having concluded to go directly west from Ben- 
 tonville, his new home, when he had arranged his business 
 there; busy as he found himself, Lucille was before him every 
 waking moment, and at night she came to him in dreams. 
 
 How he longed to see her and tell her of his sorrow because 
 of the grief he knew he had caused her; but not even with the 
 addition of remorse did he suffer as she; a man's nature is so 
 different from a woman's. With her, love is all — with him, 
 only an incident; often multiplied, and so near alike in intensity 
 he is puzzled to know, dear soul, which it shall be, Mary or 
 Jennie. 
 
 And is it not always as with Henry ? Was it not really a 
 question of his own determination? Could he not go, or at 
 least communicate with her whenever he strongly willed to do 
 so? No social requirements held hi?}i to a line which could not 
 be overstepped, and it may well be doubted whether any man 
 fails to win a woman whom he truly loves if he sets himself 
 about the task, unless another already occupies her heart. 
 Women so need sympathy and protection. 
 
 Although Henry had been jealous of wdiat he believed Lu- 
 
90 THE STALWART S; OR, 
 
 cille's want of appreciation, and the thought did occasionally 
 obtrude itself that someone else might secure her affection, yet 
 strangely enough his faith in her steadfastness grew with time. 
 
 The only way to solve the whole problem was to get away 
 from Barrytown and proceed on his eastern journey at once. 
 
 As the time of leave-taking drew near Henry's friends, the 
 aforesaid young ladies, among others, planned a picnic in honor 
 of his departure — a sort of "good-bye-for-luck " affair. 
 
 Some two or three of the most inveterate flirts the village 
 contained, those who upon approaching the uncertain line divid- 
 ing young ladyhood from old maidenhood, were weighing and 
 counting their last chances; grasping desperately after every 
 stray ticket in the matrimonial lottery, had determined if possi- 
 ble to secure something tangible and decisive before he left 
 them, from the handsome, gallant and very desirable Mr. 
 Armstrong now that he was to have property; and they hoped 
 by their bewitching toilets, fascinating manners and the oppor- 
 tunities for unwonted freedom to succeed upon this occasion. 
 They commenced, each trying for a special invitation to accom- 
 pany Mr. Armstrong, but he preferred just going along with 
 the crowd"; and besides, his mother required close attention, for 
 this was to be a turning out of the whole village, both old and 
 young, seeking an afternoon of enjoyment. 
 
 As the blackberries were ripe in the woods on the hill-sides 
 they proposed making a profitable excursion of it also, and, lock- 
 ing up the houses, leaving a few who were infirm, too old or 
 young for the jaunt. With these exceptions the whole town 
 piled into vehicles of every description, drawn by any sort of a 
 horse, and started for the deep green woods, carrying pails and 
 baskets for the ripe, luscious berries, and jugs of cool milk from 
 the cellars, and jellies, preserves, and pickles, and hams boiled, 
 chickens fried, and pies of every description; and sweet cakes, 
 caraway cakes and doughnuts; and cheese, sage-cheese and 
 cream cheese, dried-beef and every known kind of bread; hop 
 yeast bread, emptins bread, salt rising bread, every style except 
 bakers' bread, the ever available relief of modern housewives; 
 and biscuits from the raised dough, and delicious, tender, tooth- 
 some, oldfashioned biscuits of generous proportions, made with 
 sour cream and saleratus, such as only our grandmothers could 
 mould — a lost art — and eaten on them, genuine maple syrup 
 and white clover honey, made by the real bees, not the article 
 manufactured from glucose, sorghum and the like. All this 
 for luncheon in the woods, substantial and bountiful truly, and 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 91 
 
 the people were as old-fashioned and comfortable as the 
 edibles. 
 
 A merrier party seldom gathered, than rode over the hills 
 and along the edge of romantic ravines, on that summer day, 
 reaching the heavy woods by the river, a few miles from the 
 town, before noon. 
 
 The Rev. Father Stebbins was along, the recipient of ex- 
 treme attention, and young Dr. Bankson with his pretty wife; 
 village Pastor and Doctor, honored guests, dividing privileges 
 with Mr. Armstrong, the hero of the hour. 
 
 Henry had placed his mother in their roomy rockawa}-, 
 drawn by faithful old Charley, with a dear friend of hers on 
 the broad, easy, back seat, and when all were ready for the 
 starting, found himselj squeezed in between two of the afore- 
 said young ladies; how they came to be there, he never knew, 
 but they did. 
 
 One, a dark beauty gorgeous in furbelowed pink calico, the 
 other, a cross between a blonde and brunette with no color hair, 
 dingy complexion, and eyes neither blue, brown nor honest 
 grey, with no freshness or decided color about her, yet exhibit- 
 ing the imbecility of attiring herself in solid cottony white, 
 without one bit of filminess or airiness of texture to redeem the 
 unfortunate selection; the only pleasing item about their cos- 
 tumes or appearance, being the rather good looking necks and 
 arms possessed by these healthy country girls, displayed to ad- 
 vantage in the low-necked and short-sleeved dresses universally 
 worn by all females in those days, whether babes, misses, young 
 ladies, even married women of mature years, on all occasions; 
 a shawl, cape or m.antle added for out-door protection. 
 
 A fashion, happily for the health of the race, not mention- 
 ing quite chaste manners, long since abolished, unless recent 
 innovation be an attempted revival by the recherche select few. 
 
 But then everybody wore them, that is all who aspired to be 
 anybody^ as the distinctive mark of a gentleman must be his 
 black suit, silk hat and uncomfortable, high, stiff stock encasing 
 his neck; the world has certainly moved on in these regards. 
 
 Henry Armstrong enjoyed his ride? Well, yes, he was at 
 least amused. 
 
 On one side being entertained by Miss Amanda with squeak- 
 ing voice pitched in the highest treble: 
 
 "Now, Henry, let me drive, do; I know how, see if I don't," 
 and taking the reins in each hand, woman fashion, slapping first 
 one and then the other on the back of the patient animal, and 
 
93 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 producing a peculiar noise from her mouth, such as oniy a fe- 
 male devoid of horse lore, ever essayed, with an occasional 
 "git up, there novs^." 'Manda imagined she was urging on the 
 slack jog-trot of the old horse; the fact being Charley drove 
 himself, as does many a human drudge, ganging his own gait, 
 while some one carrying the whip and holding the lines fancies 
 by this arrangement every impulse and movement is controlled. 
 "Get up," squeaked 'Manda, until, as the horse was trotting 
 leisurely down hill, she dropped both lines and whip under 
 Charley's feet, and then screamed. 
 
 '^Whoa !" called Henry composedly but decisively. Instantly 
 the docile creature stopped still although the carriage was crowd- 
 ing on his heels. 
 
 Out jumped Henry, picking up the lost articles, and patting 
 the good horse affectionately on the neck, giving his nose a lit- 
 tle stroke or two by way of reward for good behavior, think- 
 ing the while, how much more knowing and companionable 
 most horses are than some girls. 
 
 'Manda did not again obtrude her accomplishments upon his 
 attention. 
 
 While she had been trying to drive. Miss Mollie on the 
 other side of the much enduring Henry, was lisping soft com- 
 pliments into his ear. 
 
 "How much better you do look Henry, since you have had 
 your hair cut for the warm weather. I like to see a man with 
 short, curly hair; Jim Smith's hair is so long and straight, such 
 a mean color, too; I never could bear Jim Smith, anyway." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know, Mollie," answered Henry, *'Jim is a good 
 fellow if he isn't very handsome." 
 
 Miss Mollie was glad a few years after to take Jim Smith 
 "for better or for worse." 
 
 Laughing and chatting as they went, talking about nothing 
 at all, they soon reached the spring in the woods, at the foot of 
 a high hill with over-hanging rocks, near where the black-ber- 
 ries grew in plenty. 
 
 The company alighting, unloaded, tied the horses and pre- 
 pared for luncheon, boys bringing water from the gurgling spring, 
 men making fires from brush and dry leaves, that the women 
 might boil the tea and coffee they had provided. A cloth was 
 spread here and there, and a few grouping about each impromptu 
 repast, all hastened to refresh themselves before commencing 
 the real object of the day — berry-picking — and possibly too, 
 love-making. 
 
U7/0 WERE TO BLAME 93 
 
 When they had eaten their fill, everything was packed care- 
 fully away, and leaving those disinclined for fatigue in charge 
 of the wagons and teams, the workers gathered about anv 
 heavily laden bush they encountered, and commenced in earnest, 
 each intent upon surpassing the others. 
 
 Gradually, and possibly prepense, the groups dwindled to 
 three or four in a place, as a new bush would be discovered. 
 Eventually, the whole party paired off in twos, for there were 
 lovers of every age and stage of development; little cupids of 
 seven summers or less, and those stirred by the sacred fires at 
 seventy years of age; there were wee ones, just commencing 
 to twitter, others contentedly assured, those soon to be united 
 in wedlock, somey^-f lovers stilly though year^ had intervened 
 since they had entered the holy bonds of matrimony ; every one 
 a lover of somebody. 
 
 Such was life in the olden times, and human nature is un- 
 changed to-day. 
 
 The two young ladies who by some strategy rode in Henry's 
 carriage, each used their practiced wiles in the effort to draw 
 him away from the company, but he proved in no mood for be- 
 ing enticed; others tried the same plan, but his mind was fixed 
 upon one far away, and he could not, flirt that he had been, in- 
 terest himself in any one else, and in spite of all inducements, 
 just stayed by his mother and her friend the live-long day. 
 
 The picnic was, to Henry, decidedly tiresome though con- 
 trived in his honor, but like all mundane events, it came to an 
 end at last, as the earth revolving and the sun disappearing, re- 
 minded them of night and home. When they were arranging 
 for the return, Father Stebbins came forward leading by the 
 hand a timid young Miss, and accosting Henry, said, "Allow 
 me Mr. Armstrong, to present my niece. Miss Efiie Stebbins. 
 She arrived only last evening from my brother's, who lives south 
 of Barrytown, and as she leaves by the same stage which I 
 suppose you take to-morrow, for her home in Bentonville, I beg 
 you will act as her escort, knowing we may securely trust her 
 in your care." 
 
 "Certainly, Father Stebbins, I shall be most happy to ren- 
 der the young lady any service in my power, and doubt not she 
 will require all I can bestow, ere we reach our destination, for 
 the journey is long and tiresome. If you wish I will order the 
 morning stage for her to-morrow at 7 o'clock." 
 
 Neither of the three suspected that Destiny was playing a 
 trump; but it was even so, and this was partly, though not the 
 
94 THE STALWARTS; OR. 
 
 whole by any means, of the trouble which impressed Lucille 
 that summer afternoon, hundreds of miles away, dozing in 
 Myra's old arm chair, woi'ked upon by U7ikno'von forces^ seeing 
 visio7is of the present^ led into futurity. 
 
 The next morning saw Henry and Miss Stebbins starting by 
 stage towards Detroit, where they were to take the boat for Buf- 
 falo and Erie, and thence proceed by the famous canal to the end 
 of their journey. The quickest time they could hope to make 
 would consume fully three weeks, and provision had been made 
 for the comfort of each, by friends stowing away in their bag- 
 gage, the requisites for any emergency they could imagine. 
 
 Such extensive preparations were necessary in those days, 
 people delaying^or weeks, that new suits, linen, stockings, shoes 
 might be manufactured for the occasion, yourneys wei-e eve?zts', 
 now at a moment's notice we start with a change of clothing, 
 and man's best friend, a well filled purse, traveling round the 
 world. 
 
 After a month or more of anticipation, without unusual in- 
 cident, unless we call the placing of a young girl in the care of 
 a man not many years her senior for so long a time, out of the 
 ordinary course of propriety, Henry Armstrong arrived with 
 his little companion one sunny afternoon in September, at the 
 door of his dead uncle's homestead, and, as Effie knew the 
 family, both were cordially greeted by the aged Grandmother, 
 overjoyed at Henry's coming. She had been quite a long time 
 dependent upon a young niece for care and company, assisted 
 by a man named Cronksey, who, living with her son, attending 
 to his business during the illness, had after his death continued 
 looking to the affairs of the estate; which now, with the respon- 
 sibility of providing for the old lady, belonged to Henry; he, 
 finding the niece tidy, capable and kind, the man competent 
 and shrewd, retained them in his service, little thinking the in- 
 fluence this decision would have upon his whole after life. 
 
 Besides the farm, his uncle had left many matters unsettled, 
 requiring attention all the winter following at least, if Henry 
 would make the most of his patrimony; there was no alternative, 
 he must remain in Bentonville instead of going west in the fall 
 as he had intended. 
 
 Sorrowing Lucille, how tedious and dreary the time will 
 seem to you before he comes. 
 
 If the winter after Myra's death dragged wearily to Lucille 
 so also did it to Henry; and when reminded by the robin's first 
 song, the running brooks of the hillsides fed by the melting 
 
iy//0 WERE TO BLAME. 95 
 
 snow and ice of the uplands, and the few blades of bright ver- 
 dure appearing here and there in the warm nooks, of the near 
 approach of spring^, his thoughts turned more impatiently than 
 ever towards her western home. 
 
 Other matters of business being arranged he had decided 
 upon leaving his uncle's old mother in undisturbed possession 
 of the homestead during her life, in charge of the man Cronk- 
 sey — the niece acting as housekeeper — at least while he prose- 
 cuted his contemplated trip to the new and distant country so 
 often discussed. He had become acquainted in the course of 
 the winter, through manifold transactions, with several eastern 
 men commanding capital, and the subject of going west, invest- 
 ing some money, and perhaps laying out a town had been 
 talked of between them. 
 
 The "Western fever," instead of abating, seemed more 
 wide-spread than ever, the fact being that a financial panic was 
 imminent, and many beginning to feel the premonitions, were un- 
 easily endeavoring to better their condition. 
 
 To be sure, " going west " had not yet come to be regarded 
 a panacea for all the ills which the renowned advice of the 
 lamented Horace Greeley afterwards suggested; but, neverthe- 
 less, was then considered quite the thing for young men or 
 those wishing from any cause to improve their circumstances. 
 
 Long-headed, calculating men, were constantly going out 
 prospecting, taking up quarter sections in good localities, laying 
 out towns and starting settlements. 
 
 Persons with even a small amount of capital and sufficient 
 enterprise, could from the start draw some of the best people 
 of older communities w^ith them. 
 
 Early in the spring Henry inaugurated such an expedition, 
 and a half dozen or more formed a party whose destination was 
 a short distance beyond Freelawn; though he carefully avoided 
 mentioning a further interest in its inhabitants than would be 
 indicated by the information that a number of his Barrytown 
 friends had gone there, and quite likely he might stop a day in 
 passing were circumstances favorable. Far was it from his in- 
 tention that any should suspect a tender regard on his part 
 towards anyone in that quarter, until he was sure how Lucille 
 would receive him. She misfht be married for augrht he knew. 
 Information was transmitted slowly in those days, and scarcely 
 anything had come to him except that of Myra's death, and 
 this only casually; but the thought of losing Lucille now that 
 he was certain of his own feeling, the fear that she might al- 
 
96 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 ready belong to another made him sick at heart, and he promis- 
 ed himself, after the party accomplished the end for which they 
 had organized, he would contrive some excuse for leaving 
 them and return by way of Freelawn, 
 
 What a circuitous route it seemed for reaching Lucille. 
 Now his mind was settled he was impatient of delay. Steam 
 or compressed air would not be too swift in these days for so 
 ardent a lover. 
 
 But Henry must content himself with a mode of travel like 
 the pace of a snail; first the Erie Canal to be traversed, horses 
 drawing the boats along a path on the brink; then proceeding 
 in the cumbersome stage-coach for weeks over roads rough, 
 often muddy — going always slowly — the monotony broken 
 only w^hen in due time the Lakes were reached, the party cross- 
 ing Lake Michigan, as did our friends from Barrytown before 
 them, and also stopping a short time in Chicago. This won- 
 derful town had made rapid strides even since the Grieveaus 
 and Gascoignes passed through; but to Henry it contained 
 nothing of interest, and remaining over night, taking the morn- 
 ing stage, he pushed on, finding the remainder of the journey 
 especially tedious and unpleasant. When once seated in the 
 stage there was no relief for cramped limbs and aching head, 
 except as they waited for meals or to water the horses. Should 
 any desire they rested by night at the taverns along the road, 
 but many proceeded without interruption. From day to day 
 new passengers were taken up, others dropped; and as they 
 traveled on all were thumped about in a fearful fashion; shaken 
 up inside the vehicle like scraps of tin in a baby's rattle-box, 
 furnishing an abundance of exercise. 
 
 Fortunately there were no hills, only a gradual rise and de- 
 scent now and then over a bit of rolling prairie; but pitch-holes 
 and mud-holes were often encountered into which the horses 
 w^ould sink, and the stage bounce, the passengers being jerked off 
 their seats into each other's laps, then again coming up stand- 
 ing, jamming their already sorely abused heads against the roof, 
 as the top was called. 
 
 A trip by stage was exciting, tiresome and even dangerous 
 when the road was rough or the driver had taken a drop too 
 much of stimulants, and would crack his long whip over the 
 horses with a flourish, in his endeavor to make a stir in the 
 world. 
 
 The passengers were entirely at his mercy as he well knew, 
 feeling his importance hugely. 
 
II //O UEKE TO BLAME. 
 
 S7 
 
 Sweanng at the horses and the road, with cracking whip 
 loud tooting horn and the bouncing, thumping, rattHng stacJj 
 coach he managed to make more commotion and fuss, as th?v 
 passed along at the rate of five or six miles an hour, with ten 
 or twelve passengers and a trunk or two, than forty heavily 
 laden cars drawn by resistless force do now-a-days 
 
 In one mstance we have much ado and very small results; 
 in the other, great achievement with little noise or pretension. 
 Ihus the world progresses, opportunity coming to all, when 
 the fortunate circumstance presents, wisdom discerning, speed- 
 ily acting, reaps the rewards; though Omnipotent Power will 
 not do all for a man, he must himself see and execute, working 
 out his own salvation. ^ 
 
 Opportunity came to Eben when he might have straight- 
 ened the tangled thread of his life, and saved llisaster and mVch 
 sorrow but he failed to perceive the crisis, until the time had 
 passed for administering a remedy. Opportunity is coming to 
 
 w^f^;;:ss;r'^ '^ ^^^^^ ^'-^'^ ^-' ^^^^^^ --' ^^ 
 
98 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 JULES. 
 
 The summer was following close upon the spring, the in- 
 creased heat acting upon the swamps and low boggy ground 
 of the prairies and wood-bordered streams, which had overflow- 
 ed their banks early in the season, covering the country for miles 
 on either side with water, besides other discomforts causing 
 malarial fever, ague and dangerous sickness, most liable to 
 attack the weak and disheartened; for this reason Lucille's 
 friends were becoming very anxious because of her failing 
 health. 
 
 Although keeping up bravely since Myra's death, now that 
 the hot weather was again becoming intense, she showed un- 
 mistakable signs of wearing out, and her symptoms were ag- 
 gravated by the constant care bestowed upon the little boy. He 
 was over a year old, requiring more attention than is usually 
 necessary with children of that age, because of his delicate con- 
 stitution, and having peculiarities, the result of the mother's 
 condition shortly before his birth; especially connected with the 
 brain fever from which she had suffered, affecting the child in 
 such a manner as to render him extremely nervous, irritable and 
 troublesome. 
 
 He was bright enough, even too quick in understanding for 
 one of his age, but uneasy, restless, dissatisfied, though affection- 
 ate and not diflicult to control, unless when he fixed his mmd 
 upon attaining something desired, and then his persistency was 
 phenomenal, seeming absolutely without calculation as to con- 
 sequences, leading him always into trouble, unheard of predic- 
 aments and dangerous places. 
 
 He had, before a year old, enough hair-breadth escapes to 
 prove conclusively he was not born to die of an accident, and 
 he surely came through the ailments of infancy wonderfully 
 well for a child not naturally strong; the doctors said soon after 
 his birth that he inherited a tendency to consumption, for he 
 had coughed incessantly from the first, and they fully expected 
 him to die, but he disappointed them and lived; in spite of every 
 tiling which happened, the poor little fellow held to life with 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 99 
 
 the grip of Fate, the pertinacity of destiny. Was it Fate, was 
 it destiny? 
 
 Be that as it may, the whole family watched and tended him 
 untiringly for Myra's sake; at last they ceased to fear he 
 would die, and instead came to think nothing would kill him, 
 but as the natural result of continual solicitude their hearts were 
 wrapped up in the welfare of the-unfortunate, motherless babe, 
 and it was plainly seen that this in addition to her other troubles, 
 was wearing sadly upon his Aunt Lucille. 
 
 Mother Brewster declared she must have a change. Her 
 father and Uncle Tut knew that more than the oversight and 
 worry with the child was telling upon her, but they kept their 
 own counsel. 
 
 Sad eyed, wearily she watched for the incoming Eastern 
 stage, and the opening of the mail. 
 
 As the hour arrived she would arrange her hair unlike any 
 one else, but becoming to her sweet face, don the neat gown, 
 displaying by its very simplicity, her trim, round, perfectly 
 developed figure to the best advantage ; the small, white throat 
 rising from the close collar, bearing the symmetrical head as a 
 drooping flower on its stalk; for Lucille tried to hide her tell- 
 tale face from view, but the bowed head and shaded eyes only 
 said the story plainer. 
 
 Day after day, as the time drew near for the expected stage, 
 Lucille was ready, herself, and the pleasant Western home, wild 
 branches, vines and flowers, wherever a place could be found 
 for decoration; every room and article in perfect oxA^x^Jor pos- 
 sibly Henry 7night co??ie at last. 
 
 Patiently, with heart full of love and trust, hoping against 
 all past experience, the little woman looked eagerly forward to 
 the arrival of the stage, but when the rattle and flourish sub- 
 sided, and she neither saw Henry or received any message from 
 him, prostrated with grief, broken-hearted, she would get away 
 to her own room, avoiding the notice of those who loved her, 
 and, alone, give way to emotion uncontrollable; then, after a 
 time recovering, go about her duties quietly as before. 
 
 But such a life as this was past human endurance and could 
 not last much longer, they all understood the trouble now, and 
 grew to be very considerate. When she had experienced her 
 daily disappointment and gone away grieving by herself, one 
 of the family would come up softly with the boy or Gertrude 
 as an excuse, and divert her attention. 
 
 Eben was kinder than ever, often contriving a ride for her 
 
100 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 and the children, sometimes he would accompany them; but 
 Lucille being an accomplished horse-woman, preferred holding 
 the reins herself, as she found the drive more exhilarating. 
 Many a pleasant jaunt they had, and this recreation was of 
 much benefit; but all the efforts of her friends could not restore 
 her feeble strength. Nature asserted itself at last and Lucille's 
 health gave way. After consulting together in her behalf, the 
 unanimous decision of the family was that she must go out to 
 the farm for a while. Her consent could only be obtained by 
 insisting that the boy should have a taste of country living and 
 country air; the atmosphere of the little town situated on the 
 sluggish stream being very different from the sweeping breeze 
 of the rolling prairie where Uncle Tut had located his claim ; 
 and the cool spring water was wonderfully invigorating, not 
 mentioning the foamy milk fresh from the sleek, contented 
 cows; even this, they all declared, was better than that from 
 their own, because Julia's cows had free access to the brook flow- 
 ing from the famous spring. All these enticements prevailed, 
 and Lucille concluded to go for a few weeks; ashamed to own 
 the only comfort in life for her, consisted in watching the daily 
 arrival of the eastern stage; but she was sorely tried at tearing 
 herself away from the place, her own chamber window, where 
 she should see Henry the instant he came — if he ever came! 
 She was beginning at last to entertain this view of the case, and 
 to let the thought obtrude occasionally upon her sick heart, that 
 possibly after all, Henry might. not come — but she was too 
 weak — she dared not dwell upon it for more than a moment, and 
 drove it away so soon as it came to her mind. She still believed 
 that some time Henry would surely come, she was certain he 
 did love her once dearly, and could not understand how love 
 should entirely die out, even from the heart of a man, but in 
 her sorrow would cry beseechingly: " Why are men so fickle? 
 Why do they wreck the lives of those whose love is constant 
 and pure? " 
 
 Dear, tormented little woman, sadly was a change needed, 
 and the very next morning after she agreed to make the visit, 
 Eben brought the spring wagon to the door in good time, that 
 they might accomplish their short journey before the noon 
 meal. 
 
 Lucille had been over to the farm since her brother lived 
 there several times, and the pleasant views stretching as far as 
 the eye could reach, spreading before and around them, from 
 the summit of each rise in the land over which they were driv- 
 
117/0 WERE TO BLAME. 101 
 
 ing, was not new to her; but the lovely expanse of picturesque 
 greenness, and the fresh morning air, were cheering and restful 
 to her feeble body and fainting heart. 
 
 Upon their arrival all made haste to welcome them; the 
 really kind-hearted Julia stirring busily about, prepared a com- 
 fortable dinner of the best the place afforded. 
 
 Brother John seemed a different man now that he had re- 
 covered from the effects of dissipation; Julia acting the part of 
 a true wife so far as she was capable. 
 
 His friends had advised him to remain away from the village 
 and temptation, and thus it happened he had not seen his sister 
 during the time she was visibly failing. 
 
 Dr. Gascoigne had been out a few days before, telling them 
 what he surmised of Lucille's trouble; but John was not pre- 
 pared for the recent change in her appearance, she looked like 
 a drooping flower, so weak and sad, yet patient and lovely. 
 The strong western farmer took his little sister in his arms and 
 burst into tears, his honest heart throbbing w^ith indignation at 
 all she must have suffered. He was sure she did not deserve 
 this sorrow, for Lucille w^as not one to be unreasonable with a 
 lover. Henry Armstrong must have turned from his sweet, 
 lovmg sister because of mere fickleness, and this devoted brother 
 thought of pistols and horse-whips; he'd teach the good-for- 
 nothing fellow to trifle w^ith a woman's affections if he ever had 
 a chance at him ; but, strangely enough, when the opportunity 
 was unexpectedly presented, John failed to perceive it or that 
 villainous Fate looking over his shoulder chuckling. 
 
 After Julia's well-cooked dinner was disposed of, Eben made 
 ready for his return. 
 
 Julia must needs send for Aunt Debby and Grandma Brew- 
 ster a roll of her choicest butter, and some fresh wild straw- 
 berries, which she had gathered that morning for preserving. 
 John brought a dear little kitten for Gertrude; Uncle Tut in- 
 sisted on providing a pair of young banties for her, and a magnifi- 
 cent shanghai for Grandpa Gascoigne. 
 
 Pleasant good byes were said, and having innumerable mes- 
 sages intrusted to him which he forgot before turning the lane 
 into the road, Eben drove away; Julia proceeding to install 
 Lucille in the neat room reserved for her adjoining the sitting 
 room. 
 
 The fresh, white curtains, edged with dainty ruffles, at the 
 window; the half-circle toilet table placed under the old-fashion- 
 ed mirror with its gilded frame, which had been handed down 
 
102 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 from mother to daughter for generations, was of home manu- 
 facture, and finished with the same cool looking, white ruffled 
 drapery; the clean bed, the comfortable chair, which Julia with 
 John's help had made from an old flour barrel, cutting it down 
 the right height, fitting in the head for the seat, leaving half 
 still uncut for the back, covering all with pretty chintz ; with 
 these simple articles Julia had neatly and ingeniously furnished, 
 — and rendered her guest's room very inviting. 
 
 In this retreat, while Julia looked after the boy, Lucille 
 rested, pondered, dozed, finally slept and dreamed. Dreamed 
 that Henry came and looked at her with the old love-light in 
 his eyes, that a dark, dreary shadow passed between, and then, 
 Henry turning away — she saw him no more forever. With a 
 start she awoke to find herself prostrated, almost fainting with 
 the heat of the summer's day; and the sad memories stirred by 
 her dream, did not serve to strengthen her. 
 
 They all realized how weak she was, and great her need of 
 help. John especially exerted himself for his sister's entertain- 
 ment, taking her that very afternoon when the sun was low 
 and the evening breeze gathering, to the spring, where they 
 had built a dairy house for the milk and cream and butter, of 
 which Julia was justly proud. 
 
 Lucille enjoyed watching her strain and set the milk as she 
 brought It foaming, drawn by her own hands from the gentle 
 cows, John and Uncle Tut doing their share with the hard milk- 
 ers; afterwards when her strength allowed Lucille assisted in the 
 care of the dairy, skimming the luscious cream into the cool, 
 stone jars placed on the pebbly bottom of the running brook, 
 where every article needed for the milk and cream and butter, 
 must be rinsed immediately when used. 
 
 Lucille also interested herself in the cows themselves for 
 their own sakes, as well as the products yielded. Each of the 
 family had their special favorite in the herd, and she soon learn- 
 ed their names and peculiarities. They were not what are call- 
 ed high-bred, five thousand dollar cows, in the ownership of 
 which fashionable city dames sometimes indulge as well as 
 fancy farmers; but just ordinary cows, brindled, white, spotted, 
 and red, with curved, crooked or crumpled horns, sometimes no 
 horns at all, "mooley cows" they called them. But Julia's 
 cows were well pastured, kindly treated, and with the pure 
 spring water to drink their fill, winter and summer, what won- 
 der with such cows, and facilities for the manufacture of their 
 rich product into golden butter and choice cheese, if Julia Gas- 
 
WJ/O WERE TO BLAME. 108 
 
 coigne's dairy was famed far and near. And she never scrimp- 
 ed her family of cream either. Cows were cheap, pasturts 
 broad, the butter market overstocked, transportation impossible, 
 and cream was freely used in many ways long since forgotten, 
 which an epicure might envy. The white, mealy potatoes when 
 baked, spread with thick cream instead of butter, with the ad- 
 dition of a" little salt, could not be surpassed ; and they had cream 
 gravy for the crisp, sweet, fried* pork, corn fed and healthy ; 
 with tender chickens fried as only southern or western house- 
 wives know how, on lettuce fresh from Julia's well tended 
 garden; of course on all berries ni season; as for green peas 
 and string beans picked with the dew on the vines and served 
 with plenty of rich cream, what could be more delicious? 
 
 Certainly there was some compensation in the prairie home, 
 for all they had left with so much regret two years before in 
 Barrytown. Everything grew" thriftily in the black virgm loam, 
 there was enough and to spare, so much land to be had for the 
 taking up they could not cultivate it all even should natural 
 avarice prompt, and this was not a trait of these early settlers. 
 Their life on those vast prairies broadened their hearts, making 
 them generous and hospitable. Much of the same spirit has 
 descended to their children. A man or woman growing up in 
 the West with a stingy, contracted soul, must have inherited 
 these qualities from some away-down-east Yankee, who lived 
 where they had to raise their crops between the stones, on the 
 side of a hill at a slant of forty-five degrees. No wonder they 
 count the beans. 
 
 Besides the spring, the dairy and the garden, Lucille was 
 greatly pleased with the poultry which Julia had raised; turkeys, 
 ducks, geese and no end of chickens. 
 
 Every morning and evening the two women, accornpanied 
 by little Jules, as they had named Myra's boy, would scatter 
 corn and oats for them, not forgetting the nice pan of wet meal 
 for the young broods, the callow turkeys, ducks and goslings, 
 and for the little chicks. 
 
 Jules felt himself quite a man, now that he was allowed to 
 run about out of doors, and they no longer called him the baby, 
 and would fill his blue checked apron with corn and oats, spill- 
 ing nearly all before he reached the barn-yard, but tossing what 
 remained gleefully in his now chubby hands, jumping up and 
 down, yelling with delight to see the eager crowd picking up 
 the kernels. Partly too, with fear, when the great cocks flap- 
 ped their wings and crowed ; when the ducks and geese came 
 
104 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 with their clatter, clatter, squak, squak, and when the old tur- 
 key-cocks streached their hideous red and blue necks, spreading 
 their enormous wings and tails, strutting about with their ugly 
 gobble, gobble, gobble, the little fellow would run screaming 
 and hide his face in Aunt Lucille's apron. But next time he was 
 just as eager to go with them, when the poultry were to be fed. 
 
 Though dismayed, not conquered; though frightened, not 
 overcome; a persistency which became a predominant character- 
 istic as he grew to maturity. 
 
 All this diversion, change of surroundings, and the pleasant 
 occupation, took Lucille's mind in some degree from her trouble. 
 Brother John and Uncle Tut were fond of children, and look- 
 ed after the boy when they could do so without interfering with 
 their work. Soon Jules would stay with no one else, if he had 
 his way. Lucille found this a relief to her overtasked strength, 
 which she hardly realized the need of until the change came. 
 The diet furnished by Julia must have nourished one less able 
 to assimilate, and soon from these combining causes, Lu- 
 cille's friends saw, with extreme gratification, that she was be- 
 ginning to improve in health — really gaining flesh, and looking 
 somewhat "like the plump little sister of old," John said txult- 
 ingly. 
 
 Jules, too, was enjoying his visit; there were so many ways 
 for him to get hurt or into mischief at home, he had been kept 
 most of the time in Aunt Lucille's room, and he now more fully 
 appreciated his freedom. 
 
 He had not been allowed to run in the store or the street, 
 for they could never keep things out of his reach in the store, 
 and small as the town was occasional teams were passing, and, 
 if in the street, he was sure to be under the wheels. 
 
 Aunt Debby would not have him in the kitchen, she de- 
 clared " he was worse than the cat," and she came near killing 
 her a dozen times a day; no indeed, you may be sure Aunt 
 Debby would not be bothered with a "young 'un" — she was too 
 much of a " worker and driver " for such nonsense as coddling 
 children or petting cats; even Gertrude's kittens were continu- 
 ally disappearing, she managing to supply the place of each as 
 they died or strayed away. As for poor little mischievous Jules, 
 he had not yet developed the winning ways necessary to con- 
 quer Aunt Debby. 
 
 The result of all this had been that at home after Myra's 
 death, Lucille devoting herself to the child to keep him out of 
 everybody's way, scarcely allowing herself any recreation and 
 
IV//0 WERE TO BLAME. 105 
 
 brooding over her trouble, had come near follownig her be- 
 loved sister to the last resting place. Now she was gaining 
 cheerfulness and strength, and seemed almost her former self, 
 but the sore spot in her heart was still there, and the slightest 
 probing would set it bleeding again. 
 
 Unfortunately, the old wound was opened wide before Lu- 
 cille finished her visit. 
 
106 THE STALWARTS; OH, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE FIGHT AT THE CLAIM. 
 
 Uncle Tut was all this time full of anxiety because of his 
 disagreeable neighbor, and gave little attention to anything else. 
 He had done all he could for his friends and now left them to 
 care for themselves and amuse each other as they pleased. 
 
 His neighbor never forgave him for returning just in time 
 to prevent the "jumping " of his claim, and had threatened all 
 the spring to go to law; finally bringing suit for possession. 
 
 The case soon coming up for trial when Lucille went for 
 her visit at the farm. Uncle Tut was spending much time in 
 town with Dr. Gascoigne and Eben Grieveau. 
 
 At last the trial commenced, and the man, Silas Smith, 
 swore that he had lived in the cabin with his wife (as he called 
 the woman who kept house for him) during the winter; and 
 also early spring, but that they were away visiting when Uncle 
 Tut arrived. The woman testified to the same facts, explain- 
 ing that the few articles necessary for housekeeping had been 
 packed in a large box and left with their comrade, Doc by name, 
 who lived in the cabin on adjoining land, for safe keeping, and 
 that some repairs might be made on their own cabin before 
 their return. 
 
 The man called Doc. corroborated these stories, and swore 
 in addition that he owned the land adjoining and also the cabin. 
 No one believed this testimony to be true, but the man Silas 
 Smith had made out his case and Uncle Tut had no contrary 
 proof. 
 
 The story was plausible as to the housekeeping, for in those 
 primitive days in furnishing these cabins, beds were simply 
 bunks built against the wall, tables the same, and a short board 
 with sticks driven into the four corners, slanting out a Httle, 
 served in place of chairs. These articles were left in the cabin 
 by Uncle Tut surely, and he found them upon his return. 
 
 Notwithstanding the earnest efforts of the lawyer and story- 
 teller of the storm on the lake and his buisness partner, who 
 happened in Freelawn (it being the County seat) on other court 
 business, and whose services were secured for the defendant 
 through their mutual friend, Dr. Gascoigne, the Judge was 
 
IV J/ O WERE TO BLAME. 107 
 
 obliged on the proof to decide the case in favor of Silas Smith, 
 and nothing remained but to vacate the premises or appeal. 
 Uncle Tut pursued the latter course, hoping something w^ould 
 eventually occur to reverse the decision. 
 
 You may be sure Dr. Gascoigne did not neglect tendering 
 the hospitality of his home to his friend the lawyer and his 
 companion during their stay in Freelaw^n, and it was difficult to 
 say whether little Gertrude clung more closely to Grandpa, 
 Uncle Tut and this genial and wonderful man, or to the new 
 friend she found in the gentleman who accompanied him. 
 You will remember the bashful child w^ho usually feared stran- 
 gers trusted her friend of the storm-tossed ship as she did Uncle 
 Tut, men so unlike, iinplicitly from the first moment, as she 
 now did the new-comer. Time proved that a strong bond ex- 
 isted between these men and the tim.id little girl, developing a 
 life-long attraction and understanding of each other, which 
 helped them in searching out and unraveling a great mystery. 
 
 After the conclusion of the trial, the Smith party, elated with 
 their temporary success, left the court room, vowing "they'd 
 have the claim, live or die, without waiting for another law-suit 
 either," and off they went to the grocery on the corner, filling 
 themselves to the brim with bad whisky, taking a jug and 
 bottle or two besides, then starting for home, women and all, 
 roaring drunk. 
 
 Uncle Tut did not like the out-look; he was not a coward, 
 and had no intention any one should think he was, but he took 
 Eben quietly one side, and requested that he accompany him 
 home. Eben consented, and prepared to do so without unneces- 
 sary delay, being careful to place his trusty rifle in the w^agon 
 with plenty of ammunition, and also Dr. Gascoigne's old gun, in 
 case Uncle Tut should need to use it before they reached the 
 cabin where his own hung suspended from iron hooks driven 
 deep into the logs. 
 
 The men were soon on their way, having avoided arousing 
 apprehension on the part of Dr. Gascoigne, who was quite 
 feeble and could not endure much worry ; neither did they care 
 to have their tow^n folks know they felt a shadow of fear re- 
 garding the drunken rabble which had preceded them. 
 
 After starting, the two men drove rapidly along and were 
 soon out of sight of the village; for they wished to reach home 
 before the reckless crew, and prepare for any mischief they 
 might concoct. 
 
 They expected it would be about sun-dow^n when they ar- 
 
108 THE STALWARTS; OR. 
 
 rived and hoped John might have the chores done, the cattle 
 and horses taken care of, and that the family would be together, 
 in or near the house. 
 
 The country being open prairie, broken by a slight 
 rise now and then, barely sufficient to hide a team traveling 
 along the road, but giving no opportunity for outwitting an 
 enemy by strategy, their only hope consisted in having the 
 lightest load, the fastest horses and no liquor on board, outside 
 or inside. 
 
 Eben had suggested as they were harnessing up, that Uncle 
 Tut's hard worked animals be left in the stalls, and that they 
 take his fast bays; fortunate they found the change, for the dif- 
 ference in speed became a matter of life and death before the 
 race was finished. 
 
 Not wishing an open encounter, they kept far enough and 
 yet near, behind the rowdies, so that an occasional eminence 
 might cover them from view, until the dusk of evening coming 
 on, hoping thus to evade discovery while overtaking them, 
 when a dash ahead would enable the preparation of a warm 
 reception, should the villains attempt to vent their wrath upon 
 arrival. 
 
 This plan was easy of accomplishment, for quite a distance 
 after leaving town the country was somewhat rolling, and the 
 river which must be crossed, bordered by a piece of timber on 
 either side, so that they could follow closely without being 
 seen. 
 
 The men rode along anxiously, and at dusk were so near 
 the drunken load in front, they could hear them bragging what 
 they'd do for mischief, after reaching Uncle Tut's claim. 
 
 Threats of violence could be plainly heard wafted on the 
 still, dewy air. They were intoxicated to ugliness, but 
 not yet incapacitated for planning evil. Uncle Tut's blood 
 grew hot when he heard them tell how "they'd string him 
 up to the rafters of his own barn, and turn whiskey down the 
 gullet of that whining temperance teetotaler, John Gascoigne, 
 until he couldn't stand, and scare the women near about to 
 death, and send them running into town, little brat and all; 
 oh! they'd have lots of fun before morning." 
 
 Thus the scoundrels rattled on with their bragadocio, un- 
 able fully to understand the enormity of their own wicked 
 folly. 
 
 Uncle Tut was boiling over with rage, "Da-dam the vi- 
 villains," he whispered to Eben, "gi-give me th-that gun o' 
 
117/0 WERE TO BLAME lO'J 
 
 yourn I-I say, an' let me put a bii-bullet through the rascal-ly 
 crowd." 
 
 "No, Uncle Tut, I won't, you must keep still for awhile 
 yet," answered the cooler headed Eben — "we shall have need 
 enough of powder and bullets before we get through, I fear." 
 
 Finally, just as they passed the last rise of land and Uncle 
 Tut was about to break out again, Eben gave the word, and a 
 peculiar, low noise, which the team seemed to understand, sent 
 them flying pellmell past the surprised load of drunken des- 
 peradoes in front, who plied their whips vigorously and yelled 
 with all their might, but to no purpose; they had the heaviest 
 load, a lumber wagon, tired horses, and though using strenuous 
 endeavor, keeping up the race until Eben drove into the yard, 
 his spirited team could not be overtaken. 
 
 Fortunately John saw them coming, and divining at a glance 
 something serious, immediately at his command, the women 
 rushed in doors, carrying the child, who had been watching 
 Aunt Lucille feed the poultry, wnth them, 
 
 John, in the twinkling of an eye, put up the bars after Eben 
 had entered, before the others could get through. Uncle Tut 
 sprang from the light wagon at the instant when Eben had 
 reined in the excited horses to a stop, opened wide the barn 
 doors, and in they went, wagon and all. Not waiting to unhitch, 
 they had barred, bolted and locked the barn, succeeding in reach- 
 ing the house when the marauders drove into the yard. 
 
 Quickly the doors and windows were fastened, the w^indows 
 covered with heavy wooden shutters, and by the time the last 
 one had alighted the little home was in a state of seige, for 
 possession was, in this case, nine points of the law. 
 
 Those inside labored to be sure under the disadvantage of be- 
 ing on the defensive; w^hile those on the outside, could without 
 hindrance start almost any imaginable deviltry that bad w^hisky 
 could help men devise, and they improved their opportunity. 
 
 First they attempted battering down the doors and windows 
 of the house, then they assailed the barn doors, and failing in 
 these projects, started to slaughter all the poultry, but really 
 only killed a chicken or two, and set the ducks and 'geese 
 squaking, and the old turkeys cocks gobbling and strutting 
 about with the importance of the idea that they were to protect 
 the whole barn-yard brood. 
 
 Then they tore up the nicely tended garden, even destroy- 
 ing the flowers and shrubbery about the house, twisting off the 
 
110 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 voung fruit trees of which John and Uncle Tut were so proud, 
 in pure spite and vandalism. 
 
 At last they began to talk of setting fire to the barn; at this 
 Uncle Tut and Eben made ready to shoot from the little attic 
 window above the living-room, should they attempt an execu- 
 tion of their threat. 
 
 The party being so drunk as not to realize all they were 
 doing, Eben insisted upon refraining from firing unless the 
 emergency of some greater outrage than had yet been perpe- 
 trated demanded such action. 
 
 His was the mistake so often made in war, legal and other- 
 wise, of not fighting hard enough at the beginning, with the 
 result almost invariably following as in this case, that leniency 
 before the end costs dearly. Had a shot or two been fired at the 
 first, showing the villains they meant to fight in earnest if pushed 
 to it, the fright would have cooled their angry, drunken ardor 
 perhaps, and they might have desisted; but Uncle Tut and 
 Eben were content to watch them quietly from their station at 
 the window, John attending to the women and child below, at 
 least for the present. The evening was now advancing into the 
 night, and though fussing about for a while longer, threatening 
 what they would do, but accomplishing nothing serious, the as- 
 sailants, after a noisy, unintelligable consultation, getting into 
 their wagon drove away. 
 
 John, Eben and the women thought the trouble was over; 
 but Uncle Tut said, " No, they would come back, he felt cer- 
 tain." 
 
 After waiting a little to make sure they had gone at least as 
 far as their own claim, Eben and John went to the barn, took 
 out the horses, still hitched to the wagon, and drove down to 
 the far-pasture, where they unharnessed and tethered them se- 
 curely to some stakes which had been driven for that purpose 
 before the fence was built; taking this precaution in view of a 
 possibility of the barn being burnt. 
 
 Barely had they reached the house again, where a terrible 
 noise was heard outside, tin-horns, tin pans, cow-bells, dogs 
 barking, men hallowing and swearing, and with an occasional 
 shot fired towards the house; pandemonium seemed let loose. 
 
 Soon the marauders commenced battering the doors again, 
 evidently intending to frighten the beseiged party into a sur- 
 render. 
 
 John and Uncle Tut could be kept still no longer, and in 
 spite of the cool advice of Eben, they insisted upon firing into 
 
ll'I/O WERE TO BEAME. Ill 
 
 the crowd ; someone was wounded, and instantly the people out- 
 side became fearfully excited, exasperated to frenzy, and com- 
 menced mischief in good earnest. They placed their guns 
 wherever they could find a crack between the logs, at the key- 
 holes, anywhere, and fired away. The cabin being so small 
 there was little chance of escaping the bullets which came thick 
 and fast. Those outside had, it was plain, provided themselves 
 with plenty of powder and shot as well as whiskey. 
 
 At last Uncle Tut took Lucille and Jules up the ladder into 
 the loft, Julia following, for they hoped thus to escape harm. 
 Uncle Tut again stationed himself in the attic window, thinking 
 to get some good shots at the rascals from this quarter should 
 they come round to execute their threat as to the barn. John 
 and Eben remained below, fearing the wretches might break in 
 the doors, strongly as they were made and bolted. 
 
 Lucille, in her weak condition, was now nearly dead with 
 fright; but neither of the w^omen made the slightest noise, al- 
 though it required all their tact to keep little Jules even passably 
 quiet; strangely enough he did not scream or seem frightened 
 by the confusion as most children would have done, but per- 
 sisted in trying to run about, clapping his hands, jumping up 
 and dow^n, laughing with glee, really enjoying the excitement. 
 They succeeded in controlling him after awhile, and the women 
 and child crowded into the farthest corner of the dark attic, 
 while Uncle Tut noted an observation from the window. 
 
 Very soon a man came round with a lighted wisp of straw, 
 attempting to fire the barn. Uncle Tut covered him with the 
 muzzle of his trusty rifle, the man dropped quick as thought, 
 groaned and lay still, but was not dead. 
 
 When the crowd heard the shot from this new quarter, and 
 the groans from their fallen companion, they came rushing 
 around to the side of the house wildly, and upon realizing the 
 situation were furious. At that window they were determined 
 to come cost what it might. 
 
 As this was impossible without a ladder, and none could be 
 found outside, they tried breaking into the barn, which, failing 
 to accomplish, but finding a low thed with a thatched roof of 
 straw built against it on the side farthest from the house where 
 the shots could not reach them, they soon had the threatened 
 fire under headway, and forcing their way through the shed un- 
 daunted by the flames, secured a short ladder. Elated and 
 shouting curses at the top of their voices, they placed it without 
 delay under the attic window and proceeded to mount. 
 
113 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 The situation of the defenders was now becoming desperate. 
 The heat of the burning barn was intense, several men were 
 crowding at the foot of the ladder, more were coming round 
 the corner. Reinforcements had evidently arrived; how many 
 could not be seen, but surely two or three to one of the be- 
 sieged party. 
 
 Since several of their number had been wounded the assail- 
 ants were mad as demons, and bent upon revenge; the effects of 
 the whisky had partially worked off and they were able to do some 
 rational thinking, only increasing their capacity for harm. As 
 the result of a little calculation two or three aimed at the men 
 in the open window, seeking to retaliate and also protect those 
 trying to reach the top of the ladder. Up went one, weapon 
 in hand, and another soon followed. 
 
 The women, now pale, trembling and cold with terror, 
 cowered in their corner with compressed lips and glistening 
 eyes, hushing the boy as best they could. 
 
 The men within the window were prepared to give the vil- 
 lains a warmer reception than they thought. 
 
 When John and Eben saw the fight w^as to be in the loft, 
 they ascended, carrying besides their rifles each a strong, sharp 
 knife; the long, sw^ord-like blade used by western farmers for 
 slaughtering. As the men outside came up they were at a dis- 
 advantage with their guns, not being able to use them on the 
 ladder, or until fairly inside the room, and the defenders dodg- 
 ing the shots from below had an idea of taking good care the 
 besiegers should not get in safely, or more than one at a time. 
 
 The first man who put foot on the sill of the window re- 
 ceived a terrible gash, and as the blood spurted from his wound, 
 the fellow on the topmost round staggered back appalled, drag- 
 ing his injured comrade with him. 
 
 They had not expected such work. Fortunately the early 
 morning stage came rattling along the road a few rods from 
 the house — the burning barn, the rifle shots, the yells and curses 
 told the story — some settlers were fighting over a contested 
 claim. 
 
 In a few moments the stage had driven up to the house and 
 ten or twelve passengers, springing to the ground, entered into 
 the melee with a vigor which soon terminated the contest; by 
 an intuition comprehending the situation, throwing their forces 
 on the side of justice and right. 
 
 The assaulting party hastily placing their wounded com- 
 panions (one, the ringleader, Silas Smith, having received what 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. ll,j 
 
 seemed a death blow just at the close of the fray from one of 
 the stage passengers) at the bottom of the wagon, the others 
 jumping in, drove furiously away. 
 
 After extinguishing the fire, the men, new-comers with 
 them, came pouring into the house to see what had become of 
 the women and talk about the trouble. They found Julia 
 laboring with the now unconscious Lucille; over-taxed nature 
 could endure no more, and had given way again. She had suc- 
 ceeded in placing her on the only bed in the loft, which had 
 been set apart for the use of Uncle Tut since Lucille's occu- 
 pancy of his room below, and Julia was striving in every way 
 to restore her, but she lay in a faint, seemingly dead; the boy by 
 her side sleeping. Those who had championed their cause with 
 the men of the family coming up at Julia's call, some by the lad- 
 der outside and others from the inside, all expressing sympathy 
 and offering their services — among them who but Henry Arm- 
 strong! 
 
 For Fate had brought him at last In spite of himself to Lu- 
 cille's very door, even to her side. 
 
 But alas she was far away, only her wasted body with its 
 stilled heart, and wan, white face was lying there before him — 
 herself gone — departed. 
 
 Henry gazed with the others upon the passive form, so dif- 
 ferent from his Lucille as she used to be; and at the thought, 
 the fear that she might be surely dead, his heart gave a bound, 
 and a great sob burst from his heaving breast; but with the will 
 of a strong man, repressing every sense but that of seeing, he 
 looked again, and if a dagger had struck him sharp and deep 
 he could not have been more agonizingly transfixed. 
 
 Yes, there lay Lucille, his own true love, and by her side — 
 a babe — her child — every feature like its mother, and the fine, 
 handsome fellow bending over her so tenderly was the father 
 certainly, and her husband. For who that had known him of 
 old could recognize in the stalwart western farmer the once dis- 
 sipated brother John? And Henry had never seen John even 
 in Barrytown, for he had married and gone away before 
 Henry's advent. John himself was too busy with Lucille, as 
 were all the family, to notice the stage passengers individually, 
 though truly grateful for their assistance. 
 
 Was Lucille dead ? No — for very soon she opened wide her 
 eyes, fixing them upon Henry Armstrong with a supernatural gaze 
 — a look he never forgot to his dying day — such instant recog- 
 nition, devotion, appeal; he could not endure the emotion it 
 
114 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 stirred within his heart for another moment, the love, the regret, 
 the remorse. 
 
 How could he now right the wrong he felt he had done her 
 and himself? 
 
 Was she not a married woman, her babe owning another 
 than himself its father? 
 
 What now could aught avail? 
 
 Out — out into the cold morning air he must go or he should 
 fall. 
 
 Wearily, as John leaned over her, shutting Henry from 
 view, Lucille closed her eyes again; restfully, peacefully, for 
 had he not come at last? Had she not again seen his dear face, 
 the love-light in his clear eyes — a light once seen never to be 
 mistaken? 
 
 And Henry following his fate turned from the group of peo- 
 ple, and from Lucille, going out into the grey light of that chilly, 
 foggy morning. 
 
 The red streaks of the coming dawn in the east intensifying 
 the dreariness which enwrapped both landscape and desolate 
 traveler as with a funeral pall. 
 
 Weak, and trembling in every limb, paralyzed with grief, 
 Henry reached the waiting stage and sank into his seat, ten 
 years older than when he left it two hours before. 
 
 Not one word did he speak until the stage stopped for break- 
 fast, when, to avoid remark, he must rouse himself, and ex- 
 plained by saying he was very tired; not well! No — not well 
 indeed! Henry Armstrong was never again as he had been. 
 
 Now that he had lost her, how strong and yearning was his 
 love for Lucille; growing day by day continually, year by year. 
 Over the world he traveled for change and forgetfulness, seek- 
 ing another woman who should be to him what she might have 
 been, but he never found another. And what of her? After a 
 few moments rest she opened her eyes, expecting to meet those 
 of one she loved so well, butHenry was not there, and scanning 
 each face inquiringly, she turned appealingly to John, who was 
 bending over her. "What is it Lucille, dear?" For John 
 knew his little sister wanted something. But she, too weak for 
 speech, could only look, with intensest love and longing in her 
 eyes. 
 
 One by one the passengers went out and soon the stage was 
 on its way. 
 
 It was a long time before Lucille recovered from the ex- 
 citement, the fear, the final shock and disappointment of that 
 
WHO I VERB TO BLAME. 115 
 
 eventful night. Her nerves were unstrung, strength exhausted, 
 vital force gone, said her friends; and sadder than ever was Dr. 
 Gascoigne. For months she remained very weak, nigh unto 
 death; though not like her sister, delirious, she would murmer 
 as they watched her sleeping — a few words, a name now and 
 then, Myra's name and Henry's. 
 
 All those who loved her so dearly and would have shielded 
 from every sorrow, knew at last what ailed Lucille. Grad- 
 ually, with persevering tenderness, they nursed her back to life 
 and a degree of health. 
 
 After she had partially recovered, and no one mentioned 
 having seen Henry, although she could hardly believe he had 
 not been before her eyes really and truly, she finally concluded 
 that what had appeared to be her lover of by-gone days, must 
 have been a vision of her own excited brain. 
 
 " But it was so real, so exactly like flesh and blood, bone and 
 sinew ; in every way as a live man — how strange, how strange." 
 
 "And yet, if it were himself, why did he not speak? Why 
 did he not stay? How came he there? Where did he go to?" 
 
 These questions Lucille revolved over and over again as she 
 lay sinking and prostrate those weary months; sometimes al- 
 most touching the verge of the dark valley through which 
 flowed the cold stream waiting to engulf her; but the mystery 
 was not fully solved until long years after. 
 
 And Henry went on and on, from place to place; never re- 
 turning that way as he had intended. 
 
 Thus does Fate defraud us when happiness is at our very 
 door, just within our grasp. 
 
 Ever enticing — ever eluding. 
 
116 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 REMOVAL. 
 
 When the Freelawn people learned how the drunken row- 
 dies who tormented Uncle Tut and his family for so long had 
 wound up with the outrageous attack upon him the night after 
 the suit was decided, which every one believed won by false 
 swearing, they made up their minds the villains should leave 
 the country. 
 
 Judge Lynch was a popular man in those days, and many a 
 coat of tar and feathers, if no worse treatment, was administered 
 by his decision ;in this instance little mercy would have been shown 
 only that three of the party were wounded, the leader, Silas 
 Smith, dangerously. He received scant sympathy in his dis- 
 tress, for there were several witnesses to his deadly aim at Un- 
 cle Tut, which he was prevented from executing by one of the 
 stage passengers grappling him just in time, inflicting serious in- 
 jury as the issue proved. 
 
 Notwithstanding the extreme provocation received, which 
 it will be allowed would have instigated most persons to revenge. 
 Uncle Tut, John and Eben each urged that the men be left un- 
 molested until all had recovered. 
 
 None of the wounds proved fatal, and soon those disabled 
 were in condition for traveling, a change was no great hard- 
 ship, as they had not improved their claim, but spent the time 
 drinking and carousing with the women and such neighbors 
 as were like themselves; they "were tendered a quiet but effectual 
 notice to move on — and they moved speedily. 
 
 Years elapsed before any one in that vicinity heard from 
 them, when they again came before Uncle Tut as central figures 
 in a tragedy most extraordinary; at least the woman, Silas Smith 
 and the man they called Doctor or Doc. 
 
 While Uncle Tut was staying with his friends in town, at- 
 tending his law suit, he did not omit making himself as agreea- 
 ble and sociable as was possible for a stammenng man, with 
 Aunt Debby. The fact is, he was becoming thoroughly dis- 
 gusted and dissatisfied living without a mate, as was she. 
 
 There being no one else near, eligible for either, it was not 
 necessary that Uncle Tut should do a great amount of talking, 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 117 
 
 and when he essayed to "pop the question," Aunt Debby ac- 
 cepted him before he got half way through the first sentence. 
 
 '*Why, yes, to be sure, of course I will. What day are you 
 going out to the claim, and how soon are you coming back for 
 me? ril want to know so as to be all ready. Law sakes, 
 who'd a thought two such queer ones as you and me. Uncle Tut, 
 'ud ever have made a match? But, I reckon, if you do go slow, 
 while I must gojast^ we'll manage to pull putty well in double 
 harness after all; perhaps we'll check-mate each other, and both 
 be better for it, at any rate we'll make the venture, if you say 
 so," answered Aunt Debby, wiping her eyes on the cornei of 
 her clean checked apron. 
 
 More soft-heartedness than Uncle Tut had seen from Aunt 
 Debby since he had known her. "Women are queer creatures," 
 said Uncle Tut to himself. 
 
 A strange, queer woman was Aunt Debby, truly. Never 
 had sorrow brought from her a tear, and here was she rubbing 
 her eyes because an honest man had asked her to marry him. 
 But it was settled that he'd come for her the next week, and 
 they'd be married and go back to the farm together, the wedding 
 being celebrated in Dr. Gascoigne's parlor according to pro- 
 gramme, without the least hitch or delay. For the Evil One 
 never troubled himself in the slightest about the affair. He 
 knew very well that once the knot was tied. Aunt Debby'd 
 make lively times for Uncle Tut without any of his assistance, 
 it being one of those unions, though bringing a fair degree of 
 comfort, nevertheless sure to evolve enough discomfort, before 
 the antagonistic elements assimilate, to be entirely satisfactory 
 for his Satanic Majesty. 
 
 After this change of base, John and Julia took possession 
 of the claim deserted by their bad neighbors, paying them a 
 fair sum for the same before their departure, and Lucille re- 
 turned to her father, leaving little Jules with them in their new 
 home, as they had formed such an attachment towards him and 
 he for them, while Lucille lay sick, they begged Eben to let 
 him remain — awhile. 
 
 To this he readily consented, for he never felt at ease when 
 the child was near him, being unwittingly reminded by the boy 
 of the wrong he had done its mother, and there was also an un- 
 controllable shrinking on the part of Jules from his father, 
 which Eben knew and felt. 
 
 Lucille, although fond of the motherless little fellow, 
 found her strength unequal in the care of him. She had seen 
 
118 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 how Julia tried by kind treatment of the child to atone for 
 her former folly, and felt certain John was devoted to him for 
 his own sake, and because he naturally loved children. Thus 
 the arrangement proved satisfactory to all concerned. 
 
 Gertrude, who was quite mature for her age, would rather 
 her brother had returned with Aunt Lucille, but she was not 
 accustomed to having her own way, and could adapt herself to 
 changes, finding contentment, or even pleasure, where a child 
 of more restless, unhappy disposition would see cause for dis- 
 satisfaction. 
 
 She was a quiet little girl, trusty and capable, whom every- 
 body liked, her friends declared, and the kindness she in- 
 variably received proved the assertion. As she grew older, in- 
 cidents much the same as have been recited, marked the months 
 and years. 
 
 She as a matter of course attended regularly the ordinary 
 day school, and besides the evening schools for singing and spell- 
 ing intended to benefit adults and older children, and on Sun- 
 days the school for religious instruction. 
 
 Also parties without end ; in spring, summer and fall, nose- 
 gay parties, berry-parties and nutting parties; in winter, sleigh- 
 ing-parties and coasting-parties, and apple-paring bees, and 
 candy-pulls, and quilting-parties, and kissing-pa?'ties all the 
 year round, where the little lads and lasses met to play games 
 and give forfeits, to be redeemed by the inevitable, innocent 
 kiss. Gertrude long remembered the disappointment shared 
 equally by her mates of either sex, consequent upon the super- 
 intendency of the aged maiden sister of a young miss, at one 
 of these gatherings, whose extreme prudishness frowned upon, 
 and exterminated for the time being at least, the harmless kiss. 
 That party was privately voted an unmitigated failure by every 
 little miss and young gentlemen in town. 
 
 Gertrude, as a child, surely had her share of good times, 
 plenty of sweet-hearts, and was a general favorite with her 
 play-fellows as well as elders, though perhaps experiencing 
 more sorrow than some others. 
 
 Another grief was just now on its way, coming into her 
 life, Grandpa Gascoigne becoming feebler each day, and Ger- 
 trude was ever afterwards glad that she gave him cheerfully 
 her loving attention in his declining days. 
 
 She was his chosen companion whenever accessible, and 
 would sit for hours by his side, her head resting upon his shoulder, 
 the bright, golden curls mingling with the soft, silvery gleam 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 119 
 
 of his snow white beard and flowing locks of rarely beautiful 
 hair, listening eagerly while he told stories of his younger by- 
 gone years. 
 
 How his father had been physician to Queen Marie Antoi- 
 nette, of France, and in the days of the persecuiio i when a 
 mob followed her carriage through the streets of Paris, the 
 ignorant populace demanding only blood, the members of 
 her household had escaped as best they could, well satisfied at 
 saving their lives, so unreasonable was the wrath of her sub- 
 jects. 
 
 And how his father, the Queen's physician, succeeded in 
 reaching the coast in disguise and putting out to sea with a 
 younger brother, in a fisherman's boat, sustained by a loaf of 
 bread and a jug of water,until finally taken up by a ship bound 
 for America. And then he would take from his pocket the 
 old,watch which had belonged to the French savant, and re- 
 moving the time-keeper from its huge silver case, show her the 
 beautiful pictures it contained, carefully packed away in the 
 capacious cover. Some on velvet or satin, others on velum or 
 on a parchment fine and smooth, thin and silky as the red poppy 
 leaves in her own garden; but strong as they were frail, fit 
 foundation for the exquisite likenesses of friends long dead, or 
 flowers, leaves and strange artistic tracings in pencil and water 
 colors, or oil, executed by friends, sweethearts, or members of 
 the household, and presented as keepsakes to be placed in this 
 receptacle of choicest mementos. 
 
 Gertrude ever after carried the memory of her grandfather's 
 queer old watch — its history, all the strange stories connected 
 with it, and those last days spent with him, through the vicisi- 
 tudes of her eventful life — even to the end. 
 
 The sad trouble was very near Gertrude now, grandpa sat 
 day after day in the dear old chair Alyra had brought from the 
 Eastern home, and dozed his life away. At last they came and 
 found him quietly sleeping — sweetly resting — in the not un- 
 kindly arms of death. Although long expected, it was a shock 
 to the good doctor's friends, especially to Lucille and Gertrude—^ 
 the very event we are looktng for, often coming as a surprise. 
 
 They placed him beside his loved daughter Myra, and both 
 Lucille and Gertrude were com.forted with the thought of a 
 helpful and honored life, fittingly ending in peace; but even 
 so, after he was gone, his wasted body laid away, these two 
 wandered drearily from room to room of the desolated fiouse, 
 grieving together. 
 
120 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 But a change was coming to them, which, though resulting 
 from a misfortune, would benefit and surely divert the attention 
 from their affliction. Soon after her grandfather's death, Ger- 
 trude, child as she was, noticed an unusual irritability on the 
 part of her father, no one could please him; the cause proved 
 to be financial embarrassment. From their first coming to Free- 
 lawn it had been a struggle for existence, and in the mercantile 
 business, almost impossible to have the accounts balance; the 
 past year being extremely unfavorable, sickness universally 
 prevalent, and the crops poor, for the farmers could not work, 
 consequently they could not pay their debts, scarcely current 
 expenses; at last from this combination of adverse circumstances, 
 her father was on the verge of bankruptcy, in a few weeks 
 when the fall goods were to be purchased, the crisis came, and 
 Eben failed utterly, even the home was swept away. 
 
 What to do next was the question, John was not prospering 
 on the new farm either, and the idea of removing to Wisconsin 
 was considered. 
 
 At a little town on Lake Michigan, called Port Ulao, sit- 
 uated twenty miles north of Milwaukee, Dr. Gascoigne had 
 left some real estate, taken shortly before his death, in exchange 
 for an equity in Eastern property. 
 
 A wooding-pier and a store and dwelling house combined, 
 like the one in Freelawn, constituted this transfer. 
 
 After consulting together, it was concluded that Eben should 
 try what he could do there first, and if he succeeded, John was 
 to follow when he sold his farm. 
 
 Preparations were commenced at once for the change, old 
 ties were severed once more, and the new venture entered upon. 
 
 Julia having now a boy of her own, and neither Lucille or 
 Eben being willing to part with the child, or separate the-brother 
 and sister permanently, Jules was brought home to be taken 
 with them to Wisconsin. 
 
 As Myra had requested that Lucille should care for her 
 children, she was loth in yielding the charge to any one, even 
 their father. Owning an interest in the Wisconsin property, 
 and for so many years a member of the same family with Eben, 
 nothing strange was thought of the arrangement that she should 
 go with them, especially as Grandma Brewster, burying one 
 after another of her own family, had lived with the Grieveau's 
 since Aunt Debby's marriage, and now declared her wish of 
 accotrfpanying the family to their Wisconsin home. 
 
 She said they seemed dearer to her than any one living, and 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 121 
 
 having saved a small competence could do as she desired, and 
 no advice of other friends or relatives should hinder her from 
 going with Lucille and staying near Myra's children. 
 
 When the final day came and good byes must be said, thty 
 were surprised at the strength of attachments formed in Free- 
 lawn. Their hearts had wandered so persistently to old Barry- 
 town, speaking of it as home and of going back, they were now 
 unprepared for their own feelings. 
 
 The farewells were finished at last, and the family started 
 away in much the same fashion as they had arrived in Free- 
 lawn a few years before this time, directing their course towards 
 the wilds of Wisconsin as the State was spoken of at that early 
 day. 
 
 Being further north, more rugged, heavily timbered, not 
 easy of cultivation as Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Michigan, 
 Wisconsin was several years behind these States in filling up 
 with settlers. But as our friends traveled across the State from 
 southwest to northeast, they passed through Janesville, Beloit, 
 Whitewater and other prosperous towns before reaching Mil- 
 waukee, a flourishing city situated at the extreme eastern limit 
 of the State and on the western shore of Lake Michigan. 
 
 After leaving Milwaukee and proceeding north a sliort day's 
 journey, they halted at their destination, the lake port before 
 mentioned ; finding the place settled entirely by Norwegians of 
 the lower class, with the exception of two or three American 
 families. These hardy emigrants were honest and kind though 
 indigent, much poorer even than the new-comers, who, greatly 
 to their surprise, found themselves looked upon as aristocracy. 
 For did they not ow^n one of the three or four frame houses 
 which the village contained? Many of these people occupying 
 at best a log cabin of one room, however large the family. 
 Some being content with mud huts dug deep into the side of 
 the bluff and floored with the smooth, flat stones from the shore 
 of the lake; cedar slabs forming the front of the mansion, while 
 others supporting the mass of earth and gravel which composed 
 the hill above them furnished a roof; one small window and a 
 door, also a chimney built of brush, stones and mud-mortar 
 against the front in one corner completing the structure. This 
 rude arrangement answered for heating and culinary purposes 
 in winter, while during the few hot days of summer an open 
 fire against the hill-side, among an ingeniously contrived pile of 
 stones, was the cooking-range used by these thrifty people. 
 Many a thick slice of rye-bread baked in the hot, clean 
 
122 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 wood-ashes of these fires and spread with the dehcious Wiscon- 
 sin, butter, did Gertrude and Jules accept after they had made 
 them friends, from the kind dames to whom these humble homes 
 were a kingdom. 
 
 The change from Freelawn to Ulao was accomplished in 
 the early summer, and but a short time elapsed after their arri- 
 val before the brother and sister had visited every hut along the 
 shore. Aunt Lucille could watch them from her own door as 
 they strolled about picking up curious stones and pebbles some- 
 times flowers, as they w^ent, until hands and aprons were run- 
 ning over full. When tired they had permission to avail them- 
 selves of the invitations to rest in the neat little homes. For 
 the Norwegian woman keeps her family comfortable be her re- 
 sources ever so limited. The men, too, are industrious and 
 careful. 
 
 During the summer they worked from sunrise till sunset in 
 the heavy timber upon the bluff, chopping and piling long row^s 
 of cord-wood ready for hauling down to the shore in winter, 
 for the use of the steamboats which would stop at the pier the 
 next summer, and also for shipping. 
 
 While the men labored in the deep, cool woods, the women 
 attended to their house-keeping and their gardens; raising pota- 
 toes, rutabagas, cabbages and others vegetables grown in cool 
 climates and easy of storage in winter. 
 
 The lake and the woods also contributed to the support of 
 these simple, economical people. 
 
 Fish were salted or dried, berries and nuts gathered in the 
 woods, a few hardy apples secured from the gardens, and all 
 carefully put away for winter use, except snch as were imme- 
 diately needed. 
 
 With this provision and the fowls, pigs and sheep, an occa- 
 sional calf or beef for slaughter, with the eggs and milk, the 
 butter and cream, they managed to exist and enjoy their full 
 quota of happiness. 
 
 For clothing, the women in addition to their other work, 
 carded, spun and wove the fleecy wool into warm cloth for 
 winter use; manufacturing flax also in the same manner for 
 summer wear. 
 
 When the winter evenings were long, after the day's work 
 was done, after the men had hauled their loads of wood down 
 from the hills to the shore on the great ox sleds, after the 
 women had attended to their housework and the children, get- 
 ting them off to school betimes in the morning, being sure that 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME 123 
 
 not a moment was idled away when home, the whole family at 
 eventide assisted in the careful feeding and housing of the high- 
 ly prized animals, horses and cattle, sheep, pigs, and fowls. 
 When the day's work was finished, men, women and children 
 would gather around the open fire-place piled up with immense 
 logs of blazing wood, each knitting so rapidly, on stockings 
 fully a yard long for the adults, the steel needles, but for their 
 glistening brightness could not be seen. As they flew the men 
 smoked their clay pipes, often the women did the same, while 
 one and another of the elder ones related some marvelous nar- 
 rative handed down from generations back about the wraiths, 
 the brownies and the elfin bands wdio had for ages past disported 
 themselves and played their pranks among the Friths and Fjords 
 in old Norway; of which the following, told by a woman whose 
 grandmother had when a little girl served a lady in the capa- 
 city of servant, is a sample: 
 
 "When my grandmother was a little girl, she lived with an 
 old widow lady and helped her with the house-keeping. One 
 Christmas Eve the lady made up her mind to go to church 
 and hear the morning mass, and as it was to begin at half-past 
 six in the morning, they fixed up the breakfast table the night 
 before — for she wanted her breakfast before she went. Then 
 they went to bed, and when the lady waked up, the moon was 
 shining on the floor, and she got up to see what time it was^ 
 but the clock had stopped at half-past eleven, and she could n(*t 
 tell the time, so she looked out of the window to see if it was 
 daylight, and was surprised to see the church lighted up. She 
 called the girl to hurry and make some coffee while she dressed, 
 for she did not want to miss the mass. She drank her coffee, 
 took her prayer-book and went to church. 
 
 "It was very still in the street, and she never saw a human 
 being on the way. When she got to church she went straight 
 up to her pew, but when she looked round she saw the people 
 looked so pale and curious, just like they were dead, all of them. 
 There was nobody she knew, but a good m.any she thought she 
 had seen before, but when and where she could not remember. 
 When the preacher went up to the altar she saw that he was 
 not the regular city preacher, but a tall, pale looking man she 
 remembered she had seen somewhere before. He spoke 
 splendidly, but she noticed it was not so noisy, and not so much 
 coughing and whispering as before they always had in meet- 
 ing; it was so quiet she could almost hear a pin drop on the 
 floor, she became nearly frightened. When the singing com- 
 
124 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 menced a woman sitting next her bent over and whispered in 
 her ear, *rut your cloak on your arm and get away as quick as 
 you can, for if you wait till the end you are lost. This is the 
 dead having their prayer meeting.' 
 
 "The widow lady w^as awfully scared, for hearing the voice 
 and looking at the woman, she saw she was an old neighbor 
 who had been dead a long time. She looked round and saw 
 that the preacher and a good many of the people she had seen 
 when they were alive; but they had all been dead a good many 
 years. 
 
 "She was so scared she was most crazy, and drew her cloak 
 over her shoulders as the woman had told her, and got away as 
 fast as she could. But the dead people all tried to stop her, and 
 her feet trembled under her and she nearly fainted, but she flew 
 along and got to the door. As she was coming out of the 
 church she felt somebody pulling her cloak and she left it be- 
 hind her and ran home as fast as she could. 
 
 "When she got back to her room, the clock in the church 
 tower struck one^ and she jumped into bed — clothes and all — 
 most frightened to death. 
 
 "In the morning when the people came to church they found 
 the cloak torn to a hundred pieces. My mother has seen one of 
 the pieces and knows it was all true, as the widow lady and my 
 grandmother told it." 
 
 Yes, as true and as well authenticated as is many another 
 venerable tradition controlling the faith of the world. 
 
 At these ghostly tales the little grey eyes of the young Nor- 
 wegians would be distended wide in intensified amazement, and 
 every straight, flaxen wiiite hair stand on end, until shiver- 
 ing with a comfortable fear, a pleasurable horror, they slyly crept 
 away, awestruck, to their cozy little cots, and crawling between 
 the ample feather beds, hid their heads in the downy pillows. 
 
 This wierd amusement was not reserved exclusively for the 
 evening entertainments, and Gertrude and little Jules never tired 
 of listening to these strange stories, sat many an hour with a 
 group of tow-headed youngsters around some old granny's knees, 
 whose tongue flew not less rapidly than her needles, until all 
 were shivering from head to foot, even on the brightest sum- 
 mer's day. 
 
 These with other experiences, which seemed a part of their 
 fate, produced in the minds of the two children a predeliction 
 for and a desire to investigate spiritual phenomena, which be- 
 came a marked characteristic of their mentality. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 1^5 
 
 Especially was little Jules affected in a peculiar manner, and 
 the worship of the supernatural already engrafted upon the 
 child by the events of his pre-natal existence, was greatly in- 
 tensified, coloring his whole life, mayhap developing his destiny. 
 
 Among other things to be learned from these poor and cer- 
 tainly ignorant people, as the world's knowledge goes, our 
 friends from Freelawn came to know how few of the artificial 
 surroundings costing so much money, are really needed for 
 making people comfortable and happy, if only they would come 
 down to nature and the use of their own hands; for in these 
 humble homes was contentment, thrift and peace, which the 
 millionaire of to-day may well envy. 
 
126 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AN EPISODE. 
 
 Lucille, although very lonely, received much benefit to her 
 health from the change of scene and climate. Mother Brew- 
 ster declared Wisconsin air would put life into the dying, and 
 there are many now w^ho will agree with her; surely if with 
 the pure invigorating air, is combined the water of those medici- 
 nal springs found everywhere at near intervals in this wonder- 
 ful State, worthy to be distinguished as Nature's sanitarium. 
 
 Even the forlorn town of Ulao, under the great overhang- 
 ing bluff, lying flat on the sand by the shore of the lake, could 
 boast of as good a spring as the famed Bethesda, whose healing 
 waters bring so many every season from far and near to the 
 beautiful city of Waukesha for health and pleasure. 
 
 Gertrude would take her pitcher in one hand, her brother 
 Jules holding by the other, and go up through the deep ravines, 
 rocky and romantic, thickly studded on either side with fra- 
 grant Cedar, Tamarack and Juniper trees; the Cedars growing 
 with close, straight branches. Tamaracks tall and slender with a 
 feathery grace. Junipers down by the ground, spreading out 
 broadly, tangled in with the briars and white starry blossoms 
 of the blackberry bushes, thick green mosses, and delicate wild- 
 wood flowers; up through this fragrant bower, this dell of 
 delights, following the gurgling stream, jumping across from 
 side to side as better footing required, the happy sister and little 
 brother went every day, bringing fresh, cool water from the 
 spring in the hill-side, but so nasty^ they thought in taste and 
 smell, for Aunt Lucille to drink. 
 
 Auntie throve on the horrid spring water and pure air, 
 feeling more strength and vigor than for years; although her 
 grief over her lost love did not leave her but she was becoming 
 accustomed to carry her burden. 
 
 She heard in the strangest manner through Uncle Tut's in- 
 vestigations, just before leaving Freelawn, that Henry Arm- 
 strong really was a passenger in the stage on that eventful 
 night, and that he did stand by her bedside; this much Uncle 
 Tut ascertained, even tracing him as one of a party going to 
 San Francisco, crossing the Rocky Mountains, where he lost 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 127 
 
 the clue, and time proved that years were to elapse before he 
 should find it again. 
 
 Lucille was more than ever puzzled, and longed to know 
 why Henry had looked at her with such passionate love and 
 tenderness in his eyes, and then left her without a word. 
 
 She tried in every possible way to solve the mystery, and 
 finally concluded that Henry must have formed another tie 
 which could not be broken without causing the same pangs to 
 another which she had felt so keenly. This thought partially 
 reconciled Lucille to the sad fate decreed her, she said unsel- 
 fishly, " If some other woman loves him as I have loved, for 
 her sake I will banish his image from my heart;" and then, that 
 last, warm, entrancing gaze, from those deep, dark eyes, which 
 had laid hold upon, engulfing her very soul in bliss and peace, 
 coming back to her, Lucille would cry out in anguish, '^ How 
 can I let him go, when I know he loves me truly even now, 
 for I'll never believe I did not see it then. What can it mean? 
 What is the trouble? What has he done? What have /done, 
 that we should be so cruelly separated, estranged, parted for- 
 ever, and without one word of explanation?" And Lucille 
 would be again overcome as of old. 
 
 About this time, one of the three families comprising the 
 society of this Norwegian hamlet, was the recipient of an un- 
 expected visit. Some business requiring the signature of a 
 member necessitated search, which resulted in the arrival one 
 day by the afternoon boat, of a man refined in appearance, who 
 enquired " If a family by the name of Glenn lived anywhere 
 about?" 
 
 He was directed to one of the frame houses near by, but be- 
 fore reaching the door encountered Lucille returning from the 
 spring with the children, pitcher in one hand and a large nose- 
 gay of beautiful yellow flowers in the other. 
 
 On the instant a pleased surprise each saw unconsciously re- 
 vealed to the other, for how could they conceal the sudden ad- 
 miration felt at unexpectedly meeting a lady or a gentleman, a 
 fact easily recognized by the free-masonry of congeniality. 
 
 The last place he had thought to find such a vision of lovli- 
 ness as little Lucille presented, and far from her mind the idea 
 of seeing a thoroughly bred gentleman outside her own family. 
 
 The stranger proceeded to the house of the people he was 
 looking for; but although the needed information was shortly 
 acquired and nothing hindered him from leaving by the morji- 
 ing boat as at first intended, he suddenlv discovered himself 
 
138 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 very tired from long continued travel (for he had crossed an 
 ocean in the interests of his clients), and accepted the invitation 
 to remain a few days with his new acquaintances, who were 
 very glad of a visitor breaking in upon the monotony of their 
 lives. 
 
 He afterwards concluded to lengthen his stay indefinitely, 
 and insisted they should accept a suitable remuneration for any 
 trouble he might give them. To this they had no objection, for 
 small help was thankfully received by these people in this out 
 of the way place, where a comfortable living was difficult to 
 secure. 
 
 Of course Lucille was the enticement, a fact the gentleman 
 in no wise attempted denying to himself, whatever he might 
 aver to others. He said, " Here is a woman who would attract 
 wherever one might meet her, did she speak never a word ; for 
 though not faultlessly beautiful, she possesses a charm none can 
 escape." Coming across this rare flower in a wilderness, he 
 was even more interested to know and talk with her, to learn 
 where she came from, and what manner of woman she might 
 be, than if finding her under ordinary circumstances. 
 
 He had traveled much, was a man of the w^orld, and also 
 quite a gallant among ladies, had engaged in flirtation more or 
 less serious, but his heart was still untouched. 
 
 By the afternoon following his arrival he had gained an in- 
 troduction, not a difficult undertaking in a place where there 
 were so few people, and everyone was fairly obliged to know 
 everyone else. 
 
 A walk along the shore, an invitation to enter the pleasant 
 parlor upon their rerurn, a chat upon almost everything under 
 the sun, and before they bade each other good evening the ac- 
 quaintance was commenced which induced the gentleman to 
 remain in this desolate little village a full month, well enter- 
 tained every moment of the time at any rate when beside Lu- 
 cille — a happiness which he managed to enjoy pretty constantly. 
 
 He could never tire of walking, riding, boating, visiting 
 with her; talking and listening to her replies. He found her 
 sensible, quick, witty, well-informed, amiable, easily-pleased, 
 agreeable to look upon, magnetic and sympathetic as only those 
 can be who have been touched by sorrow. 
 
 Lucille never alluded to her sore disappointment in the 
 slightest manner, not even after their acquaintance grew to be 
 an acknowledged friendship; but somehow her new friend felt 
 sure he did not get near her heart, and this was just what he 
 
IV//0 WERE TO BLAME. 129 
 
 was trying to accomplish, staying here in this dreary place all 
 these weeks. 
 
 He was coming to realize more and more everv day that 
 when he went into the world again he must take this dear little 
 woman, whom fate had thrown so unceremoniously in his way 
 along with him to he his own forever. " ' ' 
 
 And yet he almost knew that although she had become in- 
 dispensable to him, no lasting impression was made upon her 
 heart or life by his presence. 
 
 Why, he could not divine; she liked him he was sure, for 
 she brightened at his approach, was contented in his company, 
 and loth to have him go. But she would not allow him to ap- 
 proach her in the least way that could be construed as tender, 
 ordraw from her more sympathy than she displayed towards the 
 children, members of her family and other friends. Of all the 
 women he had known she was the only one over whom he felt 
 absolutely no power; others had been ready to fall into his 
 arms at the slightest provocation, but Lucille was immovable as 
 the pure white marble. He failed to arouse her enthusiasm in 
 any degree, and yet she was uneasy and dissatisfied if he left 
 her long alone, always restful by his side, but when he tried to 
 induce some return of the yearning passion which was consum- 
 ing his own life, he could never gain more than the admission 
 that she was very lonely—glad of his friendship and company. 
 And this was all the bond between them on her part; she 
 had basked in his companionship, as does the consumptive in 
 the rays of the life-giving sun; she seemed powerless to turn 
 away from the invigorating, saving influence which had come 
 to her unsought, m her desperate despondency and grief; she 
 believed it had perfected her restoration to health, and was truly 
 grateful for his kind devotion, but fully understood, notwith- 
 standing all, she could never love him as she knew he desired 
 Lucille had tried her utmost to rest in the sense of possession, 
 which. It was plain to be seen, this man had towards her, but 
 was more and more entirely conscious she did not belono- to 
 him in the least, but to another. ^ 
 
 It mattered not what that other might do, or how long he 
 should stay away— sometime, somewhere, they would meet 
 again and she be his forevermore. 
 
 Lucille was aware she could never forget Henry Armstrong, 
 though having purposely given every opportunity that his 
 image might be displaced. She had allowed the experiment 
 for her own sake, and because of the one to whom she believed 
 
130 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 Henry in honor bound; also to gratify, if possible, this man 
 whose happiness she knew was in her hand; but her wilful 
 heart could not be brought to love him, and now she was ready 
 to answer the question which she was conscious he intended 
 asking, and wished no longer delay. She should miss him sad- 
 ly, but there was no help for it, she must send her kind friend 
 away. Still, day after day passed and the denouement did 
 not come, something seemed to hold it back. 
 
 When her friend called, or they went for the accustomed 
 walk, he would resolve upon ending the mystery of Lucille's 
 conduct towards him, but each day they met and parted, his 
 chains the while tightening hopelessly; the one wish of his 
 heart unaccomplished. 
 
 At last their stroll one afternoon was more extended than 
 usual, a storm overtook them, no alternative remained but shel- 
 ter under the inevitable tree; sharp lightening, terrific thunder, 
 hail and wind, ii fearful storm had come upon them unawares. 
 
 Lucille was thinly clad even for a summer's day, the pre- 
 vious hours being hot and sultry; not a shawl or wrap at hand 
 wherewith to shield the woman he loved, and she so frail the 
 exposure might be fatal. 
 
 Before Lucille could remonstrate he had removed his coat, 
 and placing it about her, lifted her from the drenched ground, 
 doing what he could to protect from the gale. 
 
 The moment he had her in his arms the strong man was 
 wild with love and passion. Not now could the raging ele- 
 ments drow^n his words of love. He entreated Lucille to be 
 his wife, he begged for one kiss from her sweet lips, one love look 
 from her dear eyes; kiss her^ he did, how could she prevent 
 him? In his arms he held her tightly, he showered kisses on 
 her face, but not one in return. 
 
 As she felt his passionate breath upon her cheek, heard the 
 endearing words whispered in her ear, no chord of her being 
 thrilled at his loving caresses. There was no response, only 
 apathetic indifference; noticing this at last, his ardor cooled. 
 •X She lay in his arms helpless as a child, with eyes closed, lips 
 tightly sealed. 
 
 "Lucille, sweet, look at me," he cried. " Kiss me, darling, 
 kiss me." She opened wide her eyes, and gazing full in 
 his face, answered, " No, I cannot kiss you, and you must not 
 kiss me." 
 
 If a thunderbolt from Heaven had struck the man he could 
 not have seemed more certainly sent to his death. He stagger- 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 131 
 
 ed, reeled against a tree, almost fell, then recovering himself, as 
 the storm had abated, they quietly walked home without another 
 word. 
 
 The next morning saw him take the boat as he had intended 
 doing a month before, but now years older, carrying a sadder 
 face, a heavier heart, than when he came. 
 
 Lucille knew, without a shadow of doubt, that her heart 
 would ever refuse another than Henry Armstrong, and she 
 should die an old maid. A woman by every attribute of mind, 
 heart and body, who should have been a loved and loving wife, 
 doomed to such a fate! Thus do men defraud women — enter- 
 ing the sacred citadel, stealing away their choicest possession, 
 naught returning. 
 
 Lucille bitterly reproached herself for encouraging affection 
 from one so truly honest as her lost friend, when she found it 
 impossible to reciprocate; and gladly would have rectified her 
 unhappy error, but regret could not mend the evil wrought. 
 
 The drenching of the cold rain, revulsion of feeling, and 
 subsequent dreary loneliness told upon her health, and again was 
 Lucille cast down. 
 
 The sudden departure was commented upon in the wee 
 little hamlet, a lover's quarrel surmised, and also as the cause of 
 Lucille's alarming illness following, just as would have been 
 done in more fashionable society. But the gossips did not know 
 all about their neighbors' business in this instance, any more 
 than they would in the other probably. 
 
 Finally Lucille rallied as before, regaining health and cheer- 
 fulness, notwithstanding all the strain imposed upon her body 
 and her spirit. 
 
132 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 COMMUNISM, 
 
 After a year's sojourn Eben was glad to dispose of a part 
 of the Ulao property, and dividing the proceeds with John and 
 Lucille, the family moved again, this time returning to Michi- 
 gan, and locating not far from Barrytown, which Eben had 
 left, a happy man with a loving wife, and a good start in life 
 not many years before. Now he returned wifeless and poor, 
 and would have been destitute but for the fortunate outcome of 
 Dr. Gascoigne's last investment. His old neighbors said when 
 they came to visit him, that Eben Grieveau was a good deal 
 broken down with all he had been through since he w^ent away ; 
 and they whispered among themselves, the chances for being 
 better off in every respect, had he kept still. As for Eben, he 
 gave the invariable advice to restless men, when asked his 
 opinion about going West, *Let well enough alone, you can live 
 where you are, if industrious and contented." 
 
 Their new home was the site of a flourishing university, and 
 an academy or preparatory school for both sexes. As Gertrude 
 and Jules had been hindered in their education by the time spent 
 in Wisconsin, they were placed immediately in school. Mr. 
 Smythe, the gentlemanly principal, displayed much apparent 
 interest in the Grieveau children, and soon called upon the 
 family. In a short time he became very attentive to Aunt 
 Lucille, and people were beginning to evince curiosity, when a 
 different fate was evolved by the circumstance of her receiving 
 a sudden summons, and proceeding at once to Freelawn, where 
 her brother John was dangerously ill of a western fever, beg- 
 ging constantly for his sister whom he dearly loved. Her visit 
 was prolonged beyond all expectation. Grandma Brewster at- 
 tending to the household during Lucille's absence. The kind 
 teacher continued his visits without abatement, helping the 
 children with their lessons of an evening; they making rapid 
 progress, being apt, even precocious for their years. Gertrude, 
 especially, though so very young and of delicate organization 
 physically, was acknowledged to be developed beyond her years 
 in mind and character. 
 
 When she became a woman and was called to pass through 
 
lVJ/0 WERE TO BLAME. 133 
 
 seas of trouble, she remembered with wonder how old and sedate 
 were her thoughts and feelings at this immature age. 
 
 For the child really imagined herself capable of loving this 
 teacher who treated her so kindly, w^ith the love a wife should 
 have for a husband; he doing his utmost to encourage the de- 
 lusion, and before Aunt Lucille could make the long journey 
 and return to her charge, the poor, foolish, little girl was actually 
 married to a man many years her senior. 
 
 Grandma Brewster united with a strong force of old ladies, 
 who remonstrated earnestly, Lucille had done the same by 
 letter, but nothing prevented the consummation. The man was 
 determined to wed the child-woman, and easily obtained the 
 consent of Eben, who becoming absorbed recently in religious 
 speculation, was oblivious to everything else. 
 
 From having all his life been an erratic, headstrong man, he 
 had of late grown to be very strange in many of his ideas, and 
 was drifting into an opinionated fanaticism. 
 
 About this time, happening to make the acquaintance of a 
 member of an association, believing among other pecuHar doc- 
 trines, that the common ownership of wives and families as 
 well as property, was expedient, wise and religious, some of 
 the men of the "Community," as it was usually styled, traveling 
 about the country in the interests of their faith, also the mer- 
 cantile part of their scheme, sparing no pains in making prose- 
 lytes; they were invited, and often stopped in the Grieveau < 
 family, and soon Eben was an outspoken convert. These men 
 argued the truth of their' theories from certain passages of 
 scripture, which could not be gainsayed, for ahnost any as- 
 sertion may be proved from the Bible, by taking it piece-meal 
 instead of as a whole. 
 
 Quoting isolated texts, such as "In Heaven they neither 
 marry or are given in marriage," they concluded, the best way 
 to start a Heaven on earth, would be to commence by abolish- 
 ing this holy rite, and establishing free commerce between the 
 sexes. Many were easily made to beheve this extremely 
 human, and not at all divine doctrine, and a large institution 
 was established, which has continued to this day, showing forth 
 by its inner workings, not a Heaven below but a fair sample of 
 the other kind of place. 
 
 People will assent to almost any impious, unnatural, absurd 
 religion, as instance: Communism, Mormonism and other vaga- 
 ries, if plausible theories are preached until an impression is 
 
134 THE STALWARTS ; OR, 
 
 made on the mind before bringing the practical workings and 
 hideousness resulting into view. 
 
 In this manner was Eben dominated by the new creed until 
 he believed the principles taught true, and the life led, the best 
 for individuals and for the race. And there was besides an 
 element of sociability w^hich captivated his heart. While not in 
 any sense licentious, he was, in spite of his willfulness and un- 
 reasonableness, an affectionate lovable man. Little children^ 
 those in any trouble, domestic animals, every weak, dependent 
 or distressed creature, turned to him with implicit trust, as by 
 instinct. Such a man must from his nature enjoy the society of 
 pleasant, decent women, and they confide in him, some more, 
 some less; and this without a thought of wrong. Although there 
 is for every honest man, one woman comprising within her- 
 self all gratifying attributes, as there is for each true woman, 
 the man who could be to her more than any in the world be- 
 sides, it often happens that men and women, miss or lose 
 their mates, and then no one else, not even many combined, are 
 sufficient to appease the hunger of the heart, to satisfy the re- 
 quirements of being. Neither men or women understand this 
 as a rule, hence they try sipping sweets from one, two, or a 
 dozen, with the result of universal demoralization. 
 
 Eben ceased not to grieve for Myra, his lost wife, and the 
 trouble gre\v as he advanced in years. 
 
 To his daughter Gertrude he expressed himself thus: *' My 
 love for your mother increases each year, and at times I long 
 for the presence of her sweet spirit with unutterable desire. I 
 am sure she has before this forgiven me the unkindness with 
 which I treated her when your brother Jules was born, both 
 previous and after the birth; but I cannot forgive myself. 
 Every peculiarity of the boy is a reproach to me; poor fellow, 
 I, of all others, should be more patient w^itK him, knowing he is 
 not responsible for any strange thing he may do; but there is 
 something about him which exasperates me beyond measure.'* 
 
 Gertrude made no answer, for her father was not less a mys 
 tery than her brother; each becoming, as the years went by, 
 more unaccountable to their friends. Father and son were nearly 
 the exact counterpart of each other, in personal appearance, man- 
 ner, general characteristics, and workings of the mind ; the dif- 
 ference being that anything peculiar or only slightly disagree- 
 able in the father, was intensified in the child. 
 
 Seeing the distorted reflection of himself In his son, who 
 had been defrauded of his birthright, a healthy brain and even- 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 135 
 
 ly balanced mind, by his father's mistakes, was what annoyed 
 Eben; but this he did not understand any better than some 
 other of his own experiences. 
 
 It is said a wise man knows himself, but Eben Grieveau's 
 self was a riddle he had never solved, and therefore failed to 
 comprehend why it was that the more lonely and grieved at 
 the loss of Myra he became, the more ardently he wished for 
 the society of women. He sometimes thought of marrying, 
 but had never yet seen the one whom he could endure to enstall 
 in her vacant place. Now, he was offered, through his new 
 friends, and their strange faith, the intimate association with 
 women; or, if he chose to avail himself, even their affection; 
 but devoid of the tie which binds for life, and which under some 
 circumstances is so irksome that any desolation is preferred rather 
 than submit to its demands. 
 
 Embracing the new life one could enjoy this companionship 
 subject to certain restrictions, or, let it alone. He could be the 
 friend of agreeable women without being either husband or 
 lover; this was one of the elements which enticed him, but only 
 one. 
 
 Eben really believed with others the community of family 
 and home, of property and labor, of education and amusement, 
 of all the interests which go to make up life, to be the true idea 
 and the plan intended by the Creator for human living. 
 
 How they came to all these conclusions from any premises 
 found is past comprehension, but to this end had these men read 
 their Bibles, warping their judgment to suit their own notions 
 and desires. 
 
 We have yet to know a true-hearted woman of sound mind 
 who upholds communism of the sexes, or Mormonism, when 
 she has learned the practical outcome of these " isms." Women 
 unless demoralized, preferring starvation to being fed at whole- 
 sale, even though the food be the sweet honey of love. Some- 
 times, when thrown upon their own resources for support, 
 women of the worst type enter houses of prostitution; others, 
 perhaps not much less abandoned, aim by some sort of make- 
 shift, at keeping up a show of respectability while they prey 
 upon society, undermining the very foundation of domestic life. 
 
 Set apart from both these classes are those rendered des- 
 perate by wrongs, over whom let us throw the pure, white 
 mantle of charity. 
 
 But we will not believe that woman, with her inborn, de- 
 vout, consecrated nature, can ever go to Communism or Mor- 
 
136 Tllli STALIVARTS; OR, 
 
 monism; or in any way use religion, knowingly, purposely, 
 willingly as a cloak for her sins; they enter upon these un- 
 natural, repulsive ways of living because their fathers, their 
 husbands or lovers influence, perhaps coerce them, and they re- 
 main enthralled for the same reason. 
 
 However, Eben was prevented from entering community 
 life, although he held to this faith until his death, probably be- 
 cause he never tried the system by experience. 
 
 He was saved in this wise: About six months after the mar- 
 riage of Gertrude to Mr. Smythe, Eben became acquainted 
 with a lady who approached nearer his ideal than any other 
 since Myra's death, as she seemed to love him dearly, they were 
 married, and he was more cheerful and contented than for many 
 years. 
 
 With returning happiness, his mind acquired a healthier 
 tone, and the fanaticism which had possessed him, was held in 
 abeyance. * * * 
 
 While these things were transpiring, Jules was growing, 
 studying and thinking. That crooked brain of his, borti crook- 
 ed, was leading him into many strange ways. He was pro- 
 gressing rapidly with his studies, when suddenly, in spite of all 
 remonstrance, he dropped them, and devoted himself to the in- 
 vestigation of the new religion of which he had heard so much 
 discussion in his father's family before his recent marriage. 
 His mind once directed to obstruse dogma, nothing else satisfied. 
 
 Eben being a believer, did not discourage this turn of affairs, 
 but allowed the boy to leave school and give his whole time to 
 this pursuit; helping him to all the books needed, furnished by 
 the Community. 
 
 Since Eben's marriage, Jules had lived with his sister whose 
 husband still superintended the Academy. Mr. vSmythe never 
 liked him over well, and his growing peculiarities and some- 
 times disagreeable ways were antagonizing him still more, 
 and it was often difficult for Gertrude to keep peace between 
 them. This caused her much unhappiness, for she had been 
 convinced by close observation that her brother was the victim 
 of defective mental organization, rendering him to a certain ex- 
 tent irresponsible, and calling for unusaal forbearance from his 
 relatives. 
 
 One day in a sudden fit of excitement, the usually docile 
 and affectionate boy, at least to his sister, whatever he might 
 be towards others, raised an ax with which he was chopping 
 wood, attempting to strike her; only that she sprang away, he 
 
1 17/0 WERE TO BLAME. 137 
 
 would have felled her to the ground. Frightened and astonished, 
 Gertrude hastened into the house, going to her own room, 
 trying to collect her thoughts and make up 'her mind what 
 course to pursue under this extraordinary development, for, 
 though Jules was often uneasy, fussy and easily irritated by any- 
 thing which rasped his nerves, she had never before seen such 
 a demonstration. Not daring to tell her husband what had oc- 
 curred, full well knowing from past experience that his un- 
 governable temper would be roused to such a pitch, unreason- 
 able vengeance would come upon poor Jules, she at last de- 
 cided to go immediately and inform Grandma Brewster of what 
 had transpired, asking her advice. 
 
 Since Eben's marriage she had bought a little home at the 
 other end of the village, and here lived alone. Without delay, 
 Gertrude putting on bonnet and shawl, walked over to her 
 house, and w^ith flushed face and streaming eyes related what 
 had happened. They agreed that not a word should be said 
 about the trouble either to Mr. Smythe or Eben. 
 
 His father could not take Jules home if he desired, for his 
 wife disliked the boy extremely. 
 
 Homeless unfortunate, upon him were falling the conse- 
 quences of wrongs inflicted before he was born. Eben would 
 gladly have done more for the boy, but since the change in his 
 family, it w^as impossible, and his conscience distressed him in 
 regard to Jules as never before. He had come of late to believe 
 with Grandma Brewster and Gertrude, that something was 
 radically wrong and twisted in the make-up of the boy's mind; 
 that he would always be, growing more so as lbs years ad- 
 vanced, erratic, hard to get along with, and though well intention- 
 ed, to some people disagreeable and troublesome. That he was 
 doomed to be one of those impractical geniuses who fail to get 
 a good grip on life, are unable to cope with their fellows in the 
 race, sure to fall behind, sure to go under. 
 
 He had a fair amount of ability in certain directions, and 
 was at times the extreme of good nature; then, suddenly, with- 
 out warning, would become unruly, even violent. When not 
 moody he was apt to be restless and changeable, could not be 
 kept long enough at one employment to accomplish anything 
 worth while, but, on the other hand, if he took a notion of him- 
 self, would persist contrary to any advice or remonstrance, until 
 he had gained the object undertaken however unwise or ridicu- 
 lous. 
 
 No one could predict what would come of it all, or how the 
 
138 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 strange, unhappy boy would turn out. It was long years be- 
 fore the inside of that remarkably constructed brain was looked 
 into, and as yet none dreamed of the catastrophe which was to 
 culminate as the result of its morbid workings. 
 
 Although Gertrude and Grandma Brewster tried to keep 
 the knowledge to themselves, a man employed about the place 
 had seen the ax raised in the hand of Jules to strike his sister. 
 Eben soon heard of the trouble, and that Mr. Smythe refused 
 longer to be annoyed with him. 
 
 Eben and the rest, know^ing it was not his nature to be vin- 
 dictive, revengeful or cruel, were more than ever anxious about 
 the boy, really at their wit's ends, trying to contrive how to dis- 
 pose of him, and thankfully accepted Grandma Brewster's offer 
 that he should stay w^ith her for awhile. She said, " She could 
 manage him, and they'd get along nicely." All were pleased 
 and the transfer was made. 
 
 Those few weeks when he lived with Grandma, cut her 
 wood, built her fires, milked her cow and went errands for her, 
 was the most comfortable time he had spent since he used to 
 walk up and down the lake shore with Gertrude in Wisconsin. 
 Knowing all the circumstances of his birth, and taking into ac- 
 count recent events, she watched him closely at first, and with 
 just the slightest fear; but he was so quiet, affectionate and do- 
 cile, she w^as encouraged and began to prophesy that "Jules 
 would take a turn," which he did shortly, and an unexpected 
 one it was. 
 
 Without consulting any of his friends he abruptly started off 
 for the " Community," as the new religionists had named the 
 place of their abode, and was missing several days before they 
 learned where he was; then the news came by letter of his 
 whereabouts. 
 
 It seemed he had saved a small sum of money from the pit- 
 tance given him from time to time, and as railroads were then 
 built through the country, he was soon at his destination, well 
 satisfied with the performance. 
 
 When Eben heard what had occurred, he felt relieved of a 
 heavy load which he knew himself incompetent to carry, and 
 placed the boy as soon as the papers could be made out, irrevoc- 
 ably, during his minority, in the custody of the leaders and 
 rulers of the association, transferring to them the property de- 
 signed for his education by his grandfather. Dr. Gascoigne. 
 
 Foolish Jules, when he was at last fixed in his chosen home, 
 tied hand and foot, a prisoner under a cruel despotism, found 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 139 
 
 what had been done — the kind of Hfe he was expected to lead, 
 and why the emissaries of the Community had worived upon 
 his father and himself, until their object was accomplished; but 
 there was no helping now the mistaken action. 
 
 Nothing could ever convince his deluded father of the real 
 state of things at this place; where without any actual knowl- 
 edge of their practices he had decided his boy should remain. 
 
 Once only during the time her brother was at the Commu- 
 nity did Gertrude unasked intrude upon their privacy, and dur- 
 ing the day she spent with him they were so closely watched, 
 not one word of special conversation was secured, and all she 
 ascertained of his feelings or condition was, that he seemed like 
 one dazed and cowed down by fear. She never knew until he 
 became of age, and she could interfere in his behalf and he was 
 finally released from their tyranny, to what cruelties he had been 
 subjected, and then only in part. 
 
 His mind being full of imaginations she gave little credence 
 to his stories until they had been fully corroborated by other 
 testimony horrible as true, and as true as horrible.. 
 
 When the proof came to her which could not be gainsayed,. 
 that a woman, induced by her husband to go with him and enter 
 this Hell upon Earth, had been found by her brother, a respect- 
 able farmer, imprisoned in a cellar of one of the Community 
 buildings; she a raving maniac, her lacerated back from neck 
 to waist, welted, marked with festering gore from the lashes 
 administered to drive the "Devil" out of her, as they said^ — a 
 " Devil " which would not allow of her giving her husband up 
 to strange women, or permit her cohabitation with strange men. 
 When it was found that it had cost ($25,000) twenty-five thou- 
 sand dollars to suppress this testimony, which years after came 
 out in court, when least expected, and was fully proven under 
 oath of the woman's near relatives; then Gertrude and others 
 who had before been skeptical, believed what had been called 
 crazy Jules' wild stories. And that discipline had been admin- 
 istered in this socialistic kome^ after the fashion of the modern 
 reformatories for criminals, and even resorted to oftener than 
 is ever known in those places where brain-sick people are seclu- 
 ded from the world for treatment. Yes, secluded from their 
 friends, too, quite as effectually by the watchful regulation of' 
 " visiting day," the supervision and retention of their letters, 
 and other ways and means by which organized power can 
 blind even the solicitude of true love, can cover, when occasion 
 and ample pay demands, the doings of Demons. Can make it 
 
140 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 appear that sane people are crazy, and render crazy people still 
 more insane by treatment which includes the diet of bread and 
 water, chains, handcuffs, straight-jackets, dungeons, the cold 
 douche, sometimes beatings which bring the blood at every 
 blow. 
 
 In the modern insane asylum the plea for using these refne- 
 dial measures^ is, restraining the insane impulse, destroying de- 
 lusion, restoring unbalanced minds. 
 
 The Community excused their brutality by averring that the 
 Devil must be driven out of refractory members — women and 
 children were the usual victims — occasionally a demented man 
 or a boy received chastisement. 
 
 In both cases the inhumanities practiced should be investi- 
 gated and punished by the severest penalties of the law. 
 
 Finally in the bitter Winter weather at fnidnight yules es- 
 caped from a third story window^ walking for miles to reach 
 his sister and make accusations against his tormentors; but these 
 things had not been established, and they, making excuse as to 
 him that he was erratic and unruly, which was in some degree 
 true, his deluded father also siding with them, his best friends 
 not believing him entirely responsible for all his sayings, the 
 matter as to him was dropped. 
 
 After Jules returned to his sister Gertrude's home, either 
 from the natural development of his case, or from the cruel 
 treatment he had received at the " Community," he was still 
 more shattered and incapable of anything practical. His friends 
 tried their utmost to set him right, but his mind was full of 
 vagaries and they could not control him, seldom would he be 
 advised. 
 
 As Gertrude's husband had turned from school teaching to 
 the study of law, becoming a successful practitioner, Jules was 
 induced to enter his office as a student and clerk; the usual 
 time elapsing, he was admitted to the bar, much to their sur- 
 prise, upon answering two out of the three questions put to him 
 — so slack was the examination in those days, conducted by one 
 of the three judges appointed for. the work and engineered 
 through proper influence; which Jules astonished them by se- 
 curing as the result of his own efforts, for he had an unusual 
 'faculty of ingratiating himself into the good will of those with 
 whom he came in contact. 
 
 When it was over, he came rushing into Gertrude's little 
 sitting-room where she was sewing, with her three year old 
 Elsie by her side, shouting, " I've got my license, I'm admitted, 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 141 
 
 hurrah!" flourishing the important paper in the air above his 
 head. 
 
 *' Why, Jules," said Gertrude, " how did you manage to 
 pass?" "Oh!" answered Jules, "Charley Rush only asked 
 me three questions and I knew tivo^ and he let me go. Ha! ha! 
 ha!" ending with that strange, indescribable, hideous laugh, 
 a sure indication of insanity, and which Gertrude recognized as 
 the same she had heard the day he raised the ax to strike her 
 (an occurence of which he afterwards seemed entirely oblivious). 
 At the sound her blood curdled in her veins, she hardly knew 
 why — but she said nothing. 
 
 After Jules was admitted to the bar his unnatural egotism, 
 a trait also often indicating insanity, and which had all along 
 been a marked and disagreeable characteristic, increased to such 
 an unbearable degree he would listen to no advice, endure no 
 restraint, and was sure he knew all that was necessary about 
 everything; yet he could not earn his own food or clothing, 
 and was incompetent to provide for himself. 
 
 Gertrude and his other friends worried along with him for 
 a while, striving to keep him near them ; but after a time he 
 drifted away notwithstanding all their endeavors, ceased to 
 communicate, and for years they did not hear from him. Poor 
 Jules, little did they imagine his true condition, or that he was 
 growing crazier each day — an inevitable result of his pre-natal 
 misfortunes. When at last tidings came to them of their wan- 
 derer, the ghastly message froze the blood with an untold hor- 
 ror, of those who still loved him for his mother's sake, and they 
 were struck dumb, quaking with a deadly fear. 
 
 Eben was gone, and Grandma Brewster, only Aunt Lucille 
 and Gertrude remained to do battle for him against a whole 
 world. 
 
142 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LUCILLE'S VISION. 
 
 Going in retrospect a few years to about the time when Jules 
 had entered the " Community," we will take up an important 
 stitch which was dropped in the yarn we are manipulating. As 
 will be remembered, Lucille was some time before summoned 
 to the bedside of her brother John, whom she succeeded in nurs- 
 ing back to life through one of those low, malignant fevers 
 which often shatter the constitution beyond repair. 
 
 As he did not regain his health and strength sufficiently to 
 endure farm labor^ they disposed of the place as soon as an op- 
 portunity presented, purchasing the old Grieveau homestead in 
 the village of Freelawn, and Lucille having consented upon their 
 urgent invitation to remain with them after hearing of the mar- 
 riage of Eben and " little Gertrude," as they still called her, 
 had as her own the very room in which Mvra died. 
 
 Here she had agonized in years gone by as she now felt she 
 could never again suffer for her lost love's sake, but although 
 the acuteness of her first grief had passed away, the heart hun- 
 ger was not appeased. 
 
 While she occupied this room, saturated with memories, un- 
 til faces seemed to stare at her from the very walls, and voices 
 to vibrate through the air, Lucille had an experience which tore 
 open the old -wound until it bled afresh. 
 
 On a warm summer day, as before, when she had that 
 vision of Henry going far away — just such a day over again — 
 a day when her soul had been tortured almost to the verge of 
 escaping from the body, Lucille was again brought to the cli- 
 max when spirit and matter well nigh part company, the angel 
 of sleep now mercifully tempering her sore distress. She 
 dreamed of Henry Armstrong, and he at the altar, a beautiful 
 young bride by his side, flowers, music, all beauty and joy were 
 there; the betrothed pair stood before the sacred man in somber 
 gown, the ceremony was commenced; at the proper time, 
 Henry essayed to take the hand of her he would wed, but a 
 deathly pallor overspread his face, and the strong arm dropped 
 for a moment powerless by his side, when, proceeding, the 
 words were said, " I -pronounce you husband and wife^'' a figure 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME 143 
 
 exactly like Luciile's own self, in form and feature, stepped be- 
 tween the united pair, which Henry seeing, turned whiter still, 
 staggered, and fell. 
 
 People were now running to and fro — "The bridegroom has 
 a sudden illness," they said; and Lucille sat dreaming in Myra's 
 old arm chair, as she had done fifteen years before that very 
 day. 
 
 Appalled — shuddering with terror — she awoke, and for days 
 afterwards she could not shake off or dispel the sense of dreary 
 foreboding caused by her remarkable dream. But this is scarcely 
 or fairly altogether retrospection. 
 
144 THE STALWARTS; OR 
 
 CHATER XIX, 
 
 CI\'IL WAR. 
 
 While these things were transpiring, the whole country, 
 east, west, north and south, was becoming excited more and 
 more as the years went by, over the question of negro slavery 
 at the south. Agitation had been inaugurated by a set of soft- 
 hearted fanatics, called Abolitionists, and kept up by designing 
 politicians until Mrs. Stowe's story of " Uncle Tom's Cabin" 
 had aroused the moral sentiment and sympathies of a majority of 
 the northern people in behalf of these enslaved negroes, and 
 they determined the favorite southern institution should never 
 be extended into the new Territories of the Union, even if it 
 could not be exterminated from the Southern States. 
 
 The people below " Mason and Dixon's line," from having 
 become accustomed to the injustice and hardships inflicted by 
 the sanction of the peculiar slave code, ceased to regard w^th 
 horror the daily spectacle of the cruelties and inhumanities 
 practiced. 
 
 They insisted the institution was permitted by Divine writ, 
 was patriarchal and protecting in its character, best for the 
 colored race, and further, when they chose to occupy any por- 
 tion of Uncle Sam's domain, they should take their goods and 
 chattels, that is their slaves, with them; the Northerners said, 
 " You shall not," and thereufo7i was war. 
 
 Before this final catastrophe there had been much commo- 
 tion for several years. 
 
 The slaves knew from Intuition, as well as by rumor, it 
 seemed, that liberty and the pursuit of individual happiness ex- 
 isted for them at the North, and to the Northern country they 
 were determined to go, leaving their dear masters far behind. 
 
 So many runaways were harbored, encouraged and helped 
 to reach the Canadas, by the residents of Northern States, that 
 the Southern politicians finally succeeded in establishing a U. S. 
 Statute called " The fugitive slave law," which required that all 
 persons should give up escaping slaves upon legal demand and 
 provided severe penalties. 
 
 But notwithstanding this law, fugitives continued running 
 away from their masters, who never resorted to more earnest 
 
W//0 WERE TO BLAME. 145 
 
 measures than fifty, one hundred or more lashes, as they hap- 
 pened to fancy; or hunting down with bloodhounds, the ani- 
 mals often tearing their victims limb from limb; or burning at 
 the stake, and other similar mild means for the reclamation of 
 their cherished bondsmen. 
 
 And although the severe punishments were promptly en- 
 forced upon anyone convicted of violating the law, the queer 
 set of soft-hearted fanatics, before alluded to, contrived what 
 they called an underground railroad, and in various ways assisted 
 the escape of these men, women and children, who, even if 
 covered b}^ a black skin, they foolishly believed entitled to all 
 the political privileges and protection enjoyed by their whiter 
 complexioned brothers and sisters. 
 
 The people of the south would not give up their slaves, but 
 with true southern, headstrong, unreasonable passion and grit, 
 declared through their leaders, " They'd fight for what they 
 considered their rights, until the last man lay in the last ditch." 
 
 These southern slave-holders had grown, generation after 
 generation, rich and powerful by the labor and suffering of their 
 fellowmen, until they were proud, arrogant and in this matter 
 unprincipled, freely boasting withal of their honor. "A southern 
 gentleman's word was as good as his bond," said they, " be it a 
 gambling debt or what not, did he owe any man, the obligation 
 should be paid at maturity." Why not P All he need do, sell 
 a slave or two and the money was ready! Easy enough to be 
 honorable at the expense of some one else suffering. These 
 men hated labor and the laborer. '' No northern mud-sill should 
 dictate to them as to the right or wrong of their actions or man- 
 ner of life, that w^as their own affair." Was it? The sequel 
 proved it to be an affair which concerned forces far above either 
 northern mud-sill or southern gentlemen, moved by a Power 
 controlling the destiny of Races and of Nations, no less than in- 
 dividuals. 
 
 There were, as is always the case in political and civil con- 
 tests, conservatives both at the South and the North, trying their 
 utmost to restrain wrath and induce peace, but they found it 
 impossible to control or influence in any great degree, either of 
 the extremes to which reference has been made. 
 
 The Abolitionists should have arranged some plan where- 
 by the slave-holders might have received compensation for their 
 slave-property, or a system of gradual emancipation and emi- 
 gration should have been established. 
 
 And yet it is doubtful, had such a proposition been made, if 
 
 10 
 
146 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 it would have been favorably received ; the ownership of human 
 beings was so profitable and satisfying an investment, that 
 scarcely One less than The Omnipotent could have wrested them 
 away. 
 
 And the wrongs perpetrated under the delusion that Divin- 
 ity gave sanction, were at the last atoned for in blood and dire 
 agony, such as only the carnage of war can bring. 
 
 For several years, while these contending parties were rang- 
 ing themselves on either side for the final battle, during each 
 political campaign, the points at issue would crowd to the sur- 
 face, and neither the peace-makes North or South could pre- 
 vent or retard for any length of time the imminent* catastrophe. 
 But instinctively feeling if ever the extremes met face to 
 face, a long and bitter war must be the result — in sheer dread 
 they used their utmost endeavor trying to stay the calamity, and 
 might perhaps have been successful had not foreign influences, 
 as the sequel proved, been added to the already disturbed con- 
 dition of our politics. 
 
 Finally, Abraham Lincoln, the pioneer rail-splitter, the re- 
 nouned story-teller, the hard working lawyer of Illinois: a man 
 who quietly, persistently, /^i?«gi•//y had worked his way from an 
 illiterate, over- worked, back- woods-man to be one of the first 
 lawyers in his state; a man who could cope with the giant in- 
 tellect of a Douglas in debate, and not be overcome, but rather 
 bear away the laurels; a man without spot or blemish to detract 
 from the beauty and purity of his character; a man of whom 
 every honest northern working man was justly, and ever will 
 be proud; this man, a King amojig /;^^;2.^ was nominated for 
 President of the United States, by the party lately consolidat- 
 ed from the old-time Whig, the recent Free-soil and other 
 abolition parties, and aptly named to catch the popular fancy. 
 Republican. 
 
 The new coalition swept the country, and Abraham Lincoln 
 was elected President. 
 
 At this, the southern slave Oligarchy and the northern Dem- 
 agogues were rampant. 
 
 They declared *'The low-lived mud-sill, the black-hearted 
 abolitionist," as they named him, should never take his seat 
 in the presidential chair, or occupy the White House at Wash- 
 ington, and his assassination was freely threatened. 
 
 The Southerners were in dead earnest and forthwith pre- 
 pared for war, though not openly. Wheii they we7'e ready a- 
 
in/O //'/-.A'/-; 7\> BLAME. 147 
 
 test case was forced at Sumpter, and the Fort was fired upon 
 by the Rebels, as they were now styled. 
 
 In the mean time the journey had been safely made by the 
 newly elected President, from his home in Springfield, Illinois, 
 and the inauguration had taken place in Washington. 
 
 Only after the Rebels commenced glaring hostilities, did the 
 North awaken to the fact of civil war. Before this the majority 
 North and South believed all the menaces and commotion to be 
 but the idle, violent talk of politicians determined to gain their 
 point; — noiu they realized that cannon were to roar and musket- 
 ry to rattle, that armed men were to march to and fro in con- 
 flict; that sons, husbands, fathers were to leave their homes; 
 that widows and orphans were to fill the land; that there was 
 to be suffering dire, and death, aud broken ties, and grief un- 
 utterable. 
 
 And zvomen held still their hearts^ zvhile men zcent Jorth to 
 battle. 
 
 One of the very first responding at his country's call was 
 John Gascoigne. Leaving Lucille and Julia with the boy 
 Charley who had grown quite a lad, in the old place to attend 
 the store and post office as best they could, John started for the 
 headquarters of the regiment, then recruiting in their vicinity. 
 He had received the assurance from friends and neighbors, es- 
 pecially from Uncle Tut and Aunt Debby, that they would 
 have a care for his family, and Julia who'had alwa/s been a 
 stirring sort of woman, he knew would find no difficulty in 
 managing the business. Lucille, at John's request, was ap- 
 pointed in his place as postmistress, an innovation inaugurated 
 during the war, paving the way for the after prominence of 
 women in national affairs. 
 
 John entered the Western Division of the army, volunteer- 
 ing as a common soldier, and some time elapsed before he was 
 brought into special prominence. The Bull Run disaster had 
 occurred, also the partial victory of the second Bull Run fight, 
 before the Western Division accomplished anything of note. 
 
 Both the northern and southern armies had advanced and 
 been repulsed time and again, many battles been fought, and 
 the war was extending into years instead of terminating in a 
 few months, as had at first been predicted, and nothing was 
 heard except by his family and neighbors, concerning ^John 
 Gascoigne; he had, to be sure, been in a good manv engage- 
 ments of more or less importance, enduring his full share'^of 
 
148 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 hardships, but was yet only an atom in the great whole, only a 
 soldier in the Army of the Republic. 
 
 At last a hardly contested battle was fought on the Missis- 
 sippi, the result being a surprise to the country, when it was 
 known a decided gain had been made for the North. 
 
 It was also found that John Gascoigne, who had risen from 
 the ranks to an honorable place without attracting particular 
 attention, was the hero of the hour, and he was given a high 
 position as his hard earned reward, with the title of General. 
 
 Soon after he w^as transferred to the Army of the Potomac 
 and placed in command of a division. As he was to be per- 
 manently in the East and could have his famiily near him, they 
 decided upon removing to Washington where his headquarters 
 would be; and Lucille, Julia and the boy Charley, all who were 
 left of the family in Freelawn, made preparations for the change. 
 Ere the departure, his towns-people were made happy by a 
 visit from Gen. John A. Gascoigne, now without doubt carrying 
 with his name a proud renoun. 
 
 A glorious reception they accorded him, prompted by hearty 
 good will, compensating for many a sorrow and hardship. 
 
 In the midst of the rejoicing a telegram announced a con- 
 ference of the Generals of the Eastern Army v/ith the Presi- 
 dent and Commander-in-Chief, the revered Lincoln; and Gen. 
 Gascoigne must hasten away. 
 
 Farewells were hastily spoken, and the next morning they 
 had started by rail on their way to Washington. 
 
 Again passing through Chicago, they saw not the sloppy, 
 muddy, little Indian town of the years before, but a flourishing, 
 enterprising city with its comfortable hotels, its blocks of iron, 
 and stone and brick for business and residence, with its paved 
 streets and stone side-walks, its marvelous water works, its cen- 
 tering rail roads, its commerce and trade — one of the wonder- 
 ful young cities of this great but still new country. 
 
 Our friends remained over night and after dining at one of 
 the hotels. Gen. Gascoigne, who had a matter of business which 
 needed looking after, and was also curious to note the improve- 
 ments, strolled out leisurely examining some of the former land- 
 marks and more noticable recent buildings. 
 
 As he stood gazing upon the old Court House, long since 
 passed away, born swiftly in the Fire-King's flame wreathed 
 chariot, but which was at that time considered an achievement in 
 architecture not to be despised ; Gen. Gascoigne presented a type 
 of manhood seldom seen. 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 149 
 
 His frame of grand proportions was symetrically formed, 
 his carriage strikingly noble, and there was something indescrib- 
 able in the free springing stride, and lofty, independent manner 
 of throwing up his head, shaking back from the massive brow 
 the superb shock of long and heavy jet-black hair, entirely 
 different from any other, reminding by its strong, straight, 
 ebony masses, of the Indian chiefs who ruled the tribes of the 
 wilderness in olden times. 
 
 Hair the same in color and in its luxurient growth, as the 
 remarkable mustache reaching down, over, and almost covering 
 the dark-hued beard, sombre as midnight. 
 
 Hair, beard and mustache matching the magnificent far-see- 
 ing, passionate eyes; not those ordinary black eyes, small, bead- 
 like and repulsive — but the glorious, uncommon eyes, speaking 
 from soul to soul, and which are so very rare. 
 
 Altogether, Gen. John A. Gascoigne was a man scarcely to 
 be encountered in a life time, and when once beheld, never for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Whether his unusually handsome and distingue appear- 
 ance had attracted the strange creature at his feet, can not be 
 said, but suddenly an unmistakable negro "Hi, hi, hi! massa!" 
 called his surprised attention to the most ludicrous figure the 
 general had ever seen ; kneeling before him on the stone side- 
 walk was an old darkey wrapt in admiration, his bald head 
 thrown back, the coal-black, velvety eyes displaying a wide 
 margin of glistening china-white, the great, thick, red lips 
 parted in wonder and adoration, revealing the whitest of teeth; 
 the clasped hands uplifted as in prayer; — who was known to 
 every one about town from his pitiful condition and grotesque 
 appearance, as "Crazy Leonard." His dress was even more re- 
 markable than his strange conduct; by his side he had carefully- 
 placed his hat, when in mute admiration falling prostrate at 
 the feet of the General, and this was in itself a curiosity, ever 
 changing in the light of each new day as the chameleon of many 
 hues. A silk hat, though dilapidated, nothing less suited 
 Leonard's aristocratic ideas, but the decorations surpassed any- 
 thing before attempted in the line of millinery under the sun. 
 
 One day an immense bunch of artificial roses, a tin- star, or 
 tag, such as are used for labeling various articles, a long feather 
 from ostrich, peacock, turkey or shanghai, as he had the fortune 
 to find; bows of ribbon of different gay colors completed the 
 trimming, but never twice alike did this eccentric head-gear ap- 
 pear in public. 
 
150 THE S'lAUVARTS: OR, 
 
 The other garments comprising a man's apparel were al- 
 ways of well worn black doe-skin or broadcloth, this also being 
 his idea of gentility, and were set off in the same outlandish 
 fashion; the effort being mostly expended upon the front of his 
 coat and vest. 
 
 All will concede that the personelle of this poor fellow was 
 quite strange enough, but when that enormous mouth opened 
 the astonishment and interest increased. 
 
 " Hi-hi-hi, massa, praise de Lord dat poor Leonard see you. 
 I's lub struck, I is, but I's a good boy. Leonard come clean 
 back-yard if massa say so. Leonard nebber do any harm. I's 
 lub struck, I is, dat's what ails poor Leonard. Massa down in 
 ole Virgin ny take my 'Liza 'way wid him, neber see her no mo, 
 neber no mo, for shuah. ''\Az2i^ mighty nice gal, yellow as a 
 sunflower, but she done gone 'way, shziah. Leonard'U come 
 clean back-yard, stay to dinner if massa say so. Leonard's lub 
 struck, 'scuse poor Leonard, hi-hi-hi, massa." This speech was 
 delivered with a pitiful pathos of intonation, impossible to imi- 
 tate, ending in attempted merriment, still more pitiful. Mak- 
 ing a very low bow, he arose, placed his wonderful hat on 
 his empty head, and then apparently reconsidering, took it in 
 his hand, waiting patiently for the General to speak. 
 
 So surprised was General Gascoigne at the spectacle before 
 him, he could not immediately recover himself, but at length 
 taking in the man's condition, that of a harmless lunatic, he 
 thrust his hand in his pocket, draw ing out some loose change, 
 which he offered him. 
 
 To his amazement crazy Leonard drew himself up with 
 great dignity, lifting his hat again to his head, and with a most 
 courtly bow, a gracious, condescending smile, he answered, 
 *' No massa, no, keep dem yourself, Leonard don't want no such 
 trash; he's got plenty jinglers too — see hyar — " and taking a 
 handful of odd buttons, bits of tin and little trinkets which he had 
 picked up in his wanderings, from the deep pockets in the tails 
 of his long frock coat, he proudly displayed his treasures. 
 
 After a little, being satisfied at the interest manifested by his 
 auditor in his stores, crazy Leonard walked away; but a few 
 minutes later the General was conscious of some one following, 
 and looking round, saw his admirer walking behind him at a 
 respectful distance; keeping right along, when General Gas- 
 coigne reached his hotel Leonard seated himself with the utmost 
 complacence near by on the piazza. 
 
 A group of gentlemen soon had the General in conversation, 
 
IV HO WERE TO BLAME. 151 
 
 for he was a favorite wherever he went. Leonard sat still 
 drinking in every word that fell from his lips, and as l:tefore, 
 wrapt in admiration. General Gascoigne prevented the servants 
 from molesting him, and moyed with pity, handed the porter a 
 quarter to find a bed, and another for supper, to be furnished 
 the harmless demented creature. 
 
 ,\t the usual time the hotel guests went to their rooms and 
 crazy Leonard was forgotten. 
 
 The next morning early, the General and his party took the 
 train for Washington. When all were settled in their places, 
 and the conductor was passing through for fares, a commotion 
 was raised by an effort to put a colored man off the cars because 
 of non-payment, He screamed and struggled until the atten- 
 tive of the passengers was attracted. The man proved to be 
 Leonard, who insisted he belonged to the General's party, and 
 must remain in the same car to wait upon him. General Gas- 
 coigne recognizing his adorer of the night before, rather enjoy- 
 ing the joke and the ludicrousness of the situation, came to the 
 rescue, paid half fare and had him placed in a second-class car 
 upon his assurance that he would " Keep quiet and be a good 
 boy," deciding in his own mind to take him to Washington and 
 if necessary place him in an asylum. 
 
 Leonard caused no further trouble, but when the company- 
 disembarked for meals, was introduced to the ladies and gave 
 them much entertaiment; to Julia especially was he attracted, 
 as he had been to the General, seeming to be fascinated by the 
 pronounced and strong type of physical beauty for which the 
 couple were celebrated. 
 
 Julia declared she would keep him near her, and ever after 
 General Gascoigne's establishment was adorned by crazy Leon- 
 ard, and, in many ways he became useful, after they got him 
 toned down as to dress and some other particulars; Julia hu- 
 mored his caprice for bright colors and decorations, and when 
 dressed in the English lackey style, with his own daily additions 
 which he continued to pick up, his taste for the grotesque was 
 fully gratified. 
 
 Little by little they learned his strangfe history, as he had 
 lucid intervals and could remember and talk with some degree 
 of rationality. 
 
 He was a fugitive slave, having in bondage a good enough 
 master, as masters are, allowing his slaves more privileges and 
 better education than was usual. Leonard being body-servant, 
 almost even a business manager, (for he had possessed more 
 
152 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 than ordinary intelligence) being about the house and his per- 
 son constantly, it happened that he fell desperately in love 
 with a comely yellow girl whom his master had as a mistress. 
 
 This fact coming to the eyes of the master, for love cannot 
 be concealed even under a black skin, he ordered his faithful 
 servant to be severely flogged for his impudence, as he called it, 
 also the poor girl, because he said, "She had encouraged a lover." 
 
 After the man had recovered from his terrible punishment, 
 he did not cease, night or dav, to revolve in his mind how he 
 might escape from this cruel thralldom,and rescue his love from 
 her desperate fate. 
 
 At last the opportunity came, and giving the girl assurance 
 that he would steal or buy her, after he secured his own free- 
 dom, he started on his perilous journey for the Canadas, reach- 
 ing his destination with the usual risks and vicissitudes. 
 
 Several years elapsed and by hard work Leonard accumu- 
 lated a small sum of money. Hearing of the John Brown ex- 
 peditions which had been organized for the purpose of running 
 slaves off to Canada from the South, he joined them, and started, 
 full of hope, for the heart of the southern country where the 
 old plantation was situated, intending b}- secret negotiations to 
 buy his lost love. If this failed, carry her away by force. 
 
 The party reached Harper's Ferry in safety, where they 
 stopped for rest and arms. Here they were joined by their 
 chief and a small squad of his men, among them, as turned out 
 years after, the son of Eben and Myra Grieveau, who come 
 across and naturally afiih'ated, with these intensely conscientious 
 Abolitionists, when he had drifted away from his friends. For 
 all his inherited tendencies prompted Jules Grieveau to sym- 
 pathy with the oppressed wherever found. Although at that 
 time he was considered a strange man with queer notions, his 
 real insa?zity had not developed to the marked degree which 
 would attract attention among a concourse of zealous fanatics, 
 certainly themselves could not recognize a disease so nearly al- 
 lied to their own condition. 
 
 This visionary brain was quick to grasp the scheme of their 
 leader, the noble-hearted and philanthrophic, though mistaken, 
 John Brown, and he went into the work with an enthusiasm 
 unexcelled by any of the others. He took a special interest in 
 the case of Leonard, who was seeking his lost love; for Jules 
 had himself been disappointed and defrauded even before en- 
 tering the "Community," and a boy's love is sometimes as pure 
 and earnest, if not intense to the degree of those passionate 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 153 
 
 affections of later life. Many a man carries the ineffaceable scar 
 of a wound inflicted in the years so full of tender memories, of 
 youthful endeavor, of honest purpose, before he has passed from 
 the teens into the twenties. Jules Grieveau's brooding fancies 
 and morbid tendencies were not dispelled or cured by this, to 
 him, sad experience, and possibly it had much to do with the 
 after developments in his case. 
 
 Soon the raiders secreted in the old barn at Harper's Ferry 
 were surprised, surrounded and captured after a desperate fight 
 with United States troops; a few only escaping, among them 
 Jules Grieveau, who, as afterwards transpired, wandered still 
 further away towards Ohio and Kentucky, with the vague idea 
 of finding Leonard's girl and bringing her back to the North; 
 at least, this seemed his first idea, but his mind soon turned to 
 its wonted fanaticism. Years after, in the course of testimony 
 given under oath by various persons, Jules' friends, from whom 
 he had disappeared during this time, were surprised to learn he 
 had been a constant traveler throughout the Eastern, Western, 
 Middle, and Southern States; actually traversing the Continent 
 from ocean to ocean. How he managed will never be known, 
 but it is certain that he had no settled or visible means of sup- 
 port; his story being that he w^as "getting in his work for the 
 Lord," lecturing and distributing pamphlets, both of the intensely 
 fanatical type, which characterized his insanity more and more 
 until the end. He said, when under oath in his own behalf, "I 
 reckon some of you would call me a tramp, but I only did as the 
 Lord told his disciples to do, taking my staff and going from city 
 to city, giving no thought as to what I should eat or what I should 
 wear. I had a hard time getting in my work for the Lord, I 
 can tell you, and was often hungry and cold, and knew not 
 where to lay my head; but then it was no harder than Paul and 
 the Master had, and it's all right, I am satisfied. Fd rather be 
 one of the LorcCs ' trafnps^ than any of those rich men who 
 can no more enter Heaven than a camel can get through the 
 eye of a needle." And thus at the last the poor crazy fellow 
 unwittingly reproved and convicted the selfish, worldly crowd, 
 gloating in his torture. But all those years the homeless man 
 wandered and w^andered, growing more forlorn and insane 
 each day. 
 
 John Brown and several of the captured men, convicted of 
 inciting an insurrection and of treason, were hung; martyrs to 
 the cause of Human Freedom. 
 
 No proof was adduced convincing to the unprejudiced, that 
 
154 THE STALIVARTS; OR, 
 
 they intended arousing the southern slaves to insurrection or 
 violence of any kind, but only to help those who -were cruelly 
 treated in gaining their freedom, furnishing arms for defense 
 should they be attacked, but not for the purpose of commenc- 
 ing hostilities. 
 
 This jnst and philanthropic plan might have saved the desola- 
 tion of a civil w^ar; however, it proved not to be the order of 
 Fate or Providence, as you will. 
 
 While Leonard lay in prison, the girl he loved was so 
 severely punished for some trifling offense, by the master who 
 hated her since finding she preferred another man to himself, 
 (for a licentious man is invariably wickedly jealous), that after 
 excruciating torture, she died. 
 
 When Leonard learned what had happened, this, together 
 with the execution of his loved commander, John Brown, and 
 the immediate breaking out of the war, dethroned his reason, 
 and he became the wreck, the harmless lunatic we have shown 
 you. 
 
 Even crazy Leonard w^as afterwards avenged ; the fatal doom 
 falling upon one at least, who was surely concerned in the sad 
 outcome of a national tragedy, receiving just punishment through 
 his instrumentality. 
 
^BO WERE TO BLAME. 155 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IN THE "ROCKIES." 
 
 Fifteen years had now elapsed, not one of his former friends 
 receiving any word from Henry Armstrong, since the night 
 when he stood by Lucille's prostrate, sadly wasted form, and in 
 her pale face saw the unutterable love, joyous peace and trust, 
 which settled upon her heart at sight of him; and then in sheer 
 weakness, closing her eyes, they both by Fate had been de- 
 frauded. For, was not another man seen bending tenderly and 
 with an unmistakable air of ownership, over Lucille; looking 
 after her welfare; standing between Henry and his long lost 
 love, whom he had so nearly regained only to be irretrievably 
 and bitterly disappointed? 
 
 For this man must surely be Lucille's husband, and the child 
 lying by her side, their own, the image of its mother. 
 
 It was fifteen years since that memorable night when the 
 stage passengers had alighted and taken part in the fight over 
 Tutty Swanson's claim, but the picture of Lucille, her husband 
 and child, was indelibly inscribed upon Henry's mind. 
 
 No change of scene, no occupation, or power of his will 
 had effaced that heart-rending sight, all these years. Goaded 
 on by memory it had been impossible for him to remain very 
 long at a time in any place, and he had become a restless, in- 
 trepid, indefatigable traveler. Going back to this period, we 
 will follow him in his wanderings. 
 
 The destination of his party being only a few days' journey 
 beyond Freelawn, the plan had been to remain here for some 
 little time, taking up land and perhaps laying out a town. After 
 this was accomplished Henry would return to Freelawn and 
 find Lucille; but the adventure at the claim changed everything 
 and very soon Henry declared, after looking about for a few^ 
 days, his intention of starting immediately and going further 
 West, a resolve from. which his friends could not dissuade him. 
 In fact he had been so queer since the night of the fight at the 
 claim, they could not make him out, and were puzzled to know 
 what had happened to him. He said he was sick, but they 
 were sure something more than physical illness ailed him ; he 
 w^as depressed, absent minded, and so disagreeable, moody and 
 
156 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 fretful, they scarcely cared how soon he and they parted com- 
 pany. 
 
 The bantering and surv^eilance of his companions was be- 
 coming unbearably irksome, and he determined to leave them 
 and every reminder of the sad past behind him, traveling w^hile 
 his money lasted; by what route or the final destination was to 
 him of little consequence; things old or new could have small 
 interest, only serving to help his despondency and grief, perhaps 
 temporarily, he was well aware. 
 
 Henry realized that a mistake not to be rectified had been 
 made, and the only woman he ever really cared to make his 
 wife, was lost to him forever. 
 
 He had liked many women, enjoyed their society in certain 
 ways, but he at last fully understood that no other one could 
 satisfy entirely, or appreciate him as Lucille would have done; 
 but it was of no use now repining; by action, business, change, 
 he would drive her from his mind. Such advantage do m.en 
 have over women; for a time they suffer more intensely possi- 
 bly, with an actual physical misery, but they succeed in over- 
 coming and forgetting sooner; and besides they have the whole 
 field of sweets to sip from, when they choose to avail themselves 
 of the privilege. 
 
 Henry disconsolately determined to sever all connection with 
 his past existence, pressing on and hoping for a better future; 
 when he bade his friends good bye, feeling himself entering 
 upon a life-long journey, and this, time proved. Drifting aim- 
 lessly, his first rest was at a new^ place called Galena, because 
 extensive lead mines were found there. As he still had some 
 money left, and was sure of a regular remittance from the es- 
 tate bequeathed to him by his Uncle in Bentonville, New York, 
 Henry invested in a new mine just opened, and in after years 
 yielding a fair income. Through this enterprise he formed and 
 retained a number of pleasant acquaintances; one to whom 
 Henry was especially attracted, was a man of medium size, 
 rather stout in build, possessing an honest face with good, blue 
 grey eyes. This new friend had recently married an amiable 
 lady, and they were starting in an humble way, working out 
 their destiny together. Many a social hour did Henry spend 
 in their comfortable home, oblivious apparently of former ties, 
 finding rest for both body and heart, chatting cheerily, rumi- 
 nating, smoking, always together, for these men were even 
 then most inveterate smokers, though still young. 
 
 A habit growing with years, and to which one owed per- 
 
IVHO WEKE TO BLAME. 157 
 
 haps much of his success in life, though in the end causing a 
 painful death; for his subsequent great opportunities came to 
 him in such shape, that only quiet, plucky, bull-dog grit and 
 nerve would win. A man of quick perceptions and intense 
 nervous force adequate to understanding his chances, when they 
 come thus, requires a strong, continuous nervous stimulant and 
 sedative, to keep him in the necessary condition, enabling him 
 to hold on until the final victory is achieved. Fortunately for 
 this man he acquired the power of consuming a large amount 
 of the "weed" with little apparent injury to his organism, be- 
 fore the emergency arose, requiring its hero to be a constant 
 and thoroughly seasoned smoker, who could sit and puff cigar 
 after cigar, calmly, persistently — while cannon roared about him 
 and comrades were dying. 
 
 But years after the great crisis was triumphantly passed, the 
 mstrument thus prepared for the accomplishment of an end, fell 
 a victim to the deadly poison steadily imbibed, no less a sacrifice 
 upon the altar of God's Providence, than if slain on the field 
 red with the blood of Liberty's sons. 
 
 As the fateful wheel of Destiny revolved, and new scenes 
 were to be enacted requiring a remarshaling of forces, higher 
 powers, (whether good or bad we will not say), working upon 
 him, Henry became uneasy in a few months, and bidding his 
 Galena friends adieu he boarded a Mississippi steamer for Rock 
 Island, one of the oldest towns on the river, where a Fort was 
 located and Government troops stationed. He remained here 
 for a little time, picking up a good thing now and then in the 
 way of speculation, for Henry Armstrong was a money-making 
 man whether he would or no, everything he touched turned to 
 gold, his fellow towns-men said; but though successful, it bene- 
 fitted him little in the real enjoyment of life. Henry felt the 
 need, as the days went by, more and more, of a good wife; but 
 he came across no one who suited him, and feared he should 
 become a dissatisfied, crusty old bachelor. He knew he was 
 getting soured as well as old, for he fairly despised the women 
 who "set their caps" for him because he had money, and the men 
 who toadied to him for the same reason. He was thoroughly 
 tired of civilization and what people call society, with its shame 
 and pretences. 
 
 About this time a great wave of excitement came surging 
 over the country. Gold had been discovered on the Pacific 
 slope, and the "California fever" was raging. Thousands 
 mortgaged their homes for the means to make the venture 
 
ViS THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 and started for the gold-fields, expecting to bring back 
 bushels at least, of nuggets as large of their fists or their 
 heads; but as a rule, they never returned at all. Many 
 seemed to forget mortgaged homes, wives and children when 
 once away — " out of sight, was out of mind " with them. 
 Families and homes deserted for a myth, becoming estranged 
 by absence, forming new ties, even when success crowned their 
 efforts, leaving those behind to take care of themselves as they 
 could with perhaps an occasional remittance from the land of 
 gold. Some few returned, bringing fabulous wealth; but these 
 were the exception, and were ever after known in distinction 
 from those who only w^;?/ as " returned Calijorniansy 
 
 When the incoming wave struck Rock Island, Henry Arm- 
 strong was just in the mood to grasp this excitement as a drown- 
 ing man the floating straw, and with others, organized an ex- 
 pedition going by the overland route to the Pacific coast. 
 
 The journey proved tedious, and Henry experienced full 
 enough of adventure to drive away any past trouble by present 
 trepidation, before he reached the golden gate, the land of the 
 setting sun. Adventure which colored his whole after life 
 even more than his disappointment with Lucille, causmg him 
 to change his name and launching him upon a sea of trouble. 
 
 The trip made by Henry's party was one of the ^ery first, 
 even before " the great path-finder," General Fremont, had ex- 
 plored the route and discovered one of the true passes through 
 the Rocky Mountains — the discoverer of new political high- 
 ways as well, over which enslaved millions eventually traveled 
 to freedom, a man whom this nation has forgotten to honor, 
 but destined to a place in history beside, not below, that of the 
 revered Lincoln, who, following this opened way, finally, when 
 the crisis of war pressed hard, gave to the colored race of 
 America, Emancipation. Since that time several passes have 
 been found through the " Rockies," but in the beginning 
 men would start for the south-western portion of the United 
 States where California Is situated, from any point where 
 they happened to reside, and struggle past every obsta- 
 cle, across arid plains and trackless wastes, over mountains, 
 rivers, lakes, until they reached their destination. If hap- 
 pily in this they succeeded. Impeded by hostile Indians, 
 broad rivers, unbridged and unfordable, the hot " simoons " of 
 the Desert, the cold " blizzards " of the plains, the " cyclones " 
 of the prairies, and the terrible snow storms of the famous 
 " Rockies," saying nothing of minor discomforts and dangers 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 159 
 
 encountered by these early gold-seekers, what wonder that 
 many perished by the way? 
 
 The expedition to which Henry belonged started rather too 
 late in the fall, but they found no special difficulty until arriving 
 at one of the high mountain passes, which they essayed to cross 
 on foot, foolishly leaving their mules below by the advice of 
 their guide, who proved inexperienced and incompetent. 
 A heavy storm overtook them, they lost their way, and 
 at last became entangled in a wild labyrinth of snow-capped 
 peaks and treacherous canyons from which it was impossible to 
 extricate themselves. They wandered about in the snow and 
 ice and blinding storm, hoping, but striving in vain to find the 
 trail, until their rations gave out and they were upon the verge 
 of starvation, in real danger of perishing with cold and hunger, 
 with neither ammunition or strength sufficient for hunting game 
 in their weak and bewildered condition^scarcely to defend 
 themselves, if attacked by Indians or wild animals. 
 
 After floundering about in the deep snow for several days, 
 the storm not abating, until completely exhausted from hard- 
 ship and want of food, their last morsel eaten twenty-four hours 
 before, they gathered around the few burning sticks which 
 they had managed to bring from the steep, rocky, ledges, 
 and counciled as to w^hat should be done in this crisis. 
 It was plain that food must be provided, or a horrible death 
 confronted them all. There seemed no alternative, and it was 
 decided that they should draw lots to settle who of their num- 
 ber must be sacrificed to save his comrades from starvation; 
 who suffer death to save his fellows. 
 
 At the first drawing the lot fell upon a genial, dark-haired, 
 sad-eyed man, who had become a general favorite. No one 
 knew his history, or where he came from, but all had a suspicion 
 some mystery attached to him. When the drawing w^as an- 
 nounced not a dry eye was among that group of i^esperate men, 
 for this man was endeared to every one. 
 
 Without dissent all refused to consummate the terrible trag- 
 edy, hoping against hope that relief would come-in some other 
 way. 
 
 The man himself regarded his fate with the utmost indif- 
 ference, even courted death, insisting he was *' Entirely satisfied 
 to go, that he had lived too long already, that life held nothing 
 dear for him. If he could serve his fellows by giving up his 
 body they were welcome to it." Another day's delay, but the 
 more willing he, the more loth his comrades that he should be 
 
160 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 sacrificed — if we except one man — and, strangely enough, this 
 was the proverbially kind-hearted Henry Armstrong. 
 
 Why this exception? Simply because Henry had made a 
 discovery in regard to the man, one w^hich concerned his own 
 life at a vital point, and which in his present condition induced 
 by starvation, had the effect of rousing his natural latent jeal- 
 ousy to the pitch of an insane frenzy. 
 
 The day after the drawing by lot, during the interval of de- 
 laying and hoping, Henry had accidentally picked up a picture 
 of Lucille, and also a slip of paper falling from inside the well 
 worn morocco cover, on which were the words in the doomed 
 man's hand writing, "Oh! how dearly I love her!" 
 
 Henry Armstrong was a man in whom his fellows were 
 apt to confide, and before the fatal finding of that tell-tale 
 picture, the man, Wm. Smith by name, after the drawing, while 
 waiting for his doom of which he seemed sure in his own mind 
 from the first, had prepared a hastily written letter, including 
 his last will and bequests, which he intrusted to Henry without 
 explanation, it being sealed and directed to Silas Smith, Free- 
 lawn P. O,, 111. 
 
 Henry placed the letter away not noticing the superscrip- 
 tion, in fact he had no curiosity in regard to this man's private 
 affairs, but it was the regret of his whole after life, that he 
 had not known the contents of that epistle at the time; soon, 
 under the fierce pressure of hunger, he forgot the matter alto- 
 gether. 
 
 The man also entrusted the fact to Henr}^ that a childless 
 old uncle who had resided in Australia, dying recently, had 
 made this only nephew his heir, with the proviso that he should 
 bear his name, and as neither had any ties or relatives to be in- 
 jured by the arrangement, he intended upon arrival in San 
 Francisco, to have his name legally changed to that of Gerald 
 A. Johnson, and proceding at once to Australia, take possession 
 of his legacy. 
 
 "But," said Smith sadly, "That will be of no account now, 
 I feel my time has come, and as a special favor to me, I ask 
 you Mr. Armstrong, to take the name, if you can do so with- 
 out wronging any one, and with it the property; if you have 
 no need of it use it in benefitting others." 
 
 And in spite of Henry's remonstrance he insisted, and to 
 pacify and humor his caprice, Henry finally promised to do as 
 Smith desired, should death overtake him before the end of their 
 
WHO WERE rO BLAME. 161 
 
 jcurncy, caring nothing for the property, for he had already a 
 fortune, but really wishing to lose his identity and separate en- 
 tirely from his past life. 
 
 The change of name to Gerald A. Johnson involving the 
 Australian property, was a secret known only to VVm. Smith 
 and Henry Armstrong; their mountain comrades understanding 
 that for some mysterious reason, the man had requested in the 
 event of his demise before reaching their destination, that Henry 
 should assume his name of Smith, and with it his effects. 
 
 Had Henry considered the matter as of much importance at 
 the time, the idea "What's in a name?" would most likely have 
 been suggested, but long afterwards he realized the responsi- 
 bility he had assumed in consenting to take another man's name 
 and property — dead, under such peculiar circumstances; when 
 it was impossible to undo the error, however embarrassing, 
 even serious the consequences. 
 
 Almost immediately when these matters had been arranged 
 between the two men, Henry had the misfortune of finding the 
 picture before alluded to; at sight of which his first and only 
 thought wasy^j' that the deadly lot had fallen, // fall it ?nust^ 
 upon one whom he believed the husband of his lost Lucille, and 
 whose "removal" might restore her once more to his arms, and 
 wickedly he brooded over this sinful suggestion until finally 
 circumstances having given him the opportunity of putting his 
 dark thought into execution, he did not hesitate to avail himself 
 of what seemed to his distorted conceptions a "Providence" — so 
 easily can men believe their desires right. 
 
 The catastrophe had been postponed for two days, no suste- 
 nance was received during that time except such as could be de- 
 rived from frozen snow. 
 
 At last, with the fever of starvation upon them, with parched 
 tongues, dry skins, insane staring eyes, the glassy balls fairly 
 starting from their sunken sockets, these men driven to such 
 dreadful straights, several of their number half stupified in the 
 snow, sinking surely down to death, the others knowing full 
 well that soon their condition would be the same, held a final 
 council, hastily ordering another drawing of lots, including 
 every man. 
 
 And now to Henry's diabolically jealous insanity came his 
 "Providence." It was easy for him to whom had been entrust- 
 ed the preparations for the drawing, to decide that the fatal 
 slip of paper should be blood-marked, and to arrange the posi- 
 
162 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 tion in which the men were to stand; in the confusion and dis- 
 tress no one noticed (if we leave out a dark fellow with snakey, 
 evil eyes, and Henry was not sure that even he understood the 
 ruse, or saw what followed, only there was a peculiar look in 
 those eyes, certainly,) that Henry Armstrong placed himself 
 at the right hand of the brown-eyed, genial man upon whom 
 the lot had previously fallen, and that in making the drawing, 
 the first man who reached his hand from the circle in which 
 they stood, bringing forth the little slip of clean, white paper 
 from the old fur cap, stood at Smith's left side, each following 
 from left to right, with the same result, ivhite paper everyone^ 
 until it was Henry's turn, and after him the doomed man. 
 
 No one noticed or gave any attention to all this unless pos- 
 sibly the man before alluded to, or if they did all kept silence 
 as did he, only too glad of their own escape, for sometimes men 
 lose all natural feeling, becoming veritable beasts, and they were 
 now ravenous as wolves. 
 
 Henry in his younger days as a clever pastime, had prac- 
 ticed some sleight of hand tricks, and now when his temptation 
 was before him, listened to the Devil's own suggestion, retaining 
 in his hand the bloody slip until his turn came for drawing, 
 when he took from the cap the two white slips remaining, leav- 
 ing behind the blood stained one for his comrade following him, 
 who could only be the fated Wm. Smith. Of course the draw- 
 ing was finished with the same result as before and all were 
 awe-struck by the wonderful "Providence," none suspecting 
 Henry, knowing the friendship between the two, for those who 
 are seemingly our nearest and dearest, sometimes betray us. 
 
 And the man Wm. Smith, whom all loved, with the dry 
 joke "That it must be Providential,, certainly for them, his being 
 in better condition than the others," cheerfully prepared to meet 
 his fate. 
 
 Finally, w^hen all preliminaries were finished, just as the set- 
 ting sun threw its lurid light across the dreary waste of snow, 
 the deadly shot was fired, each man pointing a gun that no one 
 might know the real executioner, and the brave hero passed 
 away without com.plaint. 
 
 Ere the pall of midnight fell upon them, the ravening hun- 
 ger of each was appeased, the horrible debris cleared away, 
 buried under the deep snow out of sight of the heart-sick sur- 
 vivors, and all lay in the stupor which comes alike to the proud- 
 est man no less than the lowest animal after engorgement. 
 
IV//0 IVERE TO BLAME. 163 
 
 For thus are we, when dire necessity comes upon us, beasts of 
 prey every one; each creature devouring his fellow, if not 
 bodily, oft times crushmg the life out no less unmercifully as 
 selfishness dictates. 
 
 During the night another heavy fall of snow covered for- 
 ever from view all traces of what had passed, and when the 
 morning sun broke over glittering peak and deep gorged can- 
 yon, changing the late scene of bloody horror and savage car- 
 nival into a pure, white, diamond-sparkling fairy-land, each tall, 
 slender, ice-bound tree along the rocky ledges of this retreat, 
 standing sentinel over the sleeping men resting under snowy 
 winding-sheets below, were not more silent and passive, than 
 were they every one. 
 
 In that sleep, like unto death, all must have perished but for 
 the timely arrival of a party bound for the same gold-fields, 
 better equipped and guided than were our unfortunates. 
 
 Henry Armstrong, now known as Wm. Smith, to his com- 
 panions old and new, bitterly with the others bemoaned their 
 haste in quenching the pangs of starvation at the expense of 
 their dead fellow traveler. No longer hungry, they soon for- 
 got their sufferings, and were horrified by the crime perpetrated 
 at the instigation of self-preservation. To Henry especially, 
 when he had recovered from the insanity of starvation, did his 
 wicked jealousy and its result fill him with agonizing remorse. 
 
 Each man had taken an oath coupled with a bloody penalty 
 swearing to lock forever in his breast the secret of that night 
 spent high up in the ''Rockies," and it was years after, before it 
 became known that the Gerald A. Johnson who was constantly 
 getting into such strange dilemmas, was the Henry Armstrong 
 who had that night assumed the name of Wm. Smith, and that 
 he had by agreement with him dropped the name of Smith, 
 changing to,4;hat of Johnson, upon his arrival in San Francisco. 
 
 The further mystery regarding their dead comrade which 
 had come only to Henry's knowledge, he concealed safely in his 
 own heart, at least for a time. 
 
 Though finding the picture of Lucille with the words 
 written, ''Oh I how dearly I loved her!" in the hand-writing 
 of the dead man, had filled him with jealousy and wrath, he 
 secreted and placed this relic carefully away with the letter 
 which was to be forwarded to Silas Smith at Freelawn, still 
 thinking that Wm. Smith had been the husband of Lucille, the 
 same whom he had seen leaning over her on the night which 
 
164 THE STALWARTS; OR. 
 
 turned his own fate. To be sure he never mentioned a wife, or 
 left any thing to be sent his family. Evidently had he pos- 
 sessed wife or child, they must have been estranged — all was in- 
 volved in mystery which doubtless could be solved by the letter 
 in his possession. 
 
 Comparing notes and information with the new-comers, the 
 unfortunate travelers who had so nearly met their death, found 
 themselves not far from the regular trail, but bewildered by the 
 blinding sleet, they had missed their landmarks from not wait- 
 ing quietly beside some one of the scored trees or blasted rocks 
 which marked the way, until the storm subsided and they could 
 safely proceed. 
 
 When overtaken and rescued, the whole party were ex- 
 hausted, freezing, sinking into the stupor of death; but by care- 
 ful management, were soon restored, and reached their destina- 
 tion without further unusual incident. 
 
 Henry remained in San Francisco for several years known 
 only as Gerald A. Johnson. After a time the rumor went back 
 to his friends in Rock Island and the east, that he had been lost 
 in the perilous trip across the Rocky Mountains, just how or 
 where was not definitely stated. As Cronksey continued look- 
 ing after his Bentonville affairs, providing for the Uncle's old 
 mother and her neice who was next of kin after Henry, the 
 property reverting to her at their death, and whom Cronksey 
 had taken the precaution to make his wife, upon receiving an 
 epistle from the supposed dead 7nan instructing his agent to use 
 the property exactly as though it belonged solely to himself; 
 asking no questions, making no inquiries, as for reasons of his 
 own, Henry informed him, he wished to remain perpetually in- 
 cognito and as though dead, under the name of Gerald A. John- 
 son, adding that he should probably soon leave the country 
 never to return. 
 
 This was certainly a satisfactory arrangement so far as 
 Cronksey was concerned, who had all along been using the 
 property as though it were his own^ under an unlimited Power 
 of Attorney given by Henry before his departure for the west; 
 and Cronksey had also been appropriating so much of the pro- 
 ceeds of the estate to furthering his private ambitions, he quite 
 feared to face an accounting of his agency. 
 
 His marriage with the neice, the rumored death of Henry 
 Armstrong, and afterwards the letter from him referred to — the 
 death being corroborated in the minds of his neighbors- by the 
 developments of time — all conduced to end his anxiety. 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 165 
 
 Henry having no other relatives, his mother dying soon after 
 he left Barrytow^n, no one troubled themselves further about the 
 settlement of his estate; as for himself, he cared not one whit 
 hov^ Cronksey disposed of the difficult problem, if only his se- 
 cret was safe; for he had already accumulated more wealth 
 since coming west than could be comfortably handled. 
 
166 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 CRONKSEY AND SPIDELER. 
 
 Upon arrival in San Francisco, Henry had assumed the 
 name agreed upon, and in due time, as Gerald A. Johnson, taken 
 measures to have the will of his Australian namesake proved 
 and himself identified as the person intended in the document, 
 coming into possession through a properly appointed agent of 
 the property which doubled his former riches, and besides had 
 made a large fortune since arriving in California and was now 
 a millionaire; but still more dissatisfied, unhappy and conscience 
 stricken than ever before. 
 
 The scenes of that terrible night in the " Rockies " con- 
 tinued to haunt him without mercy; in every breeze he fancied 
 he could hear the whispered question, " Where is thy brother :^ 
 Where hast thou laid him?" And at night the pure eyed stars 
 of Heaven looked down upon him with accusing, fiery glances 
 that seemed to burn into his soul, that fnan's name. 
 
 Few that had known Henry Armstrong, the innocent boy 
 cherishing his first young love, would recognize him now; his 
 very countenance was changed and marred, and seamed, by the 
 internal conflicts which had racked him since that night, until 
 he^ at least, imagined the mark of Cain who slew his brother 
 Abel, was branded in his forehead to be read of all men ; one 
 of the most miserable of miserables was the Hon. Gerald A. 
 Johnson, the millionaire. 
 
 He was especially troubled in regard to Lucille his old-time 
 love, for he had not only defrauded her of a true woman's 
 dearest possession — her heart, but also unintentionally diverted 
 from her a valuable estate. Circumstances conducing, his inclina- 
 tion impelling, he had opened and read the letter entrusted to 
 him, fully expecting to find that the deceased man had been 
 Lucille's husband, but discovering instead that he was her Wis- 
 consin lover. Gaining no knowledge of the year or place of their 
 meeting, Henry still supposed her the wife of the one he saw 
 bending over her that night of the fight ac the claim, and that 
 this lover must have been an acquaintance of her maidenhood. 
 
 In the unfortunate letter Henry also found enclosed a will 
 properly prepared and witnessed, several years before his death. 
 
ll-J/0 WERE TO BLAME. 167 
 
 in which this friend so devoted, had given the larger share of 
 his estate to Lucille, making Silas Smith, who it seemed was a 
 distant relative, the administrator; a small pittance to go to Silas 
 himself. 
 
 These bec^uests did not of course include the legacy after- 
 ward left him in Australia, and for the possession of which he 
 had yet at time of death to take the necessary steps, but which 
 by his wish had devolved upon Henry. The com plica-, 
 tions were such that any action in regard to the letter must 
 he secretly done; and, after attending to the request of his 
 mountain companion (bravely meeting an untimely end) as to 
 changing the name assumed of Smith to Johnson, and secur- 
 ing the Australian inheritance, Henry had carefully in- 
 tructed a lawyer to communicate with the Freelawn Post- 
 master making inquiries for Silas Smth, intending if he 
 could be found, to send him the letter, but the answer came 
 back that Smith had disappeared leaving no trace behind. For- 
 tunately thought Henry, for now an excuse offered and again 
 he imagined a "Providence" was assisting him to bring about 
 his desires, and immediately decided upon opening the letter, 
 ascertaining as has been related that the dead man was not 
 Lucille's husband at all, but leaving him with a properly execut- 
 ed will on his hands, the provisions of which it would now be 
 almost impossible to carry out, without revealing his connection 
 with the affair, even should his own wicked plot against the man's 
 life not be disclosed. Everything had been different from his ex- 
 pectations, filling him only with regret and consternation. He 
 dared not make direct search for Lucille in the circumstances, 
 his identity would almost surely be discovered; certainly during 
 the necessary investigations for proving the will and transferring 
 the property to her, should he attempt to do so; and since know- 
 ing her to be, as he supposed, still a wife, he did not care to 
 risk any denouement by prosecuting further inquiries. 
 
 While brooding over this and his other troubles until almost 
 distracted, Henry received news requiring that himself or some 
 trusted agent should go immediately and attend to the Australian 
 estate; always longing for change, he concluded to proceed 
 directly to Bentonville, as secretly as possible, and after con- 
 sulting with the agent who had managed his eastern affairs, as 
 he thought honestly, depart for a sojourn of several years in 
 Australia, possibly he might not return at all. 
 
 Henry Armstrong would never have ventured this visit to 
 his old home, had not the trouble in regard to Lucille and his 
 
168 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 uncertainty as to her conditions of prosperity or adversity, so 
 preyed upon his mind. She might be in poverty, actually 
 suffering for the comforts to be derived from the estate left her 
 by one w^ho had proved his love to be ten-fold more than his, 
 who was now withholding fraudulently that which belonged 
 to her, and himself possessed of more wealth than one man 
 could use to advantage.* No wonder he was haunted by re- 
 morse, and could neither rest night or day, and determined be- 
 fore leaving the States to arrange with Cronskey some plan for 
 finding Lucille and transferring to her, whether married or single, 
 a regular and liberal remittance from his own abundance, not 
 allowing any knowledge of the donor to escape, except the fact 
 of a lover dying, and making this provision for her welfare. 
 
 i\rranging his California business hastily, and taking a 
 steamer round "the horn," as from its peculiar shape the south- 
 ern extremity of South America is called in sailor's parlance, 
 Henry reached New York about six or seven weeks after leav- 
 ing San Francisco. Desiring to avoid recognition by friends 
 in New York, he went without delay by the night express to 
 Bentonville, being met upon arrival at the depot by Cronskey 
 in his private carriage; who having now^ a large practice as a 
 lawyer, and amassing considerable property through his con- 
 nection with Henry's affairs, was a man of much importance. 
 
 The night was dark, but when Henry entered the vehicle, 
 the door held open by the stylish coachman, he noticed the man 
 gave a start, and sudden upward look into his face, both im- 
 mediately suppressed. Upon alighting under the lamp of the 
 carriageway at the door of the remodeled old house, which 
 had been his home, Henry also looked sharply at the man, and 
 into his face and was even more startled than the other had 
 been. In fact he trembled from head to foot and nearly fell, 
 for those snakey black eyes certainly belonged to the little fel- 
 low who had stood uncomfortably near him when the fatal lot 
 was drawn up in'the "Rockies" so many years ago. Neither of 
 the men spoke a word, and Henry was glad to go directly with 
 Cronskey to his private study or office, and enter immediately 
 upon the business which had brought them together. 
 
 The more important matters were hastily scanned, Cronskey 
 managing to evade going into particulars or showing papers. 
 Soon the investigation, although cursory, disclosed clearly that 
 the agent had become rich, either from the practice of law or 
 the stewardship of Henry's affairs; it mattered little to him so 
 that certain important facts remained covered. But he was 
 
iVHO WERE TO BLAME. 169 
 
 hardly prepared for a demand upon the part of Cronskey, that 
 he should immediately transfer to him all right, title and 
 interest in his Bentonville property, for which transfer he had 
 the papers already made out even before Henry's arrival, upon 
 learning of the proposed visit; "Just as a precaution against any 
 trouble in case of your death^'' said Cronskey. 
 
 "But," answered Henry, "the property is to revert to the 
 old lady's niece at my demise, I cannot consent, and will not 
 defraud her of one penny which rightfully belongs to her or 
 any other woman, if I can help it." "Tut, tut; you needn't 
 worry about that," broke in Cronskey, "the niece and I are one^ 
 we were ??iarried soon after you informed me of your death*"* 
 — dryly — "it is probably needless to tell you, knowing me to be a 
 good lawyer, that she long since merged all her interest in mine, 
 and that I have the legal papers to that effect. ' There's nothing 
 quite so good as a paper properly signed and delivered to pre- 
 vent difficulty. Oh! you needn't worry about the niece, there's 
 another matter about which you should concern yourself — a 
 little affair which occurred up in the Rocky Mountains, a dis- 
 agreeable episode, surely — unpleasant — very unpleasant, and I 
 say to you as your legal adviser, that it will be difficult — very 
 difficult to dispel from the mind of any one knowing all the 
 facts, the suspicion that a deliberate murder was committed 
 solely for gain." 
 
 Henrv Armstrong was now shivering from head to foot, 
 his teeth fairly chattering with nervous fear; and the thought 
 of those snakey little eyes so recently glaring upon him, was 
 anything but soothing; it was needless to ask how Cronskey 
 had received the information evidently in his possession. Henry 
 could only gasp, "For God's sake, Cronskey, what do you want ? 
 Where are the papers? I'll sign them, and then we'll drop the 
 subject forever." Partly recovering, "No, not until I have asked 
 you to help me rectify a wrong entirely unintentional on my 
 part, connected with that sad affair about which you seem so 
 well to know ; the source of your knowledge I can easily guess, 
 but never mind that now. My business here is really more on 
 account of a woman whom I once loved, than for any other 
 purpose. I care nothing for property, and am heartily sick of 
 money getting, every thing I touch turns to gold only to curse 
 me. Qo\.^ cannot love me\ gold cannot comfo?'t ??iy soul^ I 
 hate gold! A cold, heartless, glittering tyrant is gold." 
 
 "And now, Cronksey, I want you to search the country 
 over, cost what it may, until you find the whereabouts of a lady 
 
170 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 who was once Lucille Gascoigne, daughter of Dr. Gascoigne, 
 of Freelawn, 111. I cannot do this without revealing my ident- 
 ity — and when you have found her remit to her regularly the 
 whole income of my Galena lead mine, also the proceeds of my 
 stock in the Com^stock mine, which property I have arranged 
 to transfer to you to be held in trust for her — and have brought 
 the necessary papers with me for that purpose. For God's sake, 
 Cronksey, do not fail me in this, do not betray this sacred trust 
 or let anyone know who the donor is; say a lover dying was 
 pleased to make such provision for her comfort. Promise ?ne^ 
 Cronksey r"* exclaim.ed Henry, wrought to a pitch of excitement 
 he could not control, rising to his feet and grasping the man by 
 both hands with the grip of a vise — "Promise me! and I'll sign 
 your papers." 
 
 And Cronksey promised^ chuckling to himself as he thought 
 how easily a promise may be given. 
 
 As the night was now advancing, and the objects of the in- 
 terview had been accomplished, except the signing of Cronk- 
 sey's papers, he rang a little call bell and instantly there appeared 
 the stylish coachman, divested of coat, cape and hat — in plain busi 
 ness suit quite a different man — whom Cronksey introduced as 
 Mr. Spideler, a Notary, ready to take his acknowledgment as re- 
 quired by law. Each man eyed the other, and knew himself 
 not mistaken, but as before kept silence, and Henry signed the 
 name of Gerald A.Johnson, trembling like an aspen under the 
 penetrating glance fixed upon him from those dreaded eyes, and 
 his Mephistopheles affixed the proper notarial seal bearing the 
 name of Augustus J. Spideler, and while Cronksey placed the 
 two papers conveying so much valuable property to himself 
 carefully away in his safe, securely turning the lock upon them, 
 watched closely by a large miastiff, evidently one of the belong- 
 ings of that private office, Spideler and Johnson arrayed them- 
 selves for their drive to the depot, for train time was near at 
 hand, and were stiffly bowed out by Cronksey, who was well 
 pleased that the very important business of the night had been 
 so easily accomplished. And so intensely satisfied was he over 
 the transaction that for hours he walked the floor of the little 
 study, unable to quiet his scheming brain or even think of sleep, 
 contriving how he should use his suddenly acquired wealth in 
 gaining more. 
 
 And as he paced backwards and forwards he would throw 
 up his head, which, by the way, was a very handsome apend- 
 age, not at all plebian, chuckling to himself, " Yes, when I find 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 171 
 
 her — when I find her^ as if there wasn't plenty of old sweet- 
 hearts and pretty women near by. Oh! yes, w^hen I find her, 
 to be sure! " For Cronksey had not the slightest intention Lu- 
 cille should ever receive one atom of the proceeds of either the 
 lead or the gold mine. In fact, he never gave her another 
 thought until years after when she was brought to his attention 
 quite unexpectedly. 
 
 When Henry Armstrong was seated alone in Cronksey's 
 comfortable carriage being driven rapidly to the depot by Spide- 
 ler, he began to think more quietly and composedly, yes, ration- 
 ally, than he had done since getting sight of those evil eyes; he 
 now seemed to himself like one just awakening from a dreadful 
 dream, in which he had been on the edge of a precipice, hang- 
 ing over a fearful abyss, and rousing himself a dark and hea\ y 
 pall seemed lifting from his mind, his vision; and as he pon- 
 dered, one might have heard the words ejaculated, " Buy him, of 
 course, the little devil^ every man has his price, give him gold, 
 stuff him to the bri7n with gold. I have enough and to spare, 
 feed the little imp on gold, ha, ha! " And Henry took from 
 his pocket a well-filled wallet, and from his waist a belt quilted 
 back and forth, solid with gold^ then examining carefully the 
 size of a roll of bills taken from another receptacle, holding 
 them in his hand he murmured, " Yes, this will do, this morsel 
 of gold will stop the brute's mouth for a time, and I can reach 
 my journey's end with these bills, when there'll be plenty more 
 of the trash awaiting me." 
 
 They were now at the depot, Spideler ready at the carriage 
 door; instead of alighting Henry grasped the man roughly and 
 strongly by the collar, and thrusting the w^allet and belt into 
 his hand, said hoarsely, " Take that^ and mind nojurther word 
 must escape you^ you can have from me ^iXh^x gold or blood, 
 which shall it be? Tour blood understand! your heart! your 
 lije! if you again betrav me! Do vou hear, man? Do vou 
 hear?" 
 
 For it was now Spideler's turn, and he was quaking as in an 
 ague chill; the night w^as dark, the street obscure, no one near; 
 he knew Henry Armstrong might end the controversy then and 
 there if he liked and no one be the wiser until he was far on his 
 way and had made his escape. But Henry's heart was not 
 black enough to perpetrate such a crime, unless possessed by in- 
 sanity or in self-preservation, and shaking the villain- until his 
 teeth rattled, throwing the heavy belt across his shoulder, put- 
 ting the wallet again in his hand, with the word, " There^ take 
 
172 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 that^ and let it insure that you keep your oath, or you'll hear 
 from me again with the penalty, and a sure and bloody ven- 
 geance it shall be," and Henry let the miscreant go; leaping 
 from the carriage he boarded the train just arrived, and in a few 
 moments was leaving Bentonville most gladly behind him ; ere 
 morning reaching New York, going directly to the steamer 
 which sailed for Australia before noon. 
 
 As we have seen, the main object with Henry had been all 
 along to kill old memories by excitement and change. His 
 journey and contemplated residence abroad would serve this 
 purpose well, and he determined should the climate prove as 
 represented to remain for a long, long time, for he knew that 
 in the States he was liable to be disturbed at any moment. 
 
 A guilty conscience impelled him to flee from any one who 
 might recognize him in the wealthy gentleman, Gerald A.John- 
 son, Esq. 
 
 From one he could not escape, and bitterly did he regret 
 that Cronksey should know his secret, but for this misfortune 
 there was no remedy except such as gold could buy. 
 
 As the staunch Cunarder steamed down the Hudson, past 
 the wonderful city of New York, which has made Manhattan 
 Island one of the famous places of the world, down the sound, 
 past Long Island, Coney Island, Cape May, Newport, Long 
 Branch and other points along the shore, teeming with the in- 
 tense civilization flowing from this vitalized center, from the 
 throbbing heart of the great city; when at last they stood out 
 upon the broad Atlantic and were alone on the deep, Henry 
 Armstrong felt a relief he had not experienced for years. 
 
 Heretofore he had been under an irksome restraint and con- 
 stant apprehenshion, because out of harmony with the require- 
 ments of social law, failing in its most essential idea, namely, 
 individual identity and responsibility;, what had seemed a sim- 
 ple enough matter at first, entered upon to humor a doomed 
 man's caprice, had step by step grown into a complicated en- 
 tanglement, from which he had been powerless to extricate 
 himself, but now he was leaving all this behind and 1 ounding 
 over the briny waves a free man. 
 
 Any one who has crossed an ocean knows how different 
 from any other experience the event is. Being separated for 
 days and weeks from the rest of the world is of itself a novelty. 
 Isolated, encircled by the same circumstances, the oft-time dan- 
 gers, the common amusements; all this engendering a strong 
 bond of sympathy, developing acquaintance, even life-long 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 173 
 
 friendships, and never to be forgotten attachments, during the 
 short time consumed after leaving port before reaching a des- 
 tination. 
 
 Dear companionships are sometimes severed and many a pair 
 of lovers evolved from calm moonlight, tossing waves and breezy 
 decks, have been rudely roused from the dearest dream of their 
 lives when the cry, "Land, ho! " has sounded, and the craft with 
 all on board, sailed up to her moorings. In rare instances the 
 dreamers have continued dreaming on until two lives were 
 fused in one; such was Henry's lot to outward seeming. 
 
 Unexpectedly, who should he encounter the morning of the 
 embarkation, but the same little friend that had been entrusted 
 to his care years before, when they traveled the length of the 
 Erie Canal together; who but Miss Effie Stebbins? And 
 again, matured and improved, Henry found the young lady a 
 pleasant companion. 
 
 Shocked, she certainly was by the changed name, but he ex- 
 plained it as the freak of a dying man, an old friend, and 
 begged her to secrecy. 
 
 Miss Stebbins was traveling to join an elder sister whose 
 husband being succeesful in garnering wealth from the Aus- 
 tralian mines, had sent for his wife a year before, and now for 
 her sister. 
 
 Henry was disappointed that his identity should have been 
 so soon discovered, but could only make the best of what could 
 not be remedied by^reating his young acquaintance with great 
 consideration. 
 
 From the first day they were constantly in each other's com- 
 pany, with the result which might have been expected ; one or 
 both must fall in love. Miss Effie, dark-eyed, impetuous, but 
 weak, forthwith did this very thing, she being one of those 
 child-like women, never stopping to reason, but just loving 
 every one good and kind, surely drawing others to themselves 
 in return. 
 
 Like all w^omen of her class. Miss Eftie was not very con- 
 stant or deep in her emotion; had fallen in and out of love a 
 half-dozen times or more in her short life, and so far no one had 
 been hurt, certainly not she. 
 
 Henry estimated the young lady at just about her proper 
 value, but he enjoyed her society because she was sweet and 
 simple, and as the days went by he surprised himself by enjoy- 
 ing her more and more. 
 
 During their frequent moonlight strolls about the decks, for 
 
174 THE Sl'AUVAKTS; OR, 
 
 the weather was exceptionally fine, it came to seem exactly the 
 thing for him to take her hand, small, soft and pliable, as it lay 
 on his arm, and the owner never objected that it should rest 
 confidingly in his, large and warm and manly. 
 
 Some one says, " When a man grasps a woman's hand, he 
 holds half her heart." Miss Efiie vStebbins soon found, not half, 
 but all, of this very susceptible organ of hers in the keeping, at 
 least for the time, of her congenial friend; ere long, when a 
 rough sea would give the ship a sudden lurch, Henry's arm sup- 
 ported her slender waist without reproof. 
 
 At last, as the wind was rising one evening near the close 
 of the voyage, and the ship began to roll more than at any time 
 before, little Effie really got a fright, and clung wnth tremblmg 
 hands to her protector's arm ; beseechingly her eyes met his, 
 and w^ith sudden impulse folding her in his strong arms, Henry 
 pressed a kiss upon the pretty mouth the first any woman could 
 boast from him since last he touched the lips of Lucille so long 
 ago 
 
 But Lucille w^as married now, gone from him irretrievably, 
 so thought Henry; and besides the die was cast, the advance 
 made which could not honorably be retracted. The lady had 
 responded gladly, w'ithout reserve; and really he did not care 
 to renounce what he had done. Lucille, his true but lost love, 
 was beyond his reach, why should he turn from this dear little 
 woman even though he well knew she could not fill his heart 
 as Lucille would have done. "No," Henry resolved, "I will 
 accept this new love with all of comfort it may bring, giving 
 the best I can in return, and will take to my forlorn heart and 
 dreary life, an affectionate companion, man's choicest blessing 
 if she be true and kind — a wife." 
 
 And this resolve he put into execution soon after arriving 
 at the home of Miss Stebbins' sister, Mrs. Ferguson, who re- 
 sided in New South Wales, Australia. 
 
 The courtship proceded smoothly without untoward inci- 
 dent, and the preparations for the nuptials as usual, until the 
 day and the hour when the consummation was approaching. 
 
 On that day Henry arose from a night of disturbed dream- 
 ing, to a morning filled with strange forebodings, instead of 
 joyous anticipations, as became an expectant bridegroom ; his 
 mind shadowed by sad memories, Lucille's image constantly 
 before him, in her eyes a sad, reproachful look ; until he was 
 absolutely sick at heart, and trembled with fear and grief. 
 
 It seemed not only a memory which haunted him, but Lu- 
 
lFf/0 WERE TO BLAME. 175 
 
 cille's actual presence, and he could not dispel the delusion, if 
 such it might be, or shake off the feeling for an instant. Every 
 moment of the never-to-be-forgotten day w^as Lucille by her 
 lost lover's side v^ith utmost endeavor of pathetic attitude and 
 tender gaze, drawing him back to her arms, to her heart. And 
 he — held, restrained by circumstance, time, space; longing to 
 bridge the gulf which separated them, finding it impossible; his 
 very soul striving in agonized impotence to enfold her, but un- 
 able, — surely the bridegroom's plight was pitiful. 
 
 The bride, her family and the guests when they were as- 
 sembled, noticed and upbraided poor Henry for his unnatural, 
 distraught demeanor, 
 
 He could only answer them that he was not well — not well 
 indeed — no more had he been on that memorable night at the 
 claim, when, as he believed, he had looked upon Lucille, her 
 husband and her child. 
 
 As the time arrived, and the to-be-wedded pair stood before 
 the altar, Henry's indisposition increased until a deathly pale- 
 ness overspread his face; suddenly every atom of color forsook 
 his countenance, and as the words, "I pronounce you husband 
 and wife" were said, with staring eyes and the ghastly express- 
 ion of death upon him, the new^ made husband fell prostrate to 
 the floor. For Lucille, bodily, had to all appearance, really and 
 truly, come between himself and wife, her arms outstretched as 
 though to clasp him to her heart, her eyes wildly beseeching, 
 her lips moving as if- to speak in remonstrance — what wonder 
 Henry was overcome! 
 
 It was so 7'eal, as real to Henry as to Lucille, dreaming that 
 same dream, seeing the same vision that summer afternoon as 
 she dozed in the old arm chair, in the room where Myra died. 
 
 After a little, Henry recovered, "His sickness was caused by 
 the unusual heat," they said, and the festivities were resumed. 
 
 When the climax had passed, Henry's trouble left him, and 
 his usual cheerfulness returned, for he was fully resolved on 
 making the best of what could not easily be undone. They 
 w^ere married now% himself and Effie Stebbins, she was his wife, 
 he would be true and loyal until the end, whatever that might 
 be; but as the years went by, bringing forth good and evil, he, 
 bound with chords which could not be broken, regretted more 
 and more that mortal eyes should lack the power of piercino- 
 into futurity. 
 
176 THE STALWARTS: OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 THE STALWARTS. 
 
 The war was long since over — the Union had been pre- 
 served — all the States remained united, the broad Mississ'ppi 
 flowed untrammeled from the Minnehaha to the sea, bearing 
 upon its bosom the commerce of the North, West and South, 
 and the grandest, freest country on earth stood undivided — be- 
 cause the Stalwart Republican party had, more than any other, 
 fought against the fatal doctrine of " State Sovereignty " as op- 
 posed to National Unity; against the doctrine of human slavery, 
 as opposed to human freedom ; against the final absolute dis- 
 ruption determined upon by the southern " Secessionists," when 
 they found they could not have their own way, regulate their 
 State institutions as they claimed a right to do; though this 
 right involved the cherishing of a deadly gangrene upon the 
 body politic, even insisting in opposition to the expressed will 
 of the majority of the whole people. 
 
 For this right they stubbornly fought — aided, abetted, in- 
 stigated., as the sequel proved, by European Monarchies, aim- 
 ing at an overthrow of our loved Republic — God's refuge land 
 for the down-trodden and oppressed of all the earth; Mon- 
 archies whose progeny must, according to the Royal mind, be 
 provided with necessary Thrones. These arrogant aristocracies, 
 not content with setting the grinding heel upon the neck of 
 honest toil in all the countries of the Old World, must needs en- 
 deavor to engraft their half civilized feudal systems upon the 
 new. 
 
 Let us not be deceived, for even to-day are they nursing 
 this wish in their heart of hearts, striving still to induce dissen- 
 sion in our midst; goading on capital to impose upon labor, 
 and labor to rebel against organized authority ; emptying cess- 
 pools of vice, pauperism and crime upon our land; exiling rank- 
 est anarchy to our shores, inaugurating the demon of misrule, 
 certain to be followed, as they well understand, by the re-action 
 likely to result in an established Monarchy or Monarchies. 
 
 Surely does our Republic need now, as during the civil war, 
 a stalwart patriotism which shall boldly stand for American In- 
 dependence and unity; driving every invader from our soil, be 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 177 
 
 he Minister Plenipotentiary, heathen Chinee or exiled, self- 
 imported agitator. 
 
 Not to any enslaved, toil-worn or distressed would we refuse 
 shelter, but let us insist that all^ be they high or low, shall while 
 they remain conduct themselves as good Atnerican citizens, or 
 at least as respectable, honorable American residents, and invited 
 guests, not as spies, disorganizers and traitors. 
 
 The name of " Stalwart," which at first those staunch Re- 
 publicans gloried in, who could be depended upon to stand by 
 the Union, 7iever faltermg during the contest and immediately 
 following the civil war; but which eventually, when the grand 
 old party had degraded itself, as all parties too long in power 
 are sure to do, into a mere machine for grinding the grist from 
 which is manufactured the " pap " of our vicious " spoils " sys- 
 tem wherewith avaricious leaders fill their hungry maws — came 
 to be a term of ridicule and reproach, applying to those politi- 
 cians who were known to be united " solid'''' for spoils only. 
 
 And at last it came to mean those who, not content with a 
 double dose of the "one man " presidential power and patron- 
 age, would fain prolong the ruling dynasty even to a third term; 
 how much longer, the Lord and those magnates across the 
 water only know. 
 
 Finally the word was used to designate' a paltry " 306," led 
 by a still smaller number of designing men, crafty and wicked, 
 who were determined, as their conduct fully proved, to ruin if 
 they could not rule, and who were at the last as really in rebel- 
 lion against the Government (which must always be in a Repub- 
 lic, but the "administration " installed for the time by the vote 
 of the people), as were ever the southern "Secessionists," though 
 perhaps not as honestly and openly, but secretly^ diabolically 
 and also impelled indu'ectly by the same foreign Monarchies, 
 backed by the same foreign capital, controlled by the same for- 
 eign forces, as were they. 
 
 However, the civil war which had so nearly disrupted the 
 union of our States was now an event of the past, and there 
 were gathered in Chicago — our new Chicago — uprisen from 
 the ashes and desolation of one of those great conflagrations the 
 world sometimes sees, to be the most enterprising and progress- 
 ive city on the Continent, an assembly of the best minds and 
 most noted men of that party named Republican, which had 
 grown out of those vital issues to which we have alluded, and 
 which had agitated the country into the crisis of the war now 
 deplored by all. 
 
 18 
 
178 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 A war seldom equaled in its atrocities and sufferings, but 
 settling forever the slave problem, and bringing about the 
 emancipation of the colored race in our boasted free America; 
 thus, evil being allowed that good might come. 
 
 For suffering can no more be eliminated from destiny than 
 can the inevitable and indispensable discord from the finest 
 musical instrument; life, no less than the grandest harp, being 
 thus tensioned and attuned in the tightening grasp of a Power 
 beyond control. 
 
 These leaders and representative men of this party, to whose 
 original stalwart patriotism and unswerving constancy in the 
 cause of justice and human rights was largely due the fortunate 
 termination of the contest, and whose influence had dominated 
 the country ever since its close, were now assembled to make 
 their nomination for President and vice-President of the United 
 States, to be submitted in the Fall elections to the vote of the 
 people. 
 
 For many reasons, the little clique calling themselves "Stal- 
 warts," which, though in the minority as to numbers, was an in- 
 tegral unit of the Republican Party difticult to displace, 
 and seeking with utmost endeavor to dominate the majority, 
 preferred as their nominee for President the renowned and pop- 
 ular General, who daring the "late unpleasantness" had achieved 
 the high place of Commander-in-Chief of the armies of the 
 North, and to whom the General of the southern forces had at 
 the close yielded up his arms. 
 
 This man who had become the most successful hero of 
 modern times, was none other than the inveterate smoker, whose 
 acquaintance Henry had acquired, and whose friendship he had 
 gained years before in the lead mines of Galena. To the re- 
 markable, steady persistency of this man in command, was due, 
 in great measure, the final victory of the North. 
 
 At the beginning of the conflict, when the South, after 
 many threats, had actually fired the first gun, opening upon 
 Sumpter, men all over the North made foolish bets that the war 
 would not last three months; but the fight continued with una- 
 bated fury, years instead of months. 
 
 The North all this time underrating the indomitable, 
 passionate, fiery spirit of the South, and the willful determina- 
 tion to have what they believed to be their rights. But when 
 this stolid General, who could neither be frightened or bought, 
 and who had never been vanquished, but quietly puffed his cigar 
 until victory perched upon his banner, the "smoking General," 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 179 
 
 as he had come to be called, got a good ready and sat down be- 
 fore Richmond, their last strong-hold, his clear, grey eyes upon 
 that somewhat distant town, prepared for an all summer's 
 smoke, the South — Generals, army, people, concluded they 
 might as well succumb first as last, for they knew the "smoking 
 General" was sure to march into their capital, sooner or later — 
 and he did. 
 
 The enthusiasm at the North over the result had been bound- 
 less, and the treatment of his disarmed foe by the victorious 
 General such that even the South acknowledged him worthy 
 to be their conquerer. 
 
 At the first presidential election after the close of the war, 
 this General, well nigh deified in the minds of the grateful 
 people, was elected President of the country he had served so 
 well. And yet again, when his time of office had expired, was 
 he tendered the highest place in the gift of his fellow citizens. 
 
 The two terms of his presidency had proved so satisfactory, 
 his administration being wise and just, settling disjointed fac- 
 tions, and healing gaping wounds, that the North and the South 
 were forgetting their animosity, treating each other again 
 as human beings instead of as wild beasts; like brethren — quar- 
 reling a little perhaps, but as brothers quarrel, not as sworn 
 enemies. 
 
 As another election approached, and many had carried their 
 admiration and gratitude to the extreme of hero-worship, they 
 were determined a third time to nominate and elect the man 
 w^hom they felt had saved the country in peace as well as in 
 war. 
 
 Others, far-seeing, and wisely endeavoring to guard against 
 perpetuation of power in the individual ruler, which if con- 
 tinued long enough, must, even under a Republican form of 
 government, lead to Oligarchy — perhaps — abjtost surely to a 
 Monarchy ; bitterly opposed the contemplated "third term" nom- 
 ination of the General, and in this they were supported by the 
 people, ever jealous of any approach towards an established 
 dynasty, as were our forefathers, who refused to the father of 
 his country, the. revered Washington, this honor. 
 
 The "third term" movement was defeated, and a good man 
 was nominated by the Republicans, and elected, who succeeded 
 in giving an administration of reasonable prosperity, entirely 
 pleasing to the majority. But these restless politicians, 
 who haa for so long been recognized as Stalwart leaders, and 
 had come to consider themselves entitled to all the emoluments, 
 
180 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 could see no opportunity for their own aggrandizement in a 
 quiet, temperate, prosperous administration of affairs, in which 
 they were ignored. They must have strife and turmoil for their 
 purposes, also a hand in dispensing patronage, and were pos- 
 sessed of a dissatisfaction which they hesitated not to express. 
 
 Another presidential election was now near at hand, the 
 prospective, possible and probable candidates had been canvassed 
 by Republicans and Democrats, and both political parties 
 were ready for action and to present their nominees to the peo- 
 ple for their suffrage. 
 
 The General had, shortly before the assembling of this Re- 
 publican convention we are considering, traveled round the 
 world, his journey being a continuous ovation, ending in a series 
 of receptions as he proceded from city to city on his homeward 
 way across the continent from west to east, such as no other 
 man uncrowned has received in modern times. When his party 
 reached Chicago, the enthusiasm exceeded all bounds, certainly 
 in this last grand demonstration continuing from days into weeks, 
 greatness experienced its reward. 
 
 Encouraged by the respect and admiration evinced for 
 this honored General and popular President, the Stalwarts, 
 whose record entitled them as they deemed to special consider- 
 ation, determined to place the great Commander again before 
 the people, as the Republican nominee, committing the m.istake 
 of supposing they could be induced to raise him again to the 
 highest office in the land, against their sober judgment. 
 
 However, as an alternate and dernier resort, Cronskey, the 
 acknowledged leader of the Stalwart clique, had in reserve, 
 should the General be defeated at the convention and fail of the 
 nomination — one, J. G. Bamboozle, a blatant demagogue, full 
 of tricks and sly conceit; who he believed would make a more 
 willing, and not unconscious tool^ as most surely would the 
 General, if placed in the presidential chair. For this reason, as 
 he had an end of his own to gain, Cronskey really preferred 
 Bamboozle, if only the people could be induced to give him 
 the necessary vote. 
 
 But, as is sometimes the case in this Republican country, this 
 political schemer reckoned without his host; and the smooth 
 and artful Cronskey found when the names were presented to 
 the convention, even when backed by such faithful henchmen 
 as Silas Smith, who after long disappearance from view, had 
 risen to be a power in the country — a power as unscrupulous as 
 his original character w^ould indicate, and Spideler, not less use- 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 181 
 
 ful and trusted, whom we remember to have met before, being 
 fully as great a trickster as his master, with the help of their 
 own special line of followers, both they and Cronskey failed to 
 control the dear people, who when once aroused are quick- to 
 see through shams, and they could not be induced to place either 
 the honored General or the demagogue in nomination for the 
 highest place at disposal, as neither suited their mood, as indi- 
 cated by those who held the hand and fingered the pulse of this 
 same dear people. 
 
 When the time and occasion were ripe, the contention over 
 the nomination being bitter in the Republican convention as- 
 sembled within the immense Exposition building left standing 
 near the shore of Lake Michigan, not far south from the spot 
 where the Gascoigne and Grieveau families entered Chicago 
 before old Fort Dearborn was torn away; there appeared a man 
 born for just that tifne and place! 
 
 A man not then unknown ; and as he rose before them, speak- 
 ing of the points at issue, a hush fell upon the excited multitude 
 while they listened eagerly to his powerful and melodious voice, 
 discoursing calmly and wisely of men and measures over which 
 they were battling. 
 
 Rather above the medium size, of generous proportions both 
 mind and body, with a noble head and fascinating face, a soul 
 capable of loving and of commanding affection and respect in 
 return; a man of intellect and power to bear himself above his 
 fellows. A man of Providence! A man of Destiny! 
 
 As he stood grandly before them and argued earnestly for 
 his opinion, the attention of that vast assembly was intently 
 fixed; reason triumphed, discord vanished, and at last both an- 
 tagonistic factions withdrawing their candidate, agreeing to 
 unite upon some other man, peace entered in and every heart 
 was won. 
 
 Little thought the eloquent orator who had pleaded for 
 amity and brotherly kindness that his would be the chosen 
 name. But almost instantly — by acclamation — the fearless and 
 winning speaker was declared the choice of the convention; so 
 true are the instincts of the people — and a name destined to^^ 
 sound in echoes round a world -before the end should come to 
 him wdio bore it, was placed at the head of the Republican 
 Presidential ticket. 
 
 The scheming Cronksey now realized that he was beaten at 
 his own game. 
 
182 THE STALWARTS; OR. 
 
 With a long-headed treachery he had worked both for the 
 General and the demagogue, hoping in his heart should they 
 lose it the rich morsel of the Presidency would fall between 
 them into his own watering mouth, and when foiled, his wrath 
 knew no bounds although carefully concealed under a placid 
 exterior, only to burn as a raging lire within. 
 
 Soon he bethought him of a remedy, a partial revenge. His 
 old-time patron, the man whose secret he held, had returned 
 from Australia a year or two before, passing under the name of 
 Gerald A. Johnson; residing mostly in San Francisco and other 
 places on the Pacific coast, keeping well away from eastern lo- 
 calities, fearing recognition though much changed by time and 
 a foreign climate. 
 
 But for reasons best known to himself, moved by a lever 
 which Cronksey well knew how to work, Johnson, the million- 
 aire, risking discovery, had met his former agent by appoint- 
 ment in Chicago, attending the convention. Cronksey, surmis- 
 ing that a necessity might suddenly arise for the use of extra 
 cash influence, had importuned him to be at hand, and now, 
 confronted by the emergency, had immediately indicated to 
 Johnson a desperate venture, which he had without consulting 
 anyone fully decided upon. 
 
 To appease his disappointment and secure co-operation, 
 Cronksey was quite sure the two factions would allow him to 
 name his man for the vice-Presidency; he well knew the party 
 could not afford to ignore his pleasure especially when furthered 
 by an abundance of money. 
 
 With the vice-P resident under his control, Cronksey was 
 certain that Smith, Bamboozle, Spideler and himself might 
 manage a deep affair they had in hand to defraud and weaken 
 the Government quite as successfully as though one of them- 
 selves were at the head of the Administration. 
 
 Cronksey's plan was, that Johnson, the man thrown into his 
 power by circumstances so that he held him body and soul, as 
 one does the insect between the thumb and finger of his strong 
 hand waiting to crush and mercilessly destroy when so inclined 
 — should take the vice-Presidency, and thus the proper man be 
 where, // needed^ he could be *ised even against his ozvn will 
 ivithoiit his knowledge^ in advancing the interests of these crafty 
 politicians and self-seekers. 
 
 At the thought of holding so prominent a position, almost 
 sure to result in an exposure of his secret, Johnson's blood curd- 
 led at his heart. He, the vice-President of the United States 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 183 
 
 might come to be placed on trial for murder^ even though in- 
 nocent, by the friends of the dead Wm. Smith. It was terrible. 
 
 And the one most to be dreaded after Cronksey and Spideler, 
 was the scoundrelly Silas Smith himself, and then the General 
 whom he had known years before, might remember him and 
 know he was passing under an assumed name — and query, 
 "Why?" — How could he hope if he consented to the nomination 
 to escape incognito through the campaign and his term of 
 office if elected? And he was sure some dark deviltry lurked 
 in Cronksey's mind inducing him to resort to such an expedient, 
 for his henchman, Spideler, and even himself might also be 
 called to give account for the mystery of that night in the 
 "Rockies," might possibly be accused of '* compounding felony." 
 
 But notwithstanding all Johnson's remonstrances, Cronksey 
 remained inexorable, and declared he could manage the whole 
 business w^ithout disaster if left to himself, and would keep Silas 
 Smith (who now spent most of his time in London) out of the 
 way, and would prevent any meeting between Johnson and the 
 General if Johnson would obey orders, getting back to San 
 Francisco immediately and remaining there until wanted for the 
 inauguration. Pictures of the nominee for vice-President would 
 of course be sent over the country, but recognition would not 
 be likely to follow from such work as is usually furnished on 
 such occasions, and besides Johnson had very much altered in 
 appearance. 
 
 Finally Johnson yielded to Cronksey's importunities, more 
 afraid of present wrath than of any harm in the future, and 
 against his own judgment, the very marrow quaking in his 
 bones with dread and premonitions of evil, his name was placed 
 second upon the Presidential ticket, which after the usual cam- 
 paign manoeuvres was declared the choice of the people. 
 
 In due time the newly elected President and vice-President 
 were inaugurated into office upon the broad piazza of the beau- 
 tiful white marble Capitol of the Nation in sight of a vast con- 
 course of the so-called self-governed people. 
 
 During the campaign many strange coalitions had been 
 form.ed, and antagonistic elements fused in the struggle of the 
 Republican party for supremacy over the Democratic, but no 
 sooner was success assured than innate selfishness asserted itself, 
 and the victors began a disgraceful contest for the spoils of office, 
 the loaves and fishes of political power. 
 
 Before the end was reached the quarrel between the two 
 factions waxed bitter and fierce, and those who like Cronksey 
 
184 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 had a special object in view scrupled not in adding fuel to the 
 flame; only too anxious in keeping the contest raging for their 
 own advantage, even to the imminent danger of again involving 
 the country in the misfortune of civil war. 
 
 Many yet believe that such a catastrophe was only averted 
 by a calamity as remarkable as dreadful; which, coming upon 
 them as a thunderbolt from Heaven, had the effect of shocking 
 these wrangling politicians into a sense of shame and remorse, 
 causing each one to feel himself at least in a measure responsible 
 for the horror of the climax, although it became necessary to 
 use the utmost endeavor to fasten the entire blame upon some- 
 one else. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME, 185 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A GIGAXTIC SCHEME. 
 
 As has been stated, a few years before the events transpired 
 last alluded to, Henry, as Gerald A. Johnson, had returned from 
 his long sojourn in Australia to his native land, bringing with 
 him his pretty though invalid wife, who had degenerated into 
 this condition, considered by some people interesting, because 
 she lacked force to be anything better. Her children were 
 abortions for the same cause. She was amiable enough, and 
 easily controlled — vv^hy not? Every desire gratified as soon as 
 expressed, suffering but little pain, not possessed of an active 
 mind, to chafe and grow restless under the weight of an aim- 
 less, helpless life, seeking only to while away the hours with as 
 little exertion as possible. Effie was fond of Henry in her way, 
 whom she of course always addressed as Gerald; and he re- 
 garded her as a feeble, pretty child, to be cared for certainly, 
 and sometimes, to be sure, caressed; but as for the satisfaction 
 and companionship a man should find in his wife, it was not 
 there. 
 
 How intense grew the longing in Henry's heart all those 
 years for his lost Lucille, only himself ever knew. He needed 
 the daily help of her purity and steadfastness of purpose, her 
 strong integrity of character, no less than the sweetness and 
 loving-kindness of her presence. 
 
 As he remembered her, rather as she came to him, he 
 thought, in very fact, there seemed more of her womanhood, 
 both of body and spirit, than he found in his wife, or had ever 
 recognized in any other. 
 
 Alas! was Henry sadly disappointed in the part of his life 
 most essential to his well-being, and the trouble grew day by 
 day. 
 
 Thus do men having their own way defraud themselves. 
 
 Through fear of some terrible catastrophe happening to 
 her husband should his identity become known, Eftie guarded 
 well his secret, not understanding the particulars, but still loyal to 
 the trust he had reposed in her. 
 
 Henry had so changed from his long residence abroad, there 
 was little probability of any former friend even remembering 
 
186 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 him; but, strive as he would, he grew more and more, as the 
 years went by, to dread the treachery of the only other one in 
 his confidence; for Henry well knew Cronksey would not hesi- 
 tate for a moment in sacrificing a comrade, though ever so true, 
 or any servant however faithful, standing in the way of a de- 
 sired end; and he was now the abject slave of the man — his 
 before-time agent — their places transposed. 
 
 Henry had often regretted having returned to the States at 
 all, the occasion of his doing so being the delicate health of his 
 wife, who pined for her old home. But since the further di- 
 lemma into which Cronksey had forced him, as narrated in the 
 last chapter, by insisting that he should allow himself to be nom- 
 inated for the vice-presidency, Henry had innumerable times 
 wished he had remained in Australia, even at the risk of failing 
 health and lost. life. 
 
 Running for vice-president may not so surely result in un- 
 earthing all a man's past experience as entering the presidential 
 race is apt to do, but Henry felt that he was risking a great deal 
 for small gain, especially as the benefit would mainly accrue to 
 another individual. 
 
 This man Cronksey, whom Henry so greatly dreaded, had 
 grown, as the years passed by, to be a remarkable character, as 
 strong as unique, as unprincipled as strong. 
 
 Although priding himself, not without cause, upon his an- 
 tecedents and ancestry — for he came from one of the very best 
 old York State families — yet the man was what is called self- 
 made; that is, he had marked out an independent career of his 
 own, working his way steadily along with little help from oth- 
 ers. He was, and had always been, as we have seen, a man who 
 would without doubt help himself to anything he wanted — 
 not hesitating, as was well known, even at defrauding his own 
 friend of a man's most jealously-guarded possession, the wife of 
 his bosom, the mother of his children — violating every princi- 
 ple of honor, all the obligations of hospitality, in consummating 
 his nefarious designs. 
 
 From the beginning of his prosperous days — they dating so 
 far back no one could remember when he had been impecun- 
 ious, but which really commenced with his charge of Henry's 
 Bentonville estate — Cronksey had been shrewd enough to un- 
 derstand the importance, to one who wishes to get on in the 
 world, of controlling the people with whom he comes in con- 
 tact, either by fair means or foul, and in one way and another. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 187 
 
 principally by dabbling in local politics, this he had succeeded 
 doing early in his career. 
 
 By some influence which he alone understood he had bound 
 to his service the man Spideler whose acquaintance we have 
 made in former chapters, and whose snakey black eyes had seen 
 too 77iuch^ up in the "Rockies," and whose piercing glances had 
 so disturbed Henry upon the occasion of his last visit to Ben- 
 tonville. 
 
 The absolute devotedness of this man to his master's inter- 
 ests had, from the first, been so marked whether engaged in 
 good or in evil work, as to call forth the comparison from those 
 who knew them, of "My lord and his little dog." Some went 
 so far, upon closer acquaintance, as to call Spideler a " Dirty 
 dog," "a vile cur" "Just suited for such work as his master had 
 plenty of," they sometimes added under their breath; for Cronk- 
 sey was a man it did not pay his neighbors to offend. 
 
 And others, who knew to their sorrow even more of the 
 man Spideler and his attributes, whispered still lower in the ear 
 of some trusted comrade, " That dog was too good and noble a 
 name; that it should have been Spider;" for in wicked machina- 
 tions, net-weaving in dark corners, he surely was unexcelled by 
 the most viperous of those busy insects — the blackest, most 
 poisonous tarantula. 
 
 At times, when intent upon some special deviltry, he had a 
 way of drawing his flat, shiny bald head, with its glistening 
 little eyes and circling fringe of jet-black hair — the ears pinched 
 tightly to the sides — back into the shoulders, extinguishing the 
 short, thick neck, and poising his chunky body, bending those 
 long, thin legs and wirey arms into a reaching, waiting atti- 
 tude, restrained, but ready for the signal to pounce upon and 
 grasp his prey; and then the bony hands, Vvith claw-like fingei^, 
 would work nervously, as though impatient of delay. 
 
 This was Spideler's own self; but in presence of his master 
 upon ordinary occasions, so habituall v dominated had he become, 
 the evil face and twinkling eyes had acquired an inquisitive, 
 anxious look, impressing one as though he said, " What next, 
 my lord?" Every motion of the impish little, man w^ould be 
 alert to friskiness, as though inwardly fearing some duty left 
 undone. 
 
 Unhappy Spideler! Many an angry frown and spiteful 
 curse did you receive; only now and then was left you in your 
 hideous den a loathsome morsel, requiting faithful service. 
 
 But Cronksey himself was quite another sort of man, at 
 
188 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 least in appearance. Tall, dignified, and exquisite from the 
 crown of his head adown to his very toes: the high white 
 brow; the keen eye% and penetrating glance; the finely formed 
 and knowing nose, always leading its owner to the exact point 
 scented ; the chiseled mouth with proudly curving though firm 
 lips, surmounted by the imperial mustache; the handsome face, 
 improved by the immaculate, flowing white beard and carelessly 
 curling gray hair; the whole personality bespeaking in every 
 look, tone and gesture the man of distinguished presence and 
 attributes; always thinking well of himself; never deigning 
 openly to low villainous deeds, whatever he might instigate in 
 others; buc also indicating a careful, shrewd calculator, and a 
 schemer deep and unscrupulous. 
 
 A political trickster of the higher order, as Cronskey had 
 long since become, needing without doubt some convenient 
 party near at hand, willing to execute detestable work, which 
 must not soil his own dainty hands — hence Spideler, in all but 
 villainy, the contrast of his master. * * 
 
 After Henry's return from Australia, Cronskey continued 
 the charge of the annuity designed for Lucille, but which she 
 of course failed to receive; he also retained a general insight of 
 Henry's extensive business, who at his suggestion traded heavily 
 in stocks, often risking large sums in doubtful enterprises by his 
 advice; Cronskey meanwhile keeping his own money chest 
 safely locked, though reaping a handsome percentage upon his 
 victim's investments if ending fortunately. It happened that 
 in furtherance of these business ventures, Henry, Cronskey and 
 Spideler were frequently together, and these conferences con- 
 tinued even after Henry was nominated for the vice-presidency, 
 under the name of Gerald A. Johnson, although Henry kept 
 well away from New York and other eastern latitudes where, 
 if seen, he might be known. 
 
 Events coming about, contrary to usual experiences of life, 
 that the General-in-Chief of the victorious northern army had 
 been fully appreciated both as to honors and also money, and 
 thus amassing a goodly fortune, more it must be said through 
 the management of his friends than from any financial aptitude 
 of his own ; and being one of the "solid-moneyed-men" the Gen- 
 eral became to Cronskey a temptation, correlatively ending as 
 a victim. 
 
 Having no more need of money-making than had Henry 
 or any of the others, or even Cronskey himself, who all event- 
 ually became involved in a gigantic scheme, originating in the 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 189 
 
 brain of Cronskey, and helped on — the two evenly matched — 
 by the only trusted counselor Cronskey ever possessed, or 
 thoroughly confided in; the only man he had ever found who 
 could equal himself in plotting villiany; a man no less remark- 
 able in characteristics than Cronskey, and wdiom we shall show 
 you further on, introducing another old acquaintance. 
 
 Not obliged to engage in any business for gain, but solely 
 as a vent to their active, restless dispositions, were these men 
 induced to enter into a speculation of which they knew little, 
 by the intriguing Cronskey and his two trusted emissaries, and 
 which caused them all much distress and grief before the end. 
 
 Pity such men could not be forced to knit their own stock- 
 ings, or saw cord wood w^ith the Wisconsin Norwegians, thus 
 merging their surplus energy in a sweet content, instead of 
 working mischief to their fellows. 
 
 Even the General was all right and in the accomplishment 
 of good, while he sat still before Richmond — and smoked. 
 
 But Cronksey was a man w^ho had the peculiar faculty of 
 interesting other men in his plans, either for emolument or ag- 
 grandizement, and impelling them to accede to his wishes by the 
 exercise of a strong will, not letting them know of his control in 
 the m'atter. Spideler became in time a most useful accessory, 
 and at last indispensible to his m.aster. Cronksey had but to 
 imbue Spideler with the thought that was in his ow^n mind, the 
 purpose to be accomplished, and forthwith the evil little man 
 talked that idea incessantly — moved Heaven and earth, not men- 
 tioning Satan's dark abode, in arriving at the premeditated end. 
 
 Besides possessing this wonderful power over others with 
 whom he came in contact, or to w^hom he could send his mag- 
 netized medium, Cronksey was a man who could brook no su- 
 perior, and w^iose egotism and desire to rule over his fellows- 
 men was boundless. Furthering his ow^n preeminence, he was 
 not content with being the acknowleged head of the leading 
 political faction named "Stalwarts," but was continually on the 
 aggressive, creating discord in his party, fatally antagonizing 
 the two branches, and had conceived the idea of dominating the 
 entire organization, and through it, the whole people, even to 
 the destruction of cherished Republican institutions, not sparing 
 the newly elected President from his dictation. 
 
 This man Cronksey had by slow but sure degrees advanced 
 up the political ladder, until he had come to look upon himself 
 as being, and his co-workers joined in the opinion, as though he 
 were the great / am^ his will the '^Open Sesame" to any gate he 
 
190 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 chose to enter. Such a man aims at controlhng friend and 
 foe ahke in his own interests; but soon after the inauguration 
 Cronksey discovered that whatever he might accompUsh w^ith 
 the intimidated Vice-President, he need not expect to over- 
 power the newly elected President, against his honest convic- 
 tions. 
 
 In the Vice-President Cronksey saw a man restless and dis- 
 satisfied, just in the condition to crave the excitement of ambi- 
 tious projects, and whose long residence abroad under a Mon- 
 archical form of government had destroyed to a great extent 
 his distinctive American and Republican proclivities, and he 
 proceeded deftly to insinuate ideas into his mind, until at last he 
 became a mere machine in his hands. 
 
 In the same way did he approach and eventually control the 
 honored General who had saved the Union, and scores of 
 others who were to figure in and help carry out the deep laid 
 plot, deeper than any imagined, which his brain had contrived, 
 and which he had determined to see through to its finality, no 
 matter what or who stood in the way. For many years this 
 man had been the power behind the figurative throne; he now 
 proposed to place himself and friends upon a firmer foundation, 
 and to this end had conceived a scheme intended to defraud and 
 weaken, preparatory to revolutionizing the Government, and 
 w^hich required immense resources for the accomplishment. 
 
 Resources of political p(^vv^er and influence both American and 
 foreign, a controlling monopoly of capital sufficient to buy up 
 whole parties of men and wealthy corporations; a domination 
 over the systems of mail service and telegraphic communication 
 throughout the country, and also the Press, for the length of time 
 required in ripening the scheme and producing the desired effect 
 upon the popular mind. 
 
 It was at this point in his plan, as Cronksey realized the vast 
 proportions of what he had undertaken, and the requirement of 
 capital and influence necessary for the successful issue, that he 
 bethought him of Silas Smith, whose acquaintance he had made 
 a few years before in New York, where both had been engaged 
 in the same extensive stock manoeuvre, and in which Smith had 
 vanquished Cronksey only by having unlimited access to Lon- 
 don capitalists. In fact this American citizeii had become more 
 an Englishman than an American, by long habit of transient 
 residence in London, and had become thoroughly imbued with 
 the ideas of English capital and English aristocracy. 
 
 Smith had continued as at first when he tried to defraud 
 
WI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 191 
 
 Uncle Tutty Swanson of his claim by deception and force — a 
 grasping, hard-fisted, ugly customer, and had of course, gotten 
 rich off from better men. 
 
 He had also naturally enough gravitated into New York 
 and Wall street, and come to be one of the great men of that 
 center of power long before his foreign experience. 
 
 From being at first only a speculator in stocks, he had come 
 to own several American railroads and nearlv the whole of the 
 telegraphic lines throughout the country. By this ownership 
 and other means, he often manipulated the news furnished to 
 the Associated Presses and by them to the daily papers, and in 
 this way molded public opinion as he willed, in the interests of 
 any speculation in which he was engaged. He had long since 
 ceased to touch matters not stupendous, and had become a king 
 among capitalists both American and foreign, being the head 
 and center of those vast intrigues which are sapping the founda- 
 tions of free government, drinking the life-blood of the people, 
 and enslaving them slowly but surely beyond hope of emanci- 
 pation. 
 
 Such men as Smith and Cronksey and Spideler — born for 
 evil work and to prey upon their fellows — drift into New York, 
 this great, wicked city of our Continent, and come to the sur- 
 face, making a stir in Wall street as naturally as the devil-fish, 
 leviathan and dragon live and float in the sea. 
 
 Cronksey was in the great pool what the devil-fish is to the 
 ocean — surrounding himself in impenetrable mystery, hiding 
 from view in the black, slimy emanations of his own Satanic 
 hideousness, while with long tentacled arms he reaches out un- 
 der the darkened waters, drawing in his prey as surely and re- 
 lentlessly as fate, to be reduced to finest atoms by concealed, 
 grinding, sharp-edged instruments of torture; for thus does the 
 monster live, placing all under contribution for his sustenance 
 and pleasure. 
 
 But Smith was the Leviathan, spreading terror and dismay 
 wherever his mighty strength and huge proportions became ap- 
 parent. 
 
 While Spideler was the slimy Sea-serpent, living low down 
 in the deep mire, stirring up filth at every movement. 
 
 Cronksey and Spideler had met Smith in New York dur- 
 ing the years when Henry was absent in Australia, and they had 
 been interested together in business transactions ever since and 
 were fast friends. 
 
 To Smith did Cronksey in his emergency now go in person, 
 
192 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 carefully and fully unfolding his scheme and all that might in 
 any contingency be involved — receiving his promise of help and 
 co-operation in any possible event. Two villains evenly 
 matched, pulling neck by neck for the same diabolical goal. 
 
 Only these iiw^o knew all, not even was Spideler trusted 
 with the entire unfolded plan, his mission consisting only in 
 working out blind hints as they were given him. ^ 
 
 Others entered into the scheme as a speculation^ putting in 
 their money for gain only, upon representations conveyed 
 through Spideler that it was a good thing, not dreaming they 
 were being drawn into complications which would end in a ter- 
 rible political tragedy. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 198 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 JULES GRIEVEAU. WHO WERE TO BLAME? 
 
 While the intense excitement preceeding the Presidential 
 election to which we alluded in Chapter XXII, was at its 
 height, among the frequenters of the New York headquarters 
 of the Republican campaign, Spideler, as he thought fortun- 
 ately, discovered a most peculiar and original character in the 
 person of a little man impressing the beholder as of somewhat 
 larger stature than he really was, who, though shabby and poor 
 in appearance, was neatly and genteelly dressed, carrying him- 
 self always with dignity and as a gentleman. 
 
 Gaunt and hungry looking, evidently destitute, homeless 
 and without remunerative employment, he yet had an air of at- 
 tending to very important affairs. Every motion indicated a 
 man earnestly pursuing some object to a desired end. What 
 that object or the consummation might be, did not appear. 
 
 He seemed to be engaged in no legitimate business — unless 
 hanging around politicians and noted men, offering advice and 
 suggestions which passed unheeded, crowding himself obtrusive- 
 ly into the presence of the highest, might be called business. 
 
 Mischievously busy he was without doubt, as the sequel 
 proved. 
 
 Such a character could not remain very long in constant at- 
 tendance upon all the manoeuvres emanating from the head- 
 quarters of a political campaign, without attracting the attention 
 of the prime-movers. Soon inquiry was made from one and 
 another, but no one could tell anything about the man, except 
 that he was industriously distributing cards bearing the inscrip- 
 tion "C. Jules Grieveau, Lawyer and Theologian," strange 
 combination of professions surely. He also claimed to be a 
 politician, and was never tired of lauding Cronksey, the great 
 leader, to the skies, whenever any one would listen to him, and 
 wanted his hero to the front upon every occasion. He had, it 
 seemed, prepared a speech during the time preceding the presi- 
 dential nomination when it was supposed the General would again 
 be placed before the people, based upon this idea, and which he 
 had altered in one or two particulars, suiting, as he believed, the 
 change of programme, and he now wanted the managers of the 
 
 13 
 
194 THE S TAL WARTS; OR, 
 
 campaign to engage him on a salary to deliver this remodeled 
 speech from the "stump" over the State. But of course they 
 had no intention of doing any such thing; it would savor too 
 much of the absurdity of preparing the eulogy for one man 
 and then using the document in another's honor; and besides 
 the paper w^as almost idiotic in composition. Strangely enough 
 he took their refusal all in good part, although it meant starva- 
 tion for him. 
 
 His good nature w^as absolutely foolish, he being apparently 
 unable to comprehend a snub or an insult; accepting every slight 
 or rebuff with indifference, going right along as though nothing 
 had happened; no matter how coldly he was treated frequent- 
 ing the Republican headquarters just the same. Poor fellow, 
 it was the only comfortable, decent place where he could con- 
 stantly visit with impunity without being interfered with. 
 
 Had that selfish, well-fed, scheming crowd known just how 
 forlorn, hungry, weak and sick the man really was, how shat- 
 tered his mind, and that he was utterly incompetent to provide 
 for himself, compassion might have touched even their hearts, 
 and he been placed out of harm's way to himself or others, and 
 where he could have kind care and the treatment proper for 
 those in his condition. 
 
 He had been for a long time used to starvation and snubs 
 and insults, and did not himself realize how badly off he was; 
 while restlessness kept him working persistently at something, 
 even though resulting in no benefit to himself or others. 
 
 Occasionally he would secure a small sum of money, and 
 upon this subsist, until the fund exhausted, want again confront- 
 ed him. 
 
 Before his reasoning powers became so completely deranged, 
 he had through the leniency of slack examinations in western 
 states at that early day, succeeded in gaining admission to the 
 bar — the fashion prevailing both in the legal and medical 
 professions of allowing a man with slight knowledge a license 
 to practice, that he might earn an honest living, as was said; 
 he being expected by hard experience, both to himself and 
 his patrons, to learn how afterwards. 
 
 And thus it happened that Jules, after spending a couple of 
 years about the ofl^ce of his brother-in-law, passing an exam- 
 ination when two out of the three Judges who constituted the 
 board were off on a vacation — he answering only two of the 
 three questions asked him, managed to slip inside the "bar," and 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 195 
 
 was forthwith a full-fledged lawyer, entitled to all the privileges 
 and immunities of the profession. 
 
 He then secured desk room got out some cards with good 
 references which no one troubled to investigate, and being pos- 
 sessed of a gentlemanly, suave address, soon some slight items 
 of business drifted his way, mainly the collection of small bills, 
 and following the usual practice of older and more competent 
 lawyers of his acquaintance, he never failed when collections 
 w^ere made, to retain the larger share. 
 
 In all this Jules exhibited a certain amount of shrewdness 
 not uncommon with young men trying to make their way in 
 the world unaided, and in their cases as in his, enabling them to 
 slip along quite smoothly with apparent success for a time, only 
 to end in utter collapse, if the sequal prove them lacking in 
 sound knowledge, hard-headed sense, and integrity ; qualities 
 which alone can win. 
 
 As for Jules he had neither knowlege, sense or stamina, and 
 disappointment and destitution were his fore-ordained portion. 
 But even after he had stumbled and fallen, and scrambled up again 
 in child-like impotency — time and again — and had wandered 
 away from his original moorings, coming to the surface at last 
 in the great, cruel city of New York, as a hanger-on of the 
 Republican presidential campaign, he still made use of his 
 old cards, they enabling him to pick up now and then a des- 
 perately bad debt for collection — so desperate no one else would 
 touch it. 
 
 And somehow, by hook or by crook, he managed to worry 
 a little money out of every one he tackled. He'd fasten him- 
 self on a man, and stick like a leech until so7nething came, if he 
 once started. A persistency which became a mania, until he 
 believed himself inspired to the accomplishment of anything 
 suggested to his mind as a desirable consummation. 
 
 His peculiarities, before his mind became entirely unhinged, 
 rendered him a passably successful Insurance Agent, and he 
 acted for different companies from time to time. Had he re- 
 mained quietly at either the insurance or the collecting business, 
 letting everything else go, he might have sustained himself 
 perhaps, even with his unmistakably weak organization. But 
 his diseased and malformed brain was leading him, year by year, 
 into more and more erratic courses, and unfitting him for all 
 usefulness. Finally he attended the "Moody meetings," and 
 became in his own estimation a "theologian," and that ended it. 
 
 All this time even at the last, there in New York, during 
 
196 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 the fateful summer of doom, little did those with whom he came 
 in contact dream that in the strange, intense, erratic but good 
 natured and apparently harmless man, there were elements of 
 discord and insane ideas evolving, eventually to culminate in a 
 deed as terrible and sudden as the rupture of a volcano, and which 
 should startle the world with the horror of its unreasonableness, 
 causing in its legitimate results, that sooner or later, the fair 
 goddess of Liberty must reel and totter, quivering in every atom 
 upon her pedestal, until only the strong hands of stern Truth 
 and evenly balanced Justice, could restore her equipoise and firm 
 stability complete as before. 
 
 Silas Smith, who, as we have seen, spent most of the time in 
 London across the water, came in one day and Jules handed him 
 his card, as he habitually gave them to everyone he met. 
 Smith, glancing at the remarkable announcement, " Lawyer 
 and Theologian," for it would attract the attention of the busi- 
 est man, and then pondering a moment, looking again at the 
 name, C. Jules Grieveau, abruptly inquired, " Are you the son 
 of Eben Grieveau, of Freelav/n, 111? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, that was my father's name," answered Jules. 
 
 Neither of the men said anything further, Smith not notic- 
 ing him again in any way, indeed he never saw him, until the 
 day when the grievous fate of poor Jules Grieveau was consum- 
 mated in Washington; but Jules, following an insane predilec- 
 tion for the adoration of supposed greatness, always after spoke of 
 Smith as " My friend Silas Smith, Esq."; only that subsequent 
 events proved the assumption extremely pitiful, it mxust have 
 savored of the ludicrous. 
 
 When his question was answered Smith knew very well 
 who the peculiar man was, and also his sad history or the be- 
 ginning of it, and why he was so forlorn and erratic; Jules, of 
 course, having no remembrance of Silas Smith. 
 
 For several days at intervals of leisure. Smith cogitated over 
 the eccentric, cranky man, not to say insane, Jules had come to 
 be, and the possible use he might be put to with proper manipu- 
 lation. 
 
 Cronksey had unfolded to Smith all that was In his scheme, 
 every contingency liable to arise; and Smith had finally men- 
 tioned Jules Grieveau to him during one of their confidential 
 conversations, with the suggestion that Spideler get him down to 
 Washington when the time should come, as he was evidently just 
 the man they'd need there in a certain emergency ; Cronksey 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 197 
 
 afterwards assented, giving the hint to Spideler, who made short 
 delay in acting upon it. 
 
 Thus did Smith, the rascally plotter, concoct his revenge for 
 an old time grudge, at the same time with characteristic long- 
 headedness, providing for his English friends whose capital 
 was to aid him partial shelter, should their joint villainy in its 
 consummation be exposed to the light; by selecting a man as 
 the tool with which to accomplish the work, a man of French 
 name and proclivities, and whose ancestors had surely been of 
 the French Aristocracy, nearly allied to Royalty. 
 
 While Jules Grieveau had been hanging around the Repub- 
 lican headquarters in New York, Henry Armstrong, as Gerald 
 A. Johnson the nominee for vice-President, had remained 
 closely in San Francisco according to the plan, and thus it hap- 
 pened the two not chancing to meet; — again did Fate perform 
 her mission, and play well her part. 
 
 "' Not many months elapsed before Spideler received the in- 
 timation that the time was near at hand, and immediately he 
 proceeded to prepare the tool for a purpose dire as devilish. 
 
 First he went with Jules to a great revival-meeting, or, as it 
 was styled, the " Moody meeting," which w^as in progress, 
 where by well understood processes, the multitudes who flocked 
 to hear the world-wide noted preacher were worked into a high 
 state of excitement, and zealous enthusiasm was engendered. 
 Spideler shrewdly opining that the intensely religious tempera- 
 ment of Jules might be worked to good advantage. 
 
 Jules had years before this attended these meetings in Chi- 
 cago, and the talk he had heard in his father's house and in the 
 " Community ," had been largely of that insanely religious type 
 just suiting his mental condition, and upon which he loved to feed. 
 
 He had finally become fully imbued with the idea of per- 
 sonal consecration, direct inspiration. Divine leadings etc., and 
 under the excitement to which he was now subjected, he came 
 to feel that he could do anything for Jesus, until, had he im- 
 agined any act or sacrifice was required of him by the will of 
 Deity, that act would have been accomplished, that sacrifice 
 made, even to the slaying of his dearest friend, even as Abra- 
 ham was commanded according to tradition that he should slay 
 his son, Isaac. 
 
 Spideler, too, became suddenly religious, talking often with 
 Jules in the strain of this peculiar phase of his faith, causing his 
 mind to dwell frequently upon it, until at last if he had not been 
 absolutely insane before, he surely was so now. 
 
198 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 As one of the links in the chain which the wily Spideler 
 was busily riveting upon Jules, he one day introduced him to a 
 fair widow, whom he chanced (perhaps) to come across at the 
 meeting; she being also a devotee of the Moody type, immedi- 
 ately gained an unbounded influence over him. 
 
 Soon after this new coalition was formed, Spideler went 
 with Jules down to Washington. Jules going ostensibly to 
 look after some insurance business which vSpideler had kindly 
 thrown in his way — and Spideler himself going — well, for an- 
 other purpose. 
 
PVIIO WERE TO BLAME, 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "I PREFER murder!" 
 
 During the few months intervening, when these intriguers 
 were bu^y permeating the body-politic with the vile leaven of 
 their own wickedness, until all was in a wrathful ferment bod- 
 ing only ill, and in readiness for the hour of doom, their needed 
 tool was bemg prepared by Spideler. While the manipulation of 
 Jules was in its incipient stage, the Presidential election had 
 taken place, the inauguration quietly occurred, and the political 
 machme commenced its work, installing one here, lopping off a 
 head there, satisfying some, rendering others desperate with 
 chagrin and disappointment. 
 
 At last, in the course of events, the scheme of Cronksey and 
 his gang threatened to go awry. 
 
 In the new President they had encountered a man who had 
 a decided mmd of his own; who was determined to give the 
 people an honest Republican administration — to unearth every 
 fraud and political corruption. By his obstinacy their bubble 
 was likely to burst, and there "was millions in it" for American 
 speculators — perhaps American disruption, for jealous foreign 
 capitalists and foreign dynasties. Something must be done to 
 avert the catastrophe. 
 
 Silas Smith and Cronksey conferred together, and finally 
 sent down to Washington their friend Bamboozle, who staid by 
 the President's side constantly, apparently using his utmost en- 
 deavors and persuasive powers trying to induce him to stay his 
 proposed investigation of alleged frauds in the mail service, 
 Treasury reports, naval service, etc., which had at last attracted 
 the attention of the people. 
 
 Dull and stupid as they usually are in regard to their own 
 interests, they were beginning to inquire into the " Why? " of 
 several things; they were insisting upon knowing the truth, and 
 the President was helping them. The men who had perpe- 
 trated these frauds, hoping thereby to weaken the Government, 
 stir up dissension, strife and possible disruption, this time more 
 especially between the East and the West, between capital and 
 labor, between honest toil and wealthy aristocracy — Cronksey, 
 Smith, Bamboozle & Co. — saw that the new President was 
 
200 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 treading dangerously near their individual toes, and were begin- 
 ning to fear for the safety of their pet corns. At last there was 
 an open quarrel between these men and their followers and the 
 new administration — a rebellion, if not a conspiracy, against the 
 President and the Government; and threats began, to be made 
 against, and to the President. The partisan press controlled by 
 Smith was vehement in its denunciations of the President's 
 course, and freely talked of the advantage to the country were 
 he only out of the way, declaring there was danger of another 
 civil war should he persist in antagonizing those obstreperous 
 "Stalwarts" who were determined to ruin if they could not rule. 
 At this stage of the contention Cronksey or Smith, no one 
 cared to say which, made a speech from the rostrum, which 
 was considered purely figurative by those who were ignorant 
 of what was going on, but by those who were inside the 
 "ring" known to mean just what the words implied — "that the 
 time might soon come when murder or suicide would be the 
 only choice;" and said the black-hearted villain: '•'■ I prefer 7nu?'- 
 derP'^ Their friends immediately denied the words in the pub- 
 lic prints, and insisted political suicide, political murder was 
 meant; but it was too late to retract; the mischief intended had 
 been wrought; for the same evening the impeding President 
 was told in private conference, by tliose who were alarmed atth6 
 fatal words — at midnight — only the night before his assassina- 
 tion — that he " must desist ; that he must stand back^ or some- 
 thing dreadful would happen^ if he continued to persist in his 
 investigation." 
 
 But the President had steadfastly declared that he would "not 
 desist, but should proceed at once in the course he had marked 
 out for himself, no matter who stood in the way — no matter 
 who was hurt." 
 
 And this only a few hours before the shot was fired, insti- 
 gated by rebels and conspirators, which ended his career; for 
 destiny was upon them all, and fate or Providence was bring- 
 ing them through these devious channels and complications to 
 the final event, for which the stubborn President and they all^ 
 no less than crazy Jules, was born. 
 
 When this deed, which Cronksey 's friend had hinted at, 
 only suggested as possible^ in his speech from the rostrum, 
 was finally decided upon in his own mind as necessary, for the 
 protection of himself, and also those who stood to him in the 
 relation of co-workers in political intrigue, and of clients, as well 
 as partners in speculation, he took measures secretly for the ex- 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 301 
 
 ecution of the threat — not consulting- with any one. Giving his 
 faithful Spideler the signal, the diabolical deed was perpetrated 
 with what villains regarded complete success, without re- 
 lenting. 
 
 While the quarrel between the two factions was waxing hot 
 and bitter, the President and his supporters on one side and 
 those interested in these great speculations as they claimed, but 
 really frauds and conspiracies, on the other, from sheer neces- 
 sity, Spideler had contrived to saturate the mind of Jules wifh 
 the idea, advanced in the partisan prints — well paid for this 
 work — that a civil war would be the result unless the Cronksey 
 faction were victorious. Jules was also a devourer of newspa- 
 pers, believing implicitly all the lies he read. Spideler also 
 talked continually in his presence of the benefit to the country 
 " If the President were out of the way, the disturbance would 
 cease, and all would be well. The Vice President was a con- 
 servative, sensible man, and would make a betterPresident than 
 the one who was giving so much trouble. (Yes, trouble to 
 thieves and villains!) If some good providence, some sickness 
 or an accident should ' remove ' him, everything would settle 
 down, and there'd be no more talk of civil war." And besides, 
 "Our friends," said Spideler — for he had continued to make 
 poor foolish Jules feel that he was one of them — "will come 
 into power, and I'll see that you get a consulate, or something 
 better, and then you can marry the widow." 
 
 And thus was the poison injected, which in his crazy brain 
 should breed unnatural imaginations ending in agony and death. 
 
 Little by little, day by day, did Spideler keep at his work, 
 sowing the seeds and forcing the growth to the final terrible 
 harvest, "Delays are dangerous, now is the accepted time;""Do- 
 ing evil that good may come;" "Abraham was commanded to 
 slay Isaac at the pleasure of the Lord God." These and other like 
 canting phrases were poured from the mouth of Spideler, and 
 filled the mind of Jules, until dwelling upon these ideas and the 
 danger of civil war, — and he had not forgotten the sufferings of 
 the struggle which had so recently taken place between the 
 North and the South — combining with his desire to possess the 
 widow, she, all the time encouraging the delusion as to the 
 consulate and their marriage; he reasoning upon these things in 
 a warped and crooked fashion, over zealous and devout, until 
 finally the unbounded egotism of insanity over-mastering all 
 else; at last the deluded man came to believe himself inspired, 
 
202 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 called of God to perpetrate as atrocious a deed as ever emanated 
 from a sick brain, or was executed by a maniac's hand. 
 
 From the moment it took hold of him, that he was called of 
 God to remove the President, it was to his mind "the Deity and 
 me," who would set the affairs of the Nation right. 
 
 Surely, surely, poor Jules Grieveau was irresponsibly insane, 
 but in view of all the facts and subsequent outcome of events, 
 resulting in the final acquittal or escape of every one engaged 
 in. these "great frauds," some clear and powerful intelligence 
 must have plaiined the whole scheine — must have been to 
 blame. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 AUNT DEBBY'S kitchen IN WASHINGTON; AND THE CAT. 
 
 On one of the narrow, old-fashioned, stone-paved streets, bor- 
 dered by diagonally laid brick sidewalk, in Washington near the 
 Capitol — a neat, quiet neighborhood — stood behind a row of 
 Linden-trees, a small brick house. Very modest and unpreten- 
 tious was the snug home of Aunt Debby and Uncle Tut, who 
 had followed the family of Gen. John A. Gascoigne to Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 Aunt Debby had softened down with advancing years, and 
 having no children of her own, the natural yearning tenderness 
 of womanhood in her old heart which she had all her life tried 
 to crush out, exhibited itself to the extent that she allowed her 
 domicile to become the rendezvous of all the children near and 
 far, and had even come to tolerate a cat, their old " Tommy " 
 being the pride and delight of Aunt Debby as well as Uncle 
 Tut. 
 
 They were never tired of showing off the tricks that won- 
 derful cat could do. He would jump through Uncle Tut's en- 
 circled arms; stand upon his hind legs, with paws crossed de- 
 murely before him and mew politely for his food ; he'd open a 
 latched door and come in, pushing it shut behind him, and 
 quietly seat himself in his own cushioned chair; he'd walk leis- 
 urely around the cage of the canary as it sat upon the floor with 
 open door, not offering to touch lively little Dick. You might 
 go away and leave them alone if you liked without danger to 
 the bird. 
 
 Aunt Debby declared " that cat had sense," and certainly he 
 proved there must be a good foundation somewhere behind those 
 yellow eyes, for the satisfactory results of the thorough educa- 
 tion and cultivation of manners bestowed upon him by Uncle 
 Tut. 
 
 Not the least of his accomplishments and the one in which 
 Aunt Debby took special delight, was the ease and grace with 
 which he sat at table upon a chair and ate from his own plate, 
 lapping milk from the saucer without soiling himself or the 
 cloth. A noble specimen was Tommy, his immense propor- 
 tions covered by the finest fur, pure white, except a black spot 
 
204 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 at the tip of his tail, four jet black paws and a dark ring around 
 his neck — " his neck tie," Uncle Tut said, and then " Tommy " 
 had such a ])eautiful head, and large intelligent eyes — for a cat. 
 
 Besides the feline and the canary^ Aunt Debby's clean 
 kitchen just swarmed with youngsters both black and white. 
 It would have done you good to see her laying the newly baked, 
 warm, sweet cookies in the little aprons held to receive them, 
 as she deftly lifted them one by one from the hot pan with the 
 old-fashioned glistening steel knife. 
 
 The children could smell Aunt Debby's cookies and dough- 
 nuts for blocks away, and her cream custard pies " well," as 
 Uncle Tut would say, "don't talk," (he'd got so he could put 
 two words together without stammering, when he kept cool ) ; but 
 the greatest treat was one of Aunt Debby's immense saleratus 
 biscuits, (not baking powder) hot and spread with butter and 
 the real white clover honey or genuine maple syrup, laid on 
 thick; "oh! but they were good," the children said. Crazy 
 Leonard too, who you will remember had insisted upon attach- 
 ing himself to General Gascoigne's party when they started 
 from Chicago, having been brought by them to Washington, 
 forming ever since a part of their household, was, of course, 
 now a frequent visitor in Aunt Debby's kitchen, and came in 
 for a share of " goodies " with the children; so gentle and piti- 
 ful a creature could not but appeal to the kind-hearted woman's 
 sympathies. 
 
 Leonard's friends had succeeded in toning him down some- 
 what as to dress, and his appearance was less grotesque than 
 formerly, but he possessed an inordinate desire for decorating 
 Uncle Tut's cat, and seemed to have transferred this propensity 
 from himself to the patient animal, allowing Leonard to maul 
 him about at pleasure, who, whenever he came was sure to 
 leave a memento in the shape of some gewgaw fastened around 
 Tommy's neck or on his tail. There was real danger the poor 
 cat would be strangled, perhaps hang himself som.e day by the 
 appendages attached to him. When Leonard was about Aunt 
 Debby watched sharply, and if caught at any of his pranks, she 
 gave him a dose of her tongue, if nothing worse. 
 
 " There now, you Leonard, let that cat alone I tell you, 
 you'll be the death of that ar cat." 
 
 " No I won't. Aunt Debby, I ain't gwine ter hurt your cat, 
 be I, Tommy?" 
 
 " Leonard's gwine to be a good boy, Leonard ain't lub struck 
 no more, hi! hi! hi! Go bye. Aunt Deb;" and away he would 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 205 
 
 shuffle as fast as his crazy old legs could carry him. But after 
 he was gone Aunt Debby would find the invariable trinket tied 
 to the cat every time, and he would manage to accomplish the 
 feat so slyly she would not see him either. 
 
 It happened that one day Aunt Debby found tied securely 
 around the cat's neck a small bundle of paper, well written 
 over, signed very plainly with a name she too well knew. 
 Showing it to her husband, as a dutiful wife should, consulting 
 about any puzzling occurence, this little scrap of paper proved 
 to be the missing clue necessary for unveiling a hidden mystery 
 and in a measure righting a grievous wrong. 
 
 Thus did crazy Leonard, no less than the dumb brute, fulfil 
 each their mission. 
 
2C6 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 IF ONLY SOMETHING WOULD HAPPEN. 
 
 The family of General Gascoigne had resided in Washing- 
 ton since the war, with the exception of the summers spent 
 usually on Uncle Tut's farm out in Illinois, or sometimes with 
 Gertrude in Wisconsin. 
 
 Mistress Julia had improved her opportunities, developed 
 her natural charms, and used her shrewd Yankee sense with 
 such purpose as to become an acknowleged leader in the gay 
 society of the Capital. 
 
 She had now a family of children, and daughters almost old 
 enough to make their debut, but this did not hinder her from 
 being a very fascinating woman, as fond of a quiet flirtation as 
 ever, though not carrying matters to the extreme of disaster, 
 as she had done in the inexperience of her early career. 
 
 However, she had lately come to think the new Vice-Pres- 
 ident the most charming gentleman she had ever met. His ex- 
 tended sojourn in Australia was somewhat unique even for a 
 traveled man, and gave him great eclat; and the Vice-President 
 although a recent widower, was quite the rage among the ladies 
 of the capital, both married and single. His wife, who had al- 
 ways been a delicate invalid, had died during the early part of 
 the political campaign preceding his inauguration; but what 
 did it matter that his bereavement could scarcely be so soon 
 assuaged, or that the ladies who admired him were many of 
 them married? Not a whit — these circumstances are little 
 thought of in Washington, and flirtations could be, for these 
 reasons, only the more sympathetically indulged in and nothing 
 serious expected on either side. Nothwithstanding the recent 
 demise of the wife, there had already been talk of a union be- 
 tween the Vice-President and the daughter of a Queen, a 
 rumor started, to be sure, for political reasons and as a sounder 
 for the popular feeling, but which was so unequivocally frowned 
 upon, as to be immediately checked. This rumor was speedily 
 followed by a desperate flirtation with the daughter of a high 
 oflicial, carried on as a blind, to allay suspicion, for this foreign 
 alliance was realty a part of the plan of Smith and Cronksey 
 for establishing a monarchy in our midst. But an episode oc- 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 207 
 
 curred just here which drove forever from the Vice-President's 
 mind all thought of a union with any woman but the one his 
 heart craved, and she, too, was to be disappointed. Strangely 
 enough, and much to her chagrin. Mistress Julia had found 
 herself more deeply in love with the handsome Vice-President 
 than she had intended; at last her heart was really captured, all 
 there was of it. 
 
 Their acquaintance had not progressed very far, only a few 
 weeks of intimacy such as society people indulge in, when Lu- 
 cille returned from a visit to Gertrude who lived on her farm 
 beside one of Wisconsin's beautiful lakes, and where she had 
 been spending nearly a year, with pleasure to both. 
 
 On a sultry day in early summer, before congress had ad- 
 journed, or the fashionables closed their doors for a flight to 
 northern climes, the Vice-President called to take Mistress Julia 
 Gascoigne for a ride. As he sat waiting in the cool parlor, a 
 lady passed through the hall, instantly their eyes met — a moment 
 more and Henry had clasped Lucille in his arms, drawing her 
 into the room ; nothing could hold back the frantic man from 
 the possession of his life-long darling. Now that his eyes 
 again beheld her, he seemed as though he never intended to let 
 her go. "Oh! Lucille, Lucille, why did you marry that man?" 
 he cried. 
 
 "Marry? Me marry? Why I have not married." 
 
 "God in Heaven," exclaimed Henry, "is this true? Can it 
 be true?" * * * 
 
 The servant came forward announcing that Mistress Gas- 
 coigne was ready for the drive. Scarcely was discovery averted. 
 
 "Say I am at her service," responded the Vice-President; 
 then turning again to Lucille, "I beg you to secrecy; say to no 
 one that you ever knew me. I will see you soon and explain 
 all. God bless you m.y own love, adieu," and he was gone. 
 
 Once again, after years of patient waiting, had Lucille been 
 clasped in the arms of her loved one, looked in his eyes, heard 
 his voice in endearing tones and words, felt his warm breath, 
 his passionate kiss — and then he was gone! Heart-breaking 
 mystery, when will it ever end? When and how? 
 
 For days, weeks, months, Lucille waited silently, sadly, with 
 heart of lead, but Henry did not come as he had said. What 
 could it mean? 
 
 Only that the man was entangled in -meshes from which he 
 could not break loose, and now found himself in the vice-Hke 
 grip of Fate, whose hold loosens not, though woman's soul 
 
208 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 grieves in agony; though drops, blood-red, are pressed from the 
 heart of the strong man, longing with passionate love to enfold 
 her. 
 
 The Vice-President ended his flirtation w^ith Mistress Julia 
 Gascoigne that very day; w^hy so abruptly, she never dreamed, 
 but w^as sorely disappointed and brooded over the pleasure she 
 had taken in his society, and the strange, sudden withdrav^^al 
 from her presence, until a real trouble wranlked in her heart. 
 He, preoccupied with his own difl^iculiies, scarcely thought of 
 her again — such is life. 
 
 Henry now began planning in earnest to the end of reach- 
 ing Lucille, but the more he revolved the situation in his mind 
 the more hopeless it seemed. 
 
 First his unfortunate change of name, and the cir- 
 cumstances which led to it, confronted him; and then the 
 political complication in which he was now involved; — every 
 thing combining to thwart his desires. The trouble he was in 
 was terrible, turn which way he would, black, still, despair con- 
 fronted him. If only something would happen to bre:ak the 
 deathly, suffocating calm; if only some change would come; 
 anything would be better than the dreadful monotony of the 
 long, silent, desolation and misery of their estranged and parted 
 lives. And soon, very soon, the longed for sweet occurred. 
 
 One day Lucille sat listlessly thinking of Henry, when sud- 
 denly a din, a roar, as of a surging, angry, infuriated mob; and 
 the cry, "The President is shot! The President is shot!" resound- 
 ing through the air, flying from mouth to mouth, startles, 
 shocks, stuns her. The commotion for a time is fearful — in the 
 streets, in the houses^ everywhere — each inquiring of every 
 other, no one giving any satisfactory answer. 
 
 Before night Uucle Tut, who was a member of the Metro- 
 politan police force, had heard a description of the would be as- 
 sassin; for the president was not yet dead; might, it was said, 
 perhaps recover; and who, after firing the shot, had exhorted 
 the by-standers not to "Get excited," saying, "it's all right, the 
 Deity and me's fixed it." And had then quietly given himself 
 up as a prisoner. Uncle Tut had also heard his name, and, 
 w^onder of wonders, it was Jules Grieveau, Myra's strange boy, 
 who had drifted away, and from whom they had not heard for 
 years past. 
 
 Rumor said the prisoner was crazy. " Quite li-likely," 
 stammered Uncle Tut, remembering Myra's condition before 
 the boy's birth, and some of the peculiar things in his life. 
 
WHO WERE 'JV BLAME. ^ 209 
 
 When these rumors had been corroborated, and there was no 
 longer any doubt that " the assassin^''' as he was called, was 
 really Jules Grieveau, and that he was crazy; gently as possi- 
 ble were the sad facts disclosed to Lucille. 
 
 Surely now w^as her cup full, yea, running over; for once 
 the woman who had endured so much without flinching was al- 
 most beside herself. If she could only get to him, do some- 
 thing to comfort him. "Poor boy! poor boy!" she moaned. 
 But it was impossible, strong bars were between them; not for 
 days, perhaps weeks, could she see him; not safely now could 
 even their relationship be known, or that Gen. John A. Gas- 
 coign e was his mother's brother. 
 
 And during those months while the martyred President lay 
 suffering, the throes of his agony pulsating from the sick-bed 
 througn the hearts of myriads of watchers over all the land, 
 even across the ocean and throughout the world, Lucille, Ger- 
 trude and all who loved the crazy boy for his mother's sake and 
 because of his pitiful condition learned to be grateful for the 
 strong bars, the prison walls, which were his protection from 
 the unreasoning wrath of the grief-maddened populace. 
 
 And while the doctors probed and tortured the president, 
 while the people wept and gnashed their teeth in the rage of 
 sheer distress, while the crazy tool confined in his prison-cell, 
 sometimes crouched despondently, oftener glorying in the deed 
 he had perpetrated, as his moods changed; while the political 
 schemers composedly looked on saying nothing; Lucille, Ger- 
 trude and the others, in dire apprehension, with quivering 
 hearts and whitening hair and bated breath, held still and waited 
 for the end to come. 
 
 And Henry, Gerald A. Johnson, the vice-President — what 
 of him? 
 
 The blow had come at last unexpectedly, as great calamities 
 always reach us, even while we look for them. 
 
 Henry had hoped against reason since meeting Lucille, that 
 some way might be found out of the difficulty, the political 
 quarrel. 
 
 Whatever his feeling of bitterness might formerly have been, 
 his heart had softened since that day towards every living crea- 
 ture, he no longer wished any one harm, or cared for ambitious 
 projects; his only conscious desire to finish his public career 
 speedily as possible, finding happiness for the remainder of his 
 days anywhere with Lucille. Just how this was to come about 
 he had not thought. 
 
 14' 
 
210 ^ THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 But now he feared he could never meet her more, for he too 
 had learned who the unfortunate man was whom Spideler had 
 so long been preparing for the eme7'gency^ when "Murder 
 should be preferred to the political suicide of those engaged in 
 the great scheme," and that the reputed assassin being the son 
 of Eben and Myra Grieveau was Lucille's nephew. How could 
 he now ever hope they should be more to each other than they 
 had been? 
 
 The vice-President, whom a certain contingency would 
 make the accidental President, seen visiting the family of the 
 assassin? Never! 
 
 Henry, as Gerald A. Johnson, had now come to his bitterest 
 portion, and was getting his full share. There was no escaping 
 the difficulties pressing him down, for suspicion of high officials 
 was in the heart of the people, vengeance was in the air and 
 shrieked in every breeze; other bullets might come whizzing 
 past; and the elegant vice-President, who so well knew how to 
 enjoy the good things of life, had no choice but to shut himself 
 in his own house a self -immolated prisoner, waiting for what- 
 ever might transpire; and he the more willingly submitted to 
 this indignity and seclusion for should he venture to walk 
 abroad or ride, he might meet Lucille and if thus encountered, 
 what could he now say to her? How could he explain the 
 mystery of his conduct? 
 
IVHO WERE To BLAME. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE CHIEF OF THE SECRET SERVICE OF THE U. S. 
 
 The evening after the event had transpired v^hich w^e have 
 narrated in our last chapter, sending a shuddering thrill of 
 horror through all the world, and coming near overwhelming 
 our country in confusion, riot and bloodshed. Uncle Tut walked 
 into Aunt Debby's kitchen with an unmistakable air of having 
 something important to say. 
 
 Standing in the doorway a moment, he reached up his hand 
 in his own peculiar fashion and beckoned Aunt Debby with his 
 forefinger, as of yore; she, as a dutiful wife should, left her 
 work and went to him, taking a couple of doughnuts which 
 she was busy frying — for she knew Uncle Tut's weakness — but 
 they proved no temptation; the man had a heavy trouble at his 
 heart, and only hoarsely stammered some words into Debby's 
 ear in a low whisper, which caused her to drop into the nearest 
 chair, with the exclamation "Laws a Massa, Uncle Tut, what 
 you been up to now ? I declare to it, I never did see such another 
 man since I was born; all'us getting into some kind of a mess, 
 trying to help some poor devil 'stead o' minding your own af- 
 fairs, you'll find yourself in hot trouble this time sure." 
 
 "Hu-hush Debby, ke-keep st-still, or it'll co-come true; if 
 you do-don't," whispered Uncle Tut, fairly hissing out the words 
 between his teeth, as his hard hand grasped her shoulder, and 
 he stammered more than ever, in his suppressed excitement. 
 
 "I-I've seen him an-and 1 kn-know it's true, and he's no 
 devil, bu-but su-sure enough poor My-Myra Greiveau's crazy 
 boy," and Uncle Tut trembled and shook with emotion, and 
 the tears trickled down his furrowed face. 
 
 "Myra Grieveau's boy! Oh! Uncle Tut, that can never be, 
 you're not telling me the truth, some one has lied to you; it 
 aint in the Grieveau blood, or in the Gascoigne either, to do 
 such a dastardly deed, I know. No matter if he did stray away, 
 and didn't get half brought up, after Eben and his sister Ger- 
 trude married and Lucille went to John's to live, I tell you, 
 some one's lied to you." 
 
 "But Debby, I-I've — seen him^^ answered Uncle Tut again. 
 
 Still Aunt Debby protested vehemently; the while sobbing 
 
1 
 
 i 
 I- 
 
 212 IHE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 and sighing, and wiping her eyes, and mopping her red face 
 vigorously with her always clean, blue checkered apron; that 
 "Some one had lied, she'd never believe the story about Jules 
 'till she saw him herself, she'd never believe Myra's boy would 
 do such a terrible thing." 
 
 But even Aunt Debby had to acknow^ledge at last that Jules 
 Grieveau was the man who had shot the President; and now 
 Uncle Tut wanted his wife's help in his efforts to save the crazy 
 grandson of his old friend Dr. Gascoigne, from his impending 
 fate. For the sake of the good man long dead, and his sainted 
 mother's memory, no less than to relieve the distress of Gertrude 
 and Lucille, did these two agree to use their best endeavors. 
 And Aunt Debby proved a useful ally. 
 
 Through the influence of Gen. Gascoigne, and from his 
 own aptitude, Uncle Tut had come to be a trusted member of 
 the Metropolitan Police of Washington, and had often worked 
 in the detective line; being from his efficiency and peculiar 
 characteristics, one of the men invariably sent for by the Chief 
 of the Secret Service, when cooperation was needed with the 
 regular force. 
 
 The day the President was shot, a message came to Uncle 
 Tut towards evening, that the new Chief, who had been ap- 
 pointed and taken charge only the day before, wanted to see 
 him, and he immediately repaired to the office of the Chief of 
 the Secret Service. 
 
 The change being so recent, it chanced that Uncle Tut had 
 not seen the Chief or heard his name. Being ushered into his 
 presence, our astonished policeman beheld a person tall, dig- 
 nified, white haired and benevolent looking, upon every linea- 
 ment of whose face was stamped kindness of heart and honesty 
 of purpose. 
 
 His bright hazel eye of keenest glance, shadowed by heavy, 
 slightly arched brows, and the broad, high forehead, proving 
 him a man who could grasp every circumstance however minute, 
 and weighing all, arrive at a sound and just conclusion. 
 
 Chief Strong had in middle life been a lawyer, gaining 
 through a successful practice in criminal courts much celebrity. 
 His peculiar talents and quick sympathy causing him to engage 
 in the defense of various persons accused of crime, as he deemed 
 wrongfully, and making a masterly defense, his services had 
 come to be much sought after, sometimes by those who had 
 counted the cost before committing the crime. 
 
 From such men, ere convinced of the enormity of the offense 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 213 
 
 against society, he had received fabulous sums of money, work- 
 ing upon the established principle of law that a man must be 
 supposed innocent until proven guilty. Like all earnest, force- 
 ful men, he did his best when once engaged on a case; but after 
 the trial was over, his clients released "scot free" perhaps, or 
 with only a nominal punishment; when the excitement of con- 
 test had passed away. Chief Strong's honest heart had often- 
 times been troubled at the result to the body politic, and even 
 to those whom his sober judgment condemned as guilty, and 
 at last the astute lawyer had come to be the discerner and detector, 
 instead of the excuser and defender of crime and of criminals. 
 
 And further, his innate sense of equity and kindness of nature, 
 as well as keenness of perception, made him the quick discoverer 
 of fraud, and the champion of those wrongfully accused, or 
 who had been entrapped into vice by scheming villains and dis- 
 solute companions. To this field he had gravitated and settled, 
 during years past finding ample scope for the exercise of his 
 peculiar characteristics of mind and heart; — from being one of 
 the most renowned criminal lawyers, and in the pursuit of his 
 profession, a champion story-teller, he had risen to be the chief 
 detector of shams, of frauds, of crimes, in places both high and 
 low, where deepest, darkest villainy lurked, no less than among 
 those rendered desperate by misfortune and hardship, or drawn 
 into bad ways by unprincipled associates. 
 
 A detective whose financial circumstances rendered him in- 
 dependent of criticism, he was indomitable in perseverance, un- 
 surpassed in quickness and insight, and while incorruptible, 
 carrying a heart as kindly and tender as a mother for her new- 
 born babe. 
 
 A man with scarcely a peer in all the land to match him in 
 ability and grandeur of character— z*/?^ chief of the secret service 
 of the United States of Ain erica. 
 
 This man had examined the assassin, so-called, on the night 
 following the firing of the cruel shot which had laid the Presi- 
 dent low upon a bed of pain, drawing to him the intensest sjm- 
 pathy of the whole world; and had reported the case to the 
 Government as that of an irresponsibly insane man who should 
 be tried by a commission in lunacy and not by civil process as a 
 murderer. 
 
 And in this report the superintendent of the Government 
 asylum for the insane, situated near Washington, concurred. 
 
 Neither of these men, the highest oflicials to whom the case 
 could properly be submitted and to whom it zvas submitted in 
 
214 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 the very beginning ^before the death of the martyred President 
 changed the administratioit^ ever in the sHghtest deviated 
 from this testimony, their opinion remaining the same to the 
 end. 
 
 As Uncle Tut looked upon the countenance of Chief Strong- 
 he saw that time had softened and rendered beautiful the face of 
 his friend, but he could not be mistaken, and w^ith unfeigned 
 surprise recognized the story-teller of the storm-tossed ship of 
 the olden time, w^hich carried Gertrude, her mother and family 
 to Chicago years before; and whom since the trouble with Silas 
 Smith over his prairie claim, Uncle Tut had remembered grate- 
 fully; but after the death of Dr. Gascoigne the intimacy drop- 
 ping, they had heard nothing directly for a long time, and the 
 name being a common one, did not know that he had been ap- 
 pointed chief of the secret service of the Government. 
 
 The men instantly extended each a hand, for the. pleasure at 
 meeting was mutual and hearty; and then the Chief told Uncle 
 Tutty Swanson what he wanted, and how it came about that he 
 had so promptly sent for him. 
 
 " No sooner had I assumed the duties of my new position," 
 said the Chief, "than the assassination occurred, and my atten- 
 tion was called to yourself as a man to be implicitly relied upon, 
 and likely to act with good judgment in any emergency. I re- 
 membered you at once as the friend of Dr. Gascoigne, at 
 whose home I had met you when you were having the trouble 
 with your neighbor Silas Smith, since become famous, out in 
 Illinois, and knowing you were the right man for the needed 
 work, I determined to ask your assistance in ferreting out the 
 terrible mystery which confronts us in the attempted assassina- 
 tion of the President — Jules Grieveau, the prisoner, who fired 
 the shot—" 
 
 " yules Grieveau! not Jui.es Grieveau! Oh! Chief 
 Strong, please sir, don't say it was Jules Grieveau! Not our 
 little Julius!" exclaimed Uncle Tut, springing from his seat, 
 white and ghastly as though himself instead of the stricken Presi- 
 dent were the victim; then, sinking down again, burying his 
 face in his rough old hands, sobbing aloud, " Juley, Juley, poor 
 crazy Juley, why didn't yoii come home to Uncle Tut and 
 Aunt Debby before this dreadful thing happened?" 
 
 Chief Strong rose, placing a hand kindly on the bowed head, 
 saying a few comforting words, and then Uncle Tut, raising 
 his sad face, composed himself as best he was able, listening to 
 all the Chief could tell. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 215 
 
 *' He has not tried, Mr. Swanson," proceeded Chief Strong, 
 " to conceal his name; but rather glories in it and the deed, de- 
 claring himself ' God's man,' and that ' Deity inspired him to 
 the act,' but while each look and every word the man utters 
 proves him insane, to my mind, and he strongly denies the idea 
 of a conspiracy or that he was instigated by any person, I still 
 believe that there is a conspiracy against the present administra- 
 tion of the Government, even though the crazy tool be oblivious. 
 
 " Many are insisting he is not insane, even that he gave a 
 fictitious name, it being so Frenchy and peculiar; but I remem- 
 bering well both my old friend Dr. Gascoigne as of French de- 
 scent and also a son-in-law, called Eben Grieveau, whose wife 
 Myra, had died leaving a little boy named Jules, who when I was 
 in Freelawn, was visiting at your claim with his Aunt Lucille, I 
 have sent for you, Mr. Swanson, hoping you can and will tell 
 me something reliable about the man and his antecedents." 
 
 " Certainly, Che-chief Strong. I-I will tell you al-all I can," 
 and Uncle Tut related what he knew of the sad history, which 
 was not much of late years — and when he had finished, begged 
 the Chief to let him see Jules in his cell. 
 
 The Chief had already visited the man, and as he said, was 
 fully persuaded of his insanity; but to Uncle Tut's request he 
 the more readily assented, being anxious to try an effect upon 
 the prisoner, by suddenly confronting him with the sight of an 
 old friend whom he had not seen for years — since early youth 
 — and then if possible, discover whether a mistake had been 
 made in the diagnosis; whether after all the man knew more 
 than he pretended, and was as some believed, shamming. 
 
 If such was the fact, he might be so startled upon recogniz- 
 ing Uncle Tut as even perhaps to show some soft-hearted com- 
 punction for what he had done, some remorse. - 
 
 Both the men agreed to this plan — for much as the Chief 
 had respected the grandfather of the prisoner. Dr. Gascoigne — 
 and desired for this reason if he were really crazy to save him, 
 much as Uncle Tut had loved the little Jules, Myra's boy, both 
 the men loved truth and justice better than any friend, better 
 even than themselves; and they said if the man is sane who did 
 this dastardly deed, whoever he may be, he deserves no help. 
 
 And of this mind they went together, the Chief and Uncle 
 Tut, to visit the assassin in his cell. 
 
216 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THERE ARE OTHERS TOO. 
 
 The dusk of evening was upon them when, after a ride of 
 a mile or more, taking them across the common and beyond the 
 Congregational cemetery towards the Potomac Flats, about 
 two miles from the Capitol, the two detectives came in sight, 
 from a slight rise in the ground, of a massive brown stone 
 structure. 
 
 Uncle Tut had seen the Washington jail often before this 
 night, but never did it seem so gloomy, dark, awful to him ; and 
 he fairly shuddered as he thought of Myra's boy being there, 
 friendless, alone. 
 
 They entered — the Chief and he — and after a few words 
 spoken with the warden, a tall, military, severe looking man, 
 who seemed as though he had known enough of horror to fill 
 the days and nights of a legion of men with one long night- 
 mare of regret, the three passed out through the large re- 
 ception room entered from, the warden's office, and thence to a 
 spacious, open, stone-paved court. 
 
 Carefully locking the iron doora after him, the warden led 
 the way across the court, past a large, circular, iron-railed cor- 
 ridor, inside which an iron staircase wound from the foundations 
 down out of sight, up to the highest tier of cells. 
 
 After passing the corridor, the warden opened a grated door 
 to the left of the jail as they entered, and then another just 
 beyond, leading into a passage about four feet wide, and twenty- 
 five or thirty long, perhaps ten feet high. On the left side of 
 this passage w^ere the cells, eight or ten feet long and four wide, 
 a narrow window at the end, an iron bedstead constituting with 
 the bedding the only furniture. 
 
 When the men reached the cell where Jules was confined, 
 the datkness and gloom of night had settled within the jail, and 
 only the tramp of the guards in the narrow passage, mingled 
 with a strange, drooning sound from within, disturbed the still- 
 ness. 
 
 As the warden unlocked the outer door, the light from his 
 lamp flashed through the grating, falling upon the figure of a 
 small man stretched his full length upon the iron cot, lying flat 
 
iri/0 WERE TO BLAME. 217 
 
 upon his back, not yet undressed; his feet towards the window 
 of the cell, his head near the door. 
 
 He did not seem to be disturbed in the slightest by the party 
 entering the passage, but continued the drooning, monotonous 
 song: to w^hich he was beating- time with his feet against the 
 
 o o o 
 
 wall, not stirring himself to investigate the intrusion; but when 
 the warden started to unlock the door of the cell and was about 
 to enter, the light falling upon his face, he roused up angrily 
 demanding, "How dared they come there at that time of night, 
 interrupting a gentleman in his meditations?" 
 
 And Uncle Tut beheld Myra's crazy boy; his eyes glaring 
 and rolling in their sockets, with an incessant motion as in- 
 describable as it was horrible; his face gaunt, haggard, distorted, 
 but still the face of the little Jules he had loved. The short, 
 stubbed, unkempt hair as unlike the soft, silky locks he had so 
 often stroked tenderly, as it was possible for time, neglect and 
 hardship to make them. 
 
 As the real condition of Jules Grieveau dawned upon his 
 old friend, and he realized the forlorn and abject wreck he was, 
 when Uncle Tut saw the manacled hands trembling with rage, 
 helplessly lifted together as Jules gesticulated fiercely — the same 
 hands which had rested confidingly in his own, many an hour, 
 as they strolled about the old farm on the Illinois prairie, long 
 ago — so long^ it seemed now to Uncle Tut, the sight was too 
 much even for the rough, blunt man that he was, and his strong 
 frame shook with grief , as sob after sob burst from the heaving 
 breast, and tears trickled through the fingers of his toil worn 
 hands supporting his bowed head. 
 
 All the tenderness of his manly, rugged nature yearned to 
 take the crazy, friendless boy in his arms and comfort him, as 
 he had done many a time when he was a baby. 
 
 Recovering, Uncle Tut spoke gently to Jules, calling him 
 by name. There was no response; but his attention was ap- 
 parently arrested by the voice, and he became quieter. Uncle 
 Tut spoke again, calling him a pet name he had given him when 
 a little fellow — "Juley, do yo-you know me?" The man stood 
 still, hesitated, scowled and replied, "Ves, you're another old 
 crazy tramp they've brought to tell me not to do it^ but I did 
 though. Did you 'spose I w^ouldn't when the Lord said I 
 must P The Deity and me, we did a good job that time, I can 
 tell you, if the confounded doctors don't spoil it all; but I guess 
 they won't now. The Deity'll take care of that, and they know 
 what they're about. Ha! Ha! Ha!" And with a wierd, in- 
 
218 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 sane, nervous laugh, between a chuckle and a guffaw, the dia- 
 bolically crazy man, with his manacled hands fastened together, 
 rolled helplessly upon his couch, stretched himself flat on his 
 back as before, and resumed the meaningless, monotonous song 
 accompanied by the same tattoo, exactly as though nothing had 
 happened to interrupt him. 
 
 The old Chief, with tears in his eyes, turned to Uncle Tut, 
 and grasping his hard hand, said, " Come." 
 
 The warden locked the cell door, and leaving the two 
 guards wearily tramping up and down the narrow passage as 
 before, the men sadly passed out to the open air. 
 
 When the Chief and Uncle Tut had entered their carriage, 
 the Chief turned and asked, " Well, what do you think of him, 
 Mr. Swanson? " 
 
 " Th-think! th-there's but one thing to think; he's crazy as 
 a loon," stammered Uncle Tut. " I knowed he'd never a do- 
 done such a dastardly deed if he wa-wasn't. Ca-can anyth- 
 thing be do-done for him, sir?" 
 
 " I fear not, Mr. Swanson. The populace are wild with 
 rage, the politicians w^io started the quarrel are scared out of 
 their wits, and determined to make him the scapegoat in order 
 to save themselves. I am sorry to tell you, the case looks hopeless. 
 
 " Both the Government asylum superintendent and myself 
 have reported the man insane, but some of the Government 
 officials, who, I believe are engaged in a great scheme with vil- 
 lains across the water, are determined not to recognize the fact, 
 and have placed the matter in the hands of the United States 
 District Attorney, who is also one of whom I am suspicious, to 
 work up a case against him. 
 
 "He has already sent for Greybeard, who manages an in- 
 sane asylum, more of a prison than refuge, when he is not too 
 busy outside, giving testimony to run someone as sane as any 
 other man or woman into an asylum out of the way of some- 
 body's interest, or in trying his best to have a poor fellow hung 
 who has unfortunately committed a terrible deed while in one 
 of the paroxysms of insanity — he can swear on either side, it is 
 immaterial to him if only he is well paid." 
 
 And this is as the case stood, just as the Chief of the Secret 
 Service in Washington stated it then within a few days of the 
 occurence — which had sent consternation and dismay over the 
 world — and just as he afterwards testified on the witness stand, 
 when he was sworn, in the trial of Jules Grieveau the so called 
 
IVI/O WERE TO BLAME. 219 
 
 As the two men rode back to the city the Chief imparted 
 some few of the strange things which he had found out since 
 commencing to investigate Jules' case and also his suspicions, 
 based upon the facts which he had gathered. 
 
 " And Swanson," said the Chief, " I believe there are others 
 who are not insane, but only devilish — mixed up in this affair, 
 and I want you to help me nnd them ixll^ everyone. 
 
 " God helping me, I will, Chief, if it ta-takes me at all my 
 life time, or even life itself," answered .Uncle Tut, " he-here's 
 my hand," and when that honest hand clasped another it meant 
 a great deal. 
 
 Said the Chief, further — " I have found that Gen. Gascoigne 
 the son of my old friend, and even the vice-President are mixed 
 up in this business. They certainly act strangely, and there are, 
 I am satisfied, a good many mo7'e in it too.'''' 
 
 " Gen. Gascoigne has never met me, and my name of Strong 
 is so common he Avill hardly think of connecting it now with 
 the friend he has heard his father mention years ago possibly. 
 We must watch these people, and everyone else to whom the 
 slightest suspicion attaches wherever we can get a clue; they 
 might perhaps suspect me were I to approach them, but you 
 know the family and I shall leave this work to you." And for 
 Uncle Tut as an obedient subordinate, there was no alternative. 
 
 Continued the Chief: " I believe the sequel will prove both 
 the son of my old friend and the vice-President innocent of 
 any wrong intention, but they are in some w^ay mixed up with 
 those who are aware, in their hearts, how this thing was done 
 — and why — and Mr. Swanson, you and I must do our duty 
 whoever stands in the way." 
 
 A hint of these things is what Uncle Tut had whispered in 
 Aunt Debby's ear, and he wanted her to help him in finding 
 out why Jules did it. 
 
220 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE PRESIDENT IS DEAD. 
 
 While Jules was lying sometimes stupid in his cell, or again 
 glorying because ''the Deity and he " had done it — while the 
 doctors were working over the suffering president, probing 
 honestly or otherwise, for the fatal bullet, until the tortured 
 body was riddled with gaping wounds and the burrowing pus 
 was draining his life away; while the civilized v/orld watched 
 anxiously with bated breath; while Silas Smith manipulated 
 the wires, guarding well the interests of those engaged in the 
 success of the " great scheme," receiving daily, even hourly, cy- 
 pher dispatches from the bedside of the sick president, as his 
 pulse went up with increasing strength or down with deathly 
 weakness, a manoeuvre which enabled these wily demons to con- 
 trol Wall Street stocks for their gain ; while these things were 
 transpiring, the Chief and Uncle Tut were doing their utmost to 
 discover the hidden, mysterious " vjhy " of the sad tragedy. 
 
 They had seen the decoy, and knew there must be game 
 somewhere. 
 
 And the U. S. District Attorney, with a well selected corps 
 of assistants, was endeavoring to establish the sanity of an un- 
 mistakably insane man, that he alone might bear the blame, 
 which really belonged to others. 
 
 Finally, after weeks and months of excruciating suffering, 
 bravely borne, the martyred President was released from pain, 
 andwent cheerfully, trustingly, to his home in the Hereafter. 
 
 As the midnight cry, " The Pi-esident is dead! the Presi- 
 dent is dead! " resounded through the streets, every heart stood 
 still, and all felt that one about whom their own lives were cen- 
 tered, for a time at least, had left them for the Better Land, and 
 the people of his native country — of the whole world — grieved 
 as for their own kin. 
 
 Never was known mourning so universal and sincere, in- 
 tensified by the feeling everywhere acknowledged that events 
 leading to his cruel death were still shrouded in an unfathomed 
 obscurity and gloom. Those who, by the change in officials 
 which was wrought, constituted the new administration, claimed, 
 when the reputed assassin was placed on trial, that he alone 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 23 L 
 
 should be blamed, but, for an unaccountable reason (?), were 
 evidently afraid somebody would think this was not true — that 
 somebody would withhold assent to their assertions. 
 
 And many did refuse to concede this view of the case ; really, 
 almost every one persisted in believing something else. Cir- 
 cumstances and the facts, when they could be gotten at^ pointed 
 so clearly to a different conclusion. 
 
 The discovery was made, after a time, that stupendous 
 frauds had been attempted against the Government, looking to 
 anarchy and destruction, and that, in the course of the investi- 
 gation pending just before the President was shot, it became 
 apparent that some of those who helped, by their money and 
 influence, to elect him, were implicated in these frauds. 
 
 It transpired that some of the lawyers and officials who be- 
 came cognizant of these facts went to the President and urged 
 him to desist from the prosecution of those who claimed the 
 right to assert themselves his friends. But the President was 
 inexorable, and declared his intention of ferreting out the whole 
 matter, whoever stood in the way, directing a certain attorney 
 to go ahead vigorously, notwithstanding friend or foe; this man 
 being accompanied by a high official of the administration, who 
 was an honest, steadfast friend of the President, as after-devel- 
 opments proved, went — both urging, even begging, the doomed 
 man to change his course towards those w^ho had perpetrated the 
 frauds upon the Government, and who at the time intended still 
 worse doings; the lawyer going so far as to declare he feared 
 something dreadful would happen if the President persisted in 
 his offensive attitude towards them; and this, at midnight a few 
 hours before the shot was -fired which ended his career. Tes- 
 timony, which was subsequently given under oath, upon this 
 interview proved conclusively that it was " cooked'''' up, as a last 
 desperate attempt to turn the tide of events, which they began 
 to fear would engulph theui instead of the Government, and 
 they now wished, if possible, to save the President without 
 sacrificing the conspirators. 
 
 It also transpired the same night, earlier in the evening, that 
 some one was reported to have uttered these w^ords? '''•The time 
 has cofne when we must choose between murder and suicide y 
 andl PREFER murder!" Whether this circumstance had any 
 connection with the final catastrophe was never fully proven, 
 but to the majority of the people, that sentence flying over the 
 night wires to Washington, just before the midnight interview 
 with the President, will always be interpreted as the concerted 
 
2-22 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 signal^ the shi'ill bugle-note of doo??i^ hastening on the fateful 
 crisis — the shooting of the President occurring after he had 
 given his last absolute, immovable decision on the matter in 
 controversy, namely, that "He would not desist, would not stand 
 back," but insisting that the " investigation of the 'great frauds' 
 must proceed at once, whoever might suffer, be he friend or 
 foe." 
 
 And this last official duty done, as he was about seeking the 
 sorely needed rest from the anxieties which had harrassed him 
 since the moment of taking his seat in the presidential chair to 
 the time when he had hoped the contention ended by his an- 
 swer, and he could now pass the remainder of the summer peace- 
 fully, the thunderbolt of destiny burst upon him, and a good 
 President/^// — assassinated by a monied, political, mon- 
 archical RING, TOO COWARDLY TO MEET THE ISSUES OF 
 THEIR OWN SCHEME, OR EVEN PERPETRATE IN PERSON THEIR 
 LAST DESPERATE RESORT. 
 
 To the trembling hand of a weak and insanely religious fan- 
 atic, worked upon until he believed himself inspired and directed 
 by Deity to consummate their villainy by "removing" the Pres- 
 ident out of their way, was intrusted the execution of the final 
 diabolism. 
 
 A few hours after the shot was fired, as the morning boat 
 from Albany neared New York, bearing among others Cronk- 
 sey and Silas Smith, the passengers noticed that when the start- 
 ling news.of the assassination was flying from mouth to mouth 
 these two slipped quietly away, not seeming surprised by the 
 dire announcement, locking themselves securely in a state- 
 room. 
 
 Upon landing, they got themselves speedily into a close car- 
 riage, driving rapidly to Smith's private residence, which he 
 still retained in New York, where they remained secreted for a 
 week or more from the populace until the excitement had some- 
 what abated — guarded {or watched! which was it?) all this 
 time by a picked force of the city police and Government 
 troops. 
 
 What could these 7nen have heen afraid of? Surely not the 
 ghost of either the martyred President or oj crazy Grievau ! 
 Not them, for neither was yet dead! 
 
 But even at this early stage of the unfolding and disclosure 
 of the plot, talk of conspiracy and foul play was bruited about, 
 and the names of Cronksey, Silas Smith, and some others, were 
 spoken in no soft whispers by the infuriated people. When 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 223 
 
 projecting a skillful piece of strategy, the press was immedi- 
 ately flooded by Smith with stories of the infamy of the " vile 
 assassin," as he was called, and popular attention being diverted 
 from those in high places, all the wrath was turned upon this 
 man, who had been used as their tool, unknown to hi7nself. 
 
 Early in the progress of events the U. S. District Attorney, 
 pursuant of the plan marked out, had prepared a statement from 
 some of the facts in his possession, garbled to fit the idea of the 
 heading, namely, ^'' He is sane!'''' and sent it floating through 
 the press. Everywhere the desired effect was produced, and 
 the tide of sympathy for the man, which had been associated 
 with the belief in his insanity, fast gaining in the minds of the 
 people, was changed, and the feeling that he was a " vile assas- 
 sin," a monster in human shape, sa7ie and entirely responsible 
 for his act, became paramount, and the needed "scape-goat" was 
 ready at hand to be offered up for the political sins of others. 
 All that fateful summer \)!\q press of the world w?is flooded with 
 stories, too horrible to repeat, of the life-long wickedness of the 
 "vile assassin," as he was everywhere called. Even from the 
 pulpit, where men stand forth to preach the gospel of a loving 
 Saviour, vituperation was heaped upon this doomed, well-nigh 
 friendless lunatic, and maledictions were hurled without mercy. 
 
 At last, after the death of the President, and the change had 
 taken place in the administration, preparations were made for 
 the trial of Jules Grieveau, his reputed assassinator. Such ter- 
 rible excitement possessed* the people, such loathing of the ac- 
 cused man, it was difficult to secure a competent lawyer for the 
 defense. Finally the husband of his sister Gertrude, although 
 poorly prepared for the work — being ignorant of criminal prac- 
 tice, and never having tried a case of insanity, both requiring 
 special talent and experience for a successful issue — announced 
 his willingness to undertake the business necessary to be at- 
 tended to upon the preliminary examination of the prisoner, and 
 his probable indictment for the crime of murder,which the pros- 
 ecution was determined to force if possible. 
 
 The friends of Jules Grieveau accepted this offer, sadly un- 
 derrating the importance of every move in the preparatory steps 
 of such a trial as this one proved to be, and expecting to secure 
 associate counsel suitable for the importance of the occasion, even 
 after the case was commenced, not knowing the difficulties in 
 the way of such procedure. 
 
 Gertrude hoped, should her husband save her crazy brother — 
 an easy matter as it seemed to her, lacking political and legal 
 
224 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 knowledge — he might also retrieve his own dilapidated fortunes 
 through the renown he should acquire; and this idea was sug- 
 gested at first by her husband himself. 
 
 Bitterly did she arid the other friends of Jules have cause to- 
 regret this turn in affairs; for they found that only a lawyer 
 w^ith great political influence, well up in all the tricks and wire- 
 pulling of the demagogues who rule the country and infest the 
 Capitol, could by any possibility have won this case. Even 
 though a man have truth and justice on his side, he cannot safely, 
 enter a contest in court, unless he is prepared to use the same 
 means as are at the command of the opposite party in the case. 
 Gertrude's husband, although a very good lawyer, was not 
 versed in the sharp practices of criminal trials, or the ways that 
 are devious and dark, peculiarly prevalent in the courts of the 
 District of Columbia, and especially brought into requisition in 
 this particular trial, for political reasons — aiming at the result of 
 hanging their man, whether sane or insane. They also found 
 that no competent lawyer will consent to take a second place in 
 an important trial, under a man he knows to be inferior in knowl- 
 edge to himself, and surely not after the case has been com- 
 menced, and perhaps poorly handled. 
 
 And thus it happened that this defender of the w^eak and 
 penniless was, w^ien the case came to trial, unevenly matched 
 one against three — three competent, well-paid men, against 
 one man, poor, overworked, and unpaid, struggling to 
 meet the current expenses from day to day — Gertrude having 
 mortgaged the little patrimony left to the family (inherited from 
 Grandfather Gascoigne), for the means of making the trip and 
 carrying on the trial in Washington. 
 
 Strangely enough Gen. John A. Gascoigne, the only one of 
 the family who had influence and money, held himself entirely 
 aloof from the defence of his sister's child; even shunned all 
 association with those who, braving contumely and disgrace, 
 quietly persisted in standing firmly by him to the bitter end. 
 Chief in devotion Gertrude and Lucille; defending and protect- 
 ing to the full extent of their ability, doing all they could, but 
 proving a hopeless contest, resulting as might have been fore- 
 seen. 
 
WhfO WERE TO BLAME. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 JULES' TRIAL. THE VERDICT. 
 
 All efforts to have him tried by a lunacy commission having 
 failed — Jules Grieveau had been indicted for the murder of the 
 President, and the day set for the commencement of his trial 
 was reached. 
 
 Gertrude, her husband and Lucille, w^ith his few other friends 
 were assembled in Washington to give their testimony in his 
 behalf and help as they could — and the hour had come when 
 the despised assassin was to be brought into court and before the 
 judge for trial. 
 
 The Press for months had been teeming with bitterness — 
 the air was full of threats and menaces — the guards had been 
 doubled and trebled, that the law might take its course w^ithout 
 interference from the mob. 
 
 At last the judge was upon the bench — a man of plain, kind 
 exterior — with a marked fatherly manner, peculiarly captivat- 
 ing, and perhaps misleading to the prisoner and his friends; but 
 who when the final decision came, gave it with the cold in- 
 cisiveness of glittering steel. 
 
 The jury of twelve good men and true as w^as hoped were 
 seated in their places to the right of the judge. 
 
 The counsel for the Administration, headed by the pompous 
 little District Attorney, accompanied by his colored factotum 
 Sam, were ranged beside a table near the jury for a reason 
 which early in the proceedings, on to the end, became apparent. 
 
 Then came the counsel for the defense — one man — and the 
 prisoner's friends — three w^omen and a child — Gertrude's little 
 Elsie — next her sat Lucille, a vacant chair between them re- 
 served for the prisoner, who had not yet been brought in; and 
 behind these a space for his body-guard, one of whom was 
 Uncle Tutty Swanson; occupying the room intervening before 
 the Judge — about two dozen news reporters. 
 
 As the court-room door opened for the entrance of Jules 
 Grieveau, the hushed murmer, " There he comes," then all was 
 still, every eye strained in the vast crowd — packed — not an inch 
 of room to spare — appropriated by those eager to catch a 
 glimpse of the " monster " as he had been so often styled. 
 
 15 
 
226 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 When a little man cowering among his guards came rapidly 
 along the passage cleared for him — his eyes rolling wildly in 
 the incessant horrible way before described, his face that of a 
 hunted animal, pursued to the death — the awed w^hisper spread 
 from one to another, " Why, he's crazy! see! he's crazy! " and 
 a shudder of horror, tempered with pity, transfixed and softened 
 every heart in that assembly, where before had been only bit- 
 terest hatred. 
 
 The prisoner was brought past the jury and seated in the 
 vacant chair between Gertrude and Lucille, the three policemen 
 in their places standing guard behind them, little Elsie in front 
 of Uncle Tut, beside Aunt Debby ; and thus they remained side 
 by side in that dreary, crowded court-room for three weary 
 months, and as they sat and looked and Hstened, day by day, 
 these women wondered if there was a God in Heaven or no. 
 
 During the highest excitement, when the prosecution were 
 pouring in broadside after broadside of subborned testimony to 
 prove Jules a sane villain instead of an insane tool, when threats 
 of mobbing and shooting were freely spoken, and his violent 
 death had been twice attempted; these brave women varied 
 their position by inclining their bodies, so that bullets coming 
 from either of the three accessible sides of the room must first 
 hit them before they could reach him — believing no sane per- 
 son would be found with a heart to shoot women down who 
 were from day to day risking their lives in defence of a poor 
 fellow too crazy to realize his own danger. And they were 
 right, even the presence of the child Elsie was a protection. 
 
 Their anxiety for Jules' safety was partly that an opportu- 
 nity might be had for proving his insanity, and thereby the 
 stigma be removed from the honored name of Grieveau — also 
 because they loved him as we all love our own, and besides they 
 cared and labored for him, for his dead mother's sake. 
 
 After the first day was over and Gertrude and Lucille had 
 seen Jules returned in safety to the prison van, and had them- 
 selves wearily gained the quarters secured for them near the 
 court-room, as they waited a few moments in the little parlor, a 
 pale, sweet-faced woman stepped up to them and said: 
 
 "Pardon my intrusion, but I wrote a bitter article for the 
 papers yesterday about the man who shot the president; forgive 
 me, I did not know until I saw him in Court to-day, that he was 
 crazy." And the little news correspondent burst into tears. Such 
 heartfelt sympathy greeted these sorrowing ones on every side, 
 when the truth began to be seen as to the man's condition, 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 227 
 
 wb'ch was apparent ©nough as he was uncontrollable from the 
 first, and insisted upon talking every thing which came into his 
 crazy head, without regard to advice or counsel. One of his 
 favorite expressions being "I want the truth no matter who gets 
 hit — give us the ti'uth Bloaty^^ meaning the prosecuting at- 
 torney. 
 
 When all was ready, the government opening their case, 
 after speeches on both sides were made, the real trial — the 
 bringing of witnesses to prove the assertions of the indictment — 
 was commenced. All the witnesses for the government had 
 been well drilled, knew just what they were expected to say, 
 their name was legion, and they swore him a sane villain. 
 
 The defense to the accusation of murder were simply and 
 solely insanity. After the history of the man's birth and Hfe 
 as herein narrated, had been proved, and a clear case of insan- 
 ity made out, resulting from pre-natal conditions, and subsequent 
 adverse circumstances, the government in rebuttal, produced a 
 score or more of well paid asylum superintendents w^ho swore 
 that the crazy prisoner was perfectly sane and responsible for 
 his act, and this, in the face of myriads of people who had vis- 
 ited the court room, seen the man, and kneiv that he was crazy, 
 but dared not give their testimony in his behalf. Opposing the 
 strong force arrayed against him by the power, money and in- 
 fluence of the administration, poor Jules could only bring the 
 heart-broken women Gertrude and Lucille, the brother-in-law, 
 between whom and himself there had been only antagonism 
 since his boyhood — the mere sight of the man exasperating 
 him almost to frenzy; and a handful of witnesses, including two 
 physicians who refused to yield to the almost universal preju- 
 dice. A prejudice which had been assiduously cultivated by 
 Silas Smith, in the interests of those engaged in the great 
 fraud; through the medium of the Press of the country, since 
 first the shot was fired, during all the months of the President's 
 suffering, until now, the reputed assassin was on trial for his 
 life. 
 
 A prejudice so strong and vindictive that from his native 
 town, where his father and his mother had lived respected and 
 loved, and where it was well known the boy had an unfortunate 
 birth, witnesses were brought against him, w^ho stated privately 
 that they dared not give other than the testimony elicited, that 
 they could not return among their old neighbors and dwell in 
 peace — did they swear otherwise. 
 
 Even Gen. John A. Gascoigne pretended to believe Jules, 
 
228 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 his sister's child, knew better than to do such a thing, though 
 he was somewhat "cranky." The fact being he had been so 
 long separated from the boy, he had lost his natural affection 
 for him; besides he was tied hand and foot, and could not help 
 himself, and in taking this position, thought he was choosing 
 the smallest horn of the dilemma — perhaps he was for himself. 
 
 But Gen. Gascoigne was becoming a mystery to his friends, 
 especially to Uncle Tut, such strange things were now coming 
 to light through the investigation of the Chief and himself. 
 They were sorely puzzled and distressed. 
 
 They had discovered that Cronksey was a cousin of Myra, 
 the mother of Jules, the mother of Jules and the father of 
 Cronksey being descended from the same English lord, and 
 of course bearing the same relationship fo Gen. Gascoigne, and 
 that the General was in some way interested in the success of 
 the "great scheme" they had an inkling of, and in which they 
 knew Cronksey to have been the main plotter; also that Silas 
 Smith, the Vice-President and Bamboozle were concerned in 
 the same, and even the old and honored General, who so suc- 
 cessfully closed the civil war, thus cementing the union, had 
 allowed himself to be drawn in, not understanding its whole 
 import. 
 
 They had discovered that Bamboozle was probably one of 
 the men who went to the President and urged him to withdraw 
 from the investigation the night before he was shot; also that 
 himself and Spideler went to the depot in a carriage on that 
 eventful morning, Spideler alighting and placing himself w here 
 he could fasten his magnetic eyes upon Jules, watching him in- 
 tently until the deed was done, (it was even rumored that he 
 actually fired one shot — the fatal one) and also being sure that 
 the devoted doctor, who afterwards sent Silas Smith, his old- 
 time friend of the western claim, the cypher despatches, had 
 taken the fallen President into his exclusive charge, thereby 
 ensuring that the murderous bullet should remain in its place 
 until the patient was poisoned past recovery. Then at last 
 Spideler walking slowly away, when out of sight increasing 
 his pace to a run, soon overtaking the carriage with Bamboozle 
 inside, which had gone by another route, Spideler getting in 
 hastily and both driving rapidly away. 
 
 All these facts had been found out in detached items, requir- 
 ing careful joinings to produce a complete mosaic, a connected 
 chain of proof; and doing the best they could the work had 
 been imperfect. Links of evidence were missing, blocks gone 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 229 
 
 out of the mosaic, so that they failed to connect the certainty of 
 a conspiracy to defraud, perhaps revolutionize the Government, 
 vv^ith the agency of the conspirators in instigating Jules Grie- 
 veau to fire that shot upon the President, thereby removing 
 him out of their way. That there was a connection they were 
 sure, and the sequel proved them right — but hunt as they would, 
 they could not get the proof of direct agency necessary to con- 
 vict the real villains, and the trial of Jules progressed without 
 interference to the end. 
 
 But at these developments the two men were in a state of 
 turbulent excitement impossible to describe, and harder to bear 
 because suppressed — amazement and grief were the dominating 
 emotions — evenly balanced. 
 
 Cronksey, they had learned long before this, was undoubt- 
 edly capable of impelling his underlings to any desperate deed, 
 in the accomplishment of an end. 
 
 As for General Gascoigne — when the Chief found the son 
 of his old time friend involved in what he had come to feel sure 
 was a conspiracy — his grief and chagrin were past all bounds; 
 and he was debarred from proceeding one step in his purpose to 
 save Jules and also the country from the disgrace of executing 
 an insane man, unless he would sacrifice the son of his friend 
 as well as precipitate the country in anarchy, riot, and, he feared, 
 irredeemable ruin. 
 
 vSlowly and cautiously moved the two disheartened men at 
 this juncture, and they felt themselves treading very near the 
 hidden fuse of a gunpowder mine, which might at any moment 
 explode, perhaps rending the Republic to its foundations, des- 
 troying the confidence of the people in their rulers, overthrowing 
 the stability of the Government; and they concluded their duty 
 demanded the sacrifice of a wrecked and shattered life, rather 
 than excite the people by an expose of their discoveries and 
 suspicions. 
 
 They did not believe that either Gen. Gascoigne, the Vice- 
 President or the old General were cognizant of the villainy 
 which had been concocted by Smith and Cronksey, and carried 
 out by Spideler and the Doctor; or that Gen. Gascoigne had 
 known of the relationship between Cronksey and his family, 
 or that his nephew was to be their intended tool. 
 
 Only after the terrible deed was done, did the full scope of 
 the scheme and all that had grown out of it dawn upon these 
 entrapped men; and then dreading results which might follow 
 a denouement — of excitement, riot and bloodshed — they had, 
 
230 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 with one accord, without consultation, held their peace; struck 
 dumb with horror^ giving no sign of the things they suspected, 
 but of which they could not furnish positive proof. 
 
 Gen. Gascoigne, and the man who had by an accident, as 
 was said, become the President, showed in their haggard faces 
 how deep their trouble was. 
 
 A hint of the suspicion in the mind of the Chief of the 
 Secret Service, that there had been a conspiracy resulting in the 
 removal of the President, had escaped into the air, and the 
 same talk which had flown wildly the first day or two after the 
 shooting, before Smith had gotten entire control of the wires, 
 began again to be whispered about. 
 
 The defenders of Jules were threatening to attack the ad- 
 ministration under the new President from this very standpoint. 
 
 The associate lawyers of the prosecution were anxious to 
 evade such a turn in the case, and to refute the theory which 
 was creeping into the defense that Jules, even though insane, 
 had been made the scapegoat of designing villains, who, for 
 some cause, had conspired to remove the President. 
 
 For this reason they wished to place the men to whom 
 popular suspicion pointed, on the witness stand, that their testi- 
 mony might show this theory to be untrue. 
 
 But both sides found it well-nigh impossible to get any of 
 these men into the case; especially did Cronksey, Smith and 
 Spideler shun Washington; in fact Cronksey and Smith hied 
 themselves speedily across the water on board the latter's swift 
 yacht. Neither the famous General of the war, or Gerald 
 A. Johnson, the new President, or Gen. Gascoigne, the 
 uncl& of Jules, all of whom were believed to know something 
 of the matter, not one could be gotten into court. An unseen 
 power seemed to shield them from the ordeal. Certain news- 
 paper men were also supposed to be well informed^ but refused 
 to know anything. This was noticeable of the editor of a 
 leading stalwart Washington paper, the one of which a promi- 
 nent^'Star-Router" was part owner, and from whom the admin- 
 istration, about this time, bought his interest, thus making, as 
 was said, an " administration organ " of the paper, dipping lib- 
 erally into the U. S. Treasury for the purpose of furnishing 
 this generous fund wherewith to defend himself upon his ap- 
 proaching tiial. As if the paoer had not been an "administra- 
 tion organ "all along, both through the previous and the "acci- 
 dental " dynasty. These sort of editors can turn their coats in a 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 231 
 
 twinkling when a man or measure is dead^ either figuratively 
 or actually. 
 
 But, however, this fine handsome editor, remir.ding some- 
 what of the loved and honored Logan, was put upon the stand, 
 and, under oath, declared he knew absolutely Jiothing of the 
 political situation, although his paper had «/ the last ^ just before 
 the change^ been most rabid in affirming that the country would 
 be better off if some sickness or an accident should remove him; 
 but while he lay ill played an old trick by professing extreme 
 sympathy, bitterly denouncing the assassin, but no one was de- 
 ceived, and now, that the Martyred President was dead, and 
 everything had changed, this editor had straddled back into the 
 stalwart traces, and was ready to curry favor. Although the files 
 of this man's paper for May and June of that year were insisted 
 upon for use in the trial of Jules, the Judge did not order them 
 brought into court, and this editor had forgotten everything^ 
 yes absolutely. 
 
 Another important witness was about this time spirited 
 away. In the upper tier of cells over those where Grieveau 
 was confined, was quartered, quite comfortably during a part of 
 the same period, a short, thick-set man, unmistakably a seaman 
 probably a captain, by the cut of his jib you'd say he was Eng- 
 lish. 
 
 This man's case was on the same calendar for trial with that 
 of Grieveau, just ahead of his by the call number; as was the 
 case of those who had been indicted for complicity in the " Star 
 Route " steal, and whose case, it will be remembered, was 
 when called set back and continued indefinitely, as was said, to 
 give way for the speedy trial of Grieveau. The fact being 
 they dared not bring these men to the front until they had first 
 disposed of Grieveau's crazy, rattling tongue. For the moment 
 their names were canvassed in the public prints, Grieveau's 
 quick eye and acute brain was sure to divine, as by an intuition, 
 things in connection with this matter and the names of his 
 friends as he believed them, which would be to himself no less 
 than to the " dear people " a revelation. And they knew too, 
 full well, that did the idea once take hold of his erratic mind, 
 that a fraud had been perpetrated upon him, or upon the people, 
 whom he loved with a patriotic fervor few can understand — no 
 power short of death could have closed his mouth from expos- 
 ing all he knew or imagined; for if there is one thing a Grie- 
 veau detests, whether crazy or sane, that thing is trickery^ 
 deceit ^Jraiid; this hatred is a part of, and inseparable from the 
 
232 THE STALIVAKTS; OK, 
 
 Grieveau blood, coming down from Huguenot forefather. No, 
 they dared not bring their men to the front for trial while Grie- 
 veau lived. They did not know how much he knew, but they 
 feared. They did not know that he had given to Gertrude a 
 list in his own hand-writing, unmistakably his own, of the 
 names of his friends, those who were to stand by him in his 
 trouble, wnth the injunction that she go to them herself. "Tell 
 them," said he, " that money is needed for my defense, that they 
 must Jurnish it^ or 77/ make it hot for them^ mind now, go 
 yourself tell each one individually what I say — consult no one^ 
 but go yourself, and you'll get the money." But she, knowing 
 his insanity, thinking he did not fully realize all his words im- 
 plied, did consult with her husband and others supposed to be 
 engaged in his defense. She afterwards, when too late^ felt the 
 force of his injunction. 
 
 Especially when after her brother was gone some of the 
 names written proved to be those of the leaders in this "Fraud" 
 who were put on trial and of course acquitted everyone. But 
 theirs were not the only names — Oh! no! There were others 
 much better known, higher up in national affairs, much higher, 
 who have not yet come before a human tribunal — though some 
 of those most noted, and most surely guilty, have been called to 
 give an account to the Judge of all the earth. But the sea 
 captain whom we left after introduction to you my readers, in 
 his comfortable cell, with wine and cigars liberally provided, 
 requires a little attention. He is quite a different man from 
 Grieveau. No danger that he''ll ever go crazy over any re- 
 ligious, fanatical idea of Divine inspiration and leading, or from 
 fear of any danger to the body politic which he might strive to 
 avert. No, there is no sign of intellect or spirituality about him, 
 but just a good heavy liver, honest enough perhaps m his inten- 
 tions, but easily managed by superiors. A man to whom the com- 
 forts of life, including good wine and cigars, ivasall\ articles for 
 which Grieveau had no use whatever, only contempt. Give 
 him pen, ink and paper, he was happy. While Grieveau could 
 not, crazy as he was, be bought at any price — this man would 
 sell himself for a mess of pottage. However, he had come to 
 know a great deal about the corruption in the Naval service, 
 had himself pocketed a big steal. What he knew of some 
 other things has never transpired, for while Grieveau was on 
 trial securely guarded n'ght and day, this man proved (How) 
 easily the piison (g:-ite) may be lifted by slack officials when they 
 are so inclined. As easilv and in a similar manner to the case of 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 233 
 
 one of our Chicago " boodlers," who only went home by ap- 
 pointment to meet the opposing attorney, in company with an 
 official, to smack his wife and take a bath — but actually had the 
 impudence when given every opportunity to go clear away to 
 Canada, without thanking or saying by your leave to the (Mat) 
 over which he walked out; or even looking back at the people's 
 custodian who stood (Grinn)ing behind the door. These same 
 honest and conscientious officials had to make themselves very 
 zealous for the people afterwards to set themselves right, and 
 they found a case near at hand upon which to exercise their 
 energy, for other criminals were to be tried, and the people had 
 been, by a suborned press, worked up to the desired state of wrath 
 — as no money was at stake — and they were free to act according 
 to the demands of popular clamor — which they did. 
 
 However, in the trial we are now considering — one J. G. 
 Bamboozle, a sly and experienced old demagogue, was at last 
 put upon the stand — evidently as the safest spokesman for the 
 crowd, and who contrived to solve the problem of how not to 
 tell the truth. To be sure, he was obliged to contradict him- 
 self point blank, as to the dispatches he had sent to Europe the 
 day after the President was shot; saying, as will be remem- 
 bered, that " the deed was the sole work, without doubt, of a 
 crazy man," while he now testified him to be a perfectly sane 
 villain, wholly responsible. 
 
 But then it was no worse perjury than was committed by a 
 celebrated Chicago lawyer and popular Republican orator, who 
 was never known to be dashed by so small a thing as a black 
 lie, * * * 
 
 As fo^ the new President, he would have forfeited his life, 
 rather than face Lucille in that court room, and have her know 
 the real connection between himself and the trouble poor Jules 
 was in. And then, his appearance before her would have re- 
 ^-ealed his changed name, and have thrown greater suspicion 
 upon him, and he feared he had already more than he could 
 successfully battle with. Fortunately just at this juncture 
 he was taken suddenly ill, and before he recovered it had been 
 argued and decided that an attachment against a President of 
 the U. S., bringing him into a Court to testify against his 
 will, could not hold. Both sides had been insisting upon the 
 President's appearance, but now the effort was abandoned, and 
 thus it happened that the new President sent his elegant, black- 
 edged mourning letter with excuse and regret, which was ac- 
 cepted strangely enough, in lieu of his important testimony, and 
 
234 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 he was not again asked into Court^ or urged to the unpleasant 
 predicament of facing either Lucille, or crazy Jules; who it 
 afterwards came to light, had expected great things, — sure re- 
 lief and a rescuing hand from ttie new, stalwart President. 
 But the dignified and elegant black-edged note, read from the 
 witness stand, was the only message ever received by the poor, 
 trusting tool, from '-'-hisjriend^ the President.''' * * * 
 
 The Doctor who had attended the dead President, he who 
 had sent the cypher dispatches, was not allowed to escape as 
 easily, but was brought into court, and so painfully terrorized 
 did he appear under oath, that it was remarked, "one would 
 have thought the Doctor himself was on trial for the murder of 
 the President." 
 
 He turned out to be the old-time "chum" who had been on 
 the western "claim" with Silas Smith and perhaps a greater 
 villain than even he — the man they called "Doc." 
 
 As the trial progressed,, it became more and more apparent 
 that Jules Grieveau was doomed; that the prosecution — and 
 this meant the administration — were determined to execute the 
 man whether sane or insane, and were evidently acting upon 
 the theory that dead men tell no tales. The district attorney 
 saying in one of his many side speeches to the jury i^it will be 
 rerne^nbered they were seated conveniently near the prosecuting 
 counsel and the paid experts') after Jules' friends had proved 
 his insanity, and been denied by the court the introduction of 
 their nine best witnesses^ reserved for sur-rebuttal of the ex- 
 pert testimony — "Well, if he is a crank, then we will hang him 
 for being a crank ; a crank has no business to live^ * * * 
 
 The whole trial from beginning to ending was a master- 
 piece of legal chicanery ; but no one who watched its workings, 
 ever believed the pompous, strutting little district attorney, or 
 even his able associates, capable of the work as a connected, 
 finished whole. 
 
 The prosecution — both Judge, jury, witnesses and lawyers — 
 were too palpably under the direction of an indomitable con- 
 trolling brain; more than one person suspected, indeed was con- 
 vinced long before the trial ended, that Cronksey, the shrewd, 
 unscrupulous lawyer and political schemer, was that invincible 
 master-mind. And the sequel to the whole business, thesham 
 trial, at last, of those concerned in the great frauds, which was 
 conducted ostensibly by the same pompous district attorney, 
 assisted by the lawyer relative of the Doctor, who sent the 
 cipher dispatches from the bedside of the dving President; and 
 
IVNO WERE TO BLAME. 235 
 
 the final acquittal of every one; a consummation, completing 
 the achievement undertaken by the same unconquered will, in 
 the end confirmed that suspicion. 
 
 The administration, the prosecuting lawyers, the judge, the 
 witnesses, poor Jules himself, were all, no less than those in- 
 veigled into complicity with the great frauds, but puppets in the 
 show, revolving as the master pulled the wire — a long time 
 elapsed before the showman was himself shown. Only one 
 other legal mind and political schemer in all the land could have 
 matched, conquered and forced the black-hearted pirate sooner 
 to unfurl his true colors before the world; and by fraud and 
 trickery he was excluded from the case, /br the endzvas not yet^ 
 
 After all the tedious, sometimes pitiful scenes of one of the 
 mosc remarkable criminal trials of modern times, it was now 
 drawing to a close. 
 
 The prosecution had bullied the crazy prisoner, his witnesses 
 and relatives; the Judge had been carefully watched, lest he 
 might give some ruling in favor of the defense; doubtful 
 points and exceptions referred to, and decided from day to day 
 by the judges who were to constitute the Court in banc, upon 
 appeal for new trial; thus unjustly and unlawfully cutting off 
 the prisoner's last resort. 
 
 The jury besides being manipulated in low spoken "asides" 
 from the prosecuting attorney, intimidated by an ever present 
 mob admitted to the court room on the ^h-ed passes'''' furnished 
 by the prosecution to the administration employees, and various 
 well known means, had been terrorized by the Masonic signs 
 of warning and exhortation transmitted, from time to time^ 
 through one of the lawyers of the prosecution, himself a Mason 
 as was also the foreman, and at least two other jurymen, all 
 belonging to the same lodge with the martyred President, and 
 bound by their oath to avenge his death. The fact that both 
 the father and grandfather of Grieveau were Master Masons,, 
 might have helped his case, had this idea been pushed, but the 
 brother-in-law lawyer of the defense, not being himself a Mason,, 
 refused to consider the importance of this point. 
 
 And further: a newspaper full of distorted, rabid utterances 
 and unmerciful threats towards the prisoner, and even the jury, 
 should they fail to convict, had been found in their room at the 
 hotel where they were secluded, scribbled round with the written 
 names of every juryman on the panel, in their own hand-writ- 
 ing, indicating that they had read and digested its contents; cer- 
 tainly increasing their prejudice and fear, rendering their ver- 
 
236 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 diet, whatever it might be, illegal. The tide was setting strong 
 against him; but one thing more remained to be done in poor 
 Jules' behalf, a desperate alternative, so reckoned in all criminal 
 practice, namely, putting on the stand in his own defense, the 
 crazy prisoner. 
 
 His friends considered him so plainly insane upon the sub- 
 ject of "the removal" as he called it, always insisting that "Deity" 
 inspired him to the deed, and that "Deity" was well pleased 
 with the result; they reasoned it could uot hurt his case to let 
 the jury see his insanity just as it was, believing they would 
 honestly bring in a verdict according to their convictions. 
 
 And Jules Grieveau was placed upon the stand under oath 
 to tell the story in his own way; which he did, relating it hon- 
 estly and pitifully. 
 
 The counsel selected for the work of coss-examination be- 
 ing confined in his hotel undergoing a three days' course of 
 opium and whiskey, in order to fit him for the exploit, and when 
 brought up to the desired pitch of unfeeling blaguardism and 
 debauchery, this oldest, wickedest, vilest man of all the lawyers 
 of the prosecution, was put to the task of trying to force other 
 than the truth from the prisoner. 
 
 Any but a heart of stone must have been moved to hear crazy 
 Jules Grieveau striving to have the court and jury understand 
 "how it happened." 
 
 "You see, I noticed Bamboozle and the President going about 
 together, always talking in a low tone, but could sometimes 
 catch a word, and would hear him urging the President to crush 
 the Stalwarts^ and I knew they wouldn't give in and we should 
 have another civil war, sure. Finally it came to me that the 
 Lord wanted me to 'reir^ove' the President and prevent it." 
 
 Why he should not "remove" the man who was advising the 
 victim contrary to the instructions oi those who delegated him, 
 as his coadjutors afterwards hinted, declaring "he had wrecked 
 a President in furtherance of his own two-faced, treacherous 
 selfishness," or why he was not "inspired to remove" the chief 
 contestants on the other side of the quarrel, and thus, by either 
 course prevent a war, is a mystery never solved in the mind of 
 any but those who instigated the deed; they knowing full well 
 that an entire change of administration was needed as their 
 ojily safety. 
 
 Certain it is, that whatever influenced Jules Grieveau, "malice 
 prepence" was not the motive, for he constantly averred "The 
 President never did me any harm, he was a fine man, and 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 2oT 
 
 a good fellow, I guess; but the Deity put such a grinding pres- 
 sure upon me, I had tojirethat shot^ if I had been torn in pieces 
 the next minute." 
 
 And then to hear the wily lawyer try to wring from those 
 pale, thin lips, some expression of remorse for the deed, some 
 word that would prove his reiteration of "The Deity and me" 
 to be but an afterthought, and that he was only shamming. 
 
 But for two days Jules Grieveau sat under the most per- 
 sistent, scathing, cruel cross-examination any shattered creature 
 was ever subjected to — his answers, no less than his distorted, 
 blighted, partially paralyzed features, expressing only honesty of 
 purpose to "Tell the truth no matter who got hurt," as he said 
 again and again. 
 
 Sometimes under w^hat was to his sensitive organization, a 
 real torture^ his lips would quiver, and his face blanch and twitch 
 convulsively, as he strove to remember the minutiae of the dread- 
 ful thoughts and feelings which only the insane ever experience, 
 and which had haunted him night and day for weeks before the 
 final climax of the deed he felt impelled to do, had given him 
 rest and peace. As he told how he prayed night and day that 
 the '•'Dlety would let him ^^," because he ^'-didrCt want to do it^'' 
 how once when he thought he had a message from Deity the 
 night before to do the deed that very fjtorning^ and hearing the 
 President was to take the train, he went to the depot, the fatal 
 firearm ready, but the sight of the wife hanging on her hus- 
 band's arm, deterred him from executing the Divine com- 
 mand, for Jules Grieveau had a tender heart. And then 
 how for two weeks more he prayed and prayed that "the 
 Deity would let him off." Poor fellow, he did not understand 
 that the time was not yet ripe^ that he must wait until other 
 minds consummated their desires, and laying hold of his own 
 crazy brain, should hypnotize him in a way to i?npel him to the 
 finalissue; that he must wait until Cronksey was ready, and the 
 doctor in his place, and Spideler stationed where his magnetic 
 eyes could give the required courage, could nerve the trembling 
 arm ; no, Jules Grieveau did not understand all this, or the work- 
 ings of his own insane imaginings. He only knew what he 
 believed^ what he felt^ what he suffered. 
 
 But the most expert lawyer among them all, perhaps in the 
 country, failed to mix him up in the slightest upon his testimony; 
 as this lawyer stated the evening after he closed his cross-ex- 
 amination, "to an acquaintance, the editor of several small, newsy, 
 daily papers: "I never got hold of such a witness, I could not 
 
238 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 shake him in the least, his delusion Is so strongs he thinks the 
 Deity commanded him to do it, I am certain." Though this 
 was afterwards denied when it might have saved Jules Grie- 
 veau's life. 
 
 And thus right through, from the beginning to the end, from 
 the first examination of the prisoner in his cell by the Chief of 
 the Secret Service, the night after the shot was fired, and by 
 the Government Insane Asylum Superintendent, through all 
 the subtle means used by the. District Attorney and the Judge 
 to entrap him, through all the surprises sprung upon him during 
 his trial and on the w^itness stand, in his speech to the jury, all 
 through, his dominating idea w^as "the Deity and me, w^e did it, 
 and it's all right," nothing could dislodge him from this posi- 
 tion, and herein was his insanity. 
 
 But all the efforts made in his behalf, even the truth itself, 
 when proven^ availed nothing, it was fore-ordalned the man 
 should die. 
 
 Certain of his insanity, and that the jury had recognized the 
 fact, the friends of Jules were altogether unprepared for the 
 result which followed the close of his trial. Confident of the 
 ending, when the jury, led by their foreman, filed into that dingy, 
 shabby, old court room on that dark, stormy day in midwinter, 
 just at the dusk of evening, every friend who had stood by him 
 on to the last, Lucille, Gertrude, Aunt Debby, Uncle Tut, even 
 the brother-in-law who had defended him as best he could, as- 
 sisted at the last by a lawyer, versed in criminal practice, who 
 had volunteered for the defense; (or prosecution, which w^as it?) 
 even Jules himself expecting, if he could be said really to ex- 
 pect anything, an acquittal. 
 
 When amid breathless suspense the foreman solemnly an- 
 nounced the verdict of " Gullty^^ poor Jules, who had trusted 
 in the judge and jury — they seeming kindly enough disposed 
 towards him during the trial — almost as implicitly as he did in 
 ^' Deity," when he understood, though but partially, what had 
 happened, and felt that they were against him, were not now 
 friendly to him — stared vacantly at first, turning from one to 
 another in a dazed sort of way; as though amazed beyond the 
 power of speech, as a devout believer might, who getting a 
 glimpse of Heaven, should find there no God. 
 
 And then, as the idea came to his darkened brain more 
 clearly, of what they had done, that they had played him false, 
 gone back on him as he reckoned it, that they did not mean to 
 let him go, but to send him again to his prison-cell, his rapidly 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. ' 239 
 
 moving eyes glanced fiercely upon them, in the dim, dusky 
 light of the now fast waning day; and as the thought of the in- 
 justice of the verdict grew^ stronger in his mind, he found speech, 
 and poured out his wrath upon all who were as he thought con- 
 cerned in the wrong. The judge, jury, witnesses, lawyers, the 
 administration, even the new President, calling Heaven and 
 Earth to witness that the " Deity " would punish them for that 
 verdict, punish each one, and strangely enough the curse pro- 
 nounced that day, by crazy Jules Grieveau, came true every 
 word — and that ere long. 
 
 As the guards roughly hurried him exhausted away, Lucille, 
 
 Gertrude and Aunt Debby followed, out to the prison-van 
 
 with a look of death on their faces. 
 
 No frenzied shrieks, or hysterical sobs and tears, betrayed 
 that the glittering steel had entered the heart — the blow had 
 been too sudden, sharp and deep, for noisy demonstration — but 
 the ashy greyness of the corpse-like visage, the deadened eye, 
 the thin drawn lips, and the unsteady gait, marked the palsy of 
 despair within. 
 
 Extraordinary measures had been taken for the protection 
 of the prisoner during what every one felt would be great 
 danger when the climax came, however the verdict might be; 
 but after all, the poor fellow's real protection consisted in the 
 silent company of those devoted women. Everyone knew of 
 their steadfast love which nothing could intimidate, and all re- 
 spected them for it, and they said, " If he were our brother or 
 kin we'd stand by him, too, notwithstanding all." 
 
 When it had become known that a verdict was soon to be 
 brought in, a vast crowd gathered about the Court-House 
 square, and when the news flew from mouth to mouth, that the 
 foreman had announced a verclict of " Guity^'* every element 
 of fierce revenge, every desperado, every vagabond, black or 
 white, in all the city came rushing there until a sea of heads 
 met the eye from the broad steps. 
 
 A seething mass of human beings, now muttering low, 
 threatening, menacing, and again cursing loud and deep, until 
 the din became a roar of fury. Anew were the dreadful suffer- 
 ings of the martyred president remembered, and an eager thirst 
 for the blood of him, whom they had been taught to believe 
 and whom the verdict now declared to be his assassin, possessed 
 them. 
 
 But when the rumor gained credence, that his sister Ger- 
 trude, and Lucille, the sister of his dead mother were to march 
 
240 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 with him to the van sharing his danger, every imprecation was 
 stilled, and as the party issued from the lower entrance under 
 the main portico, with the little man feebly cowering in their 
 midst, a hush of awe pervaded the vast crowd to its utmost 
 limit. 
 
 Slowly, with measured tread, the three devoted women and 
 Uncle Tut, marched two on either side of the guards down the 
 long passage cleared by the police. Quickly was the transit 
 made, for such an unnatural calm could not last. As the 
 women parted with Jules at the door of the van, Lucille and 
 Gertrude lost their self-possession at the thought of the crazy 
 boy a condemned murderer, and throwing their arms around 
 him, tried to hold him back — " Oh! Jules, Jules," they cried, 
 " we won't forsake you, we'll do all we can to save you yet." 
 
 Almost roughly he shook them off. "I don't want any 
 women folks crying around me, "he said. " You needn't worry 
 about me, I'm all right, you'd better go back and look after 
 that judge and jury, the Deity's down on them, ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 And as the prison-van rattled away surrounded by its 
 mounted guard, the colored footman at the door, poor Jules' 
 horrid crazy laugh died on the chilly air. 
 
 The crowd quietly dispersed, a few of the more sympathetic 
 ones gathering around the now well-nigh fainting women, as- 
 sisting them kindly to their rooms near by ; and soon in the 
 grey dusk of that bleak winter evening, no one could be found 
 near the late scene of so much excitement, unless some belated 
 unfortunate, hurrying past against the blinding storm which 
 had been coming on all day and now increased with vicious 
 fury, as though the elements, too, were filled with unrelenting 
 wrath. 
 
 As the sleety wind came down from the cold North, sough- 
 ing through the trees about the square, it seemed that the 
 demons of the air were let loose among their branches, and with 
 long skeleton arms were in wierd frenzy reaching out seeking 
 to find their escaped victim. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 After the first shock of the adverse verdict had passed, the 
 friends of Jules Grieveau set themselves about contriving some 
 way to save him, if possible, even now. 
 
 A new trial was asked for and elaborate arguments pre- 
 pared on the motion, but, of course, the prayer of the defense 
 was refused. 
 
 Then came efforts for the commutation of sentence of hang- 
 ing, to life imprisonment, or a stay of sentence until congress 
 convened and a law might be passed, establishing an asylum for 
 the safe custody of insane criminals; a needed institution as has 
 been often proved. 
 
 In pursuance of this end, a petition to the President was 
 prepared, and signed by many of the medical profession, a ma- 
 jority being intensely disgusted at the course of certain x\sylum 
 Superintendents, subpcenoed by the government, also lawyers 
 who had watched the case without prejudice, and knew Jules 
 had not been granted a fair trial; these with many ministers, 
 collegiate men and other people, more or less prominent, both 
 men and women, sent in their names to be afiixed to the peti- 
 tion, until the number reached up into the thousands. As a part 
 of this effort, Gertrude, by the advice of friends, tried to arouse 
 the sympathy of the people, herself appearing before them, 
 stating his case truthfully and asking their signatures. She gave 
 several lectures which were well received, but no impression was 
 made upon the masses, although names were secured sufiicient 
 to have turned the scale in an ordinary case; but in this, only an 
 overwhelming, spontaneous, popular demonstration would avail. 
 And here, as in every attempted benefit for Jules Grieveau, his 
 friends were checkmated by some unseen, mysterious power, 
 working mainly through the various news channels which cen- 
 tered in Washington, and throwing out at every pulsation of 
 the great throbing citadel, a stream of vitiated and corrupted 
 influences and perverted facts, blackening the thought, corroding 
 the sympathy, paralyzing the will of the people throughout the 
 land. 
 
 The same power which had been discovered manipulating 
 
 16 
 
^42 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 the stocks in Wall Street as the dying President sank down in 
 utter weakness, or rallied with renewing strength, using his 
 martrydom for their gain, during weary weeks and months of 
 suffering seldom equaled, heroically born until death's reprieve. 
 
 The same power which planned the "removal"^ of the dead 
 President, and also the trial of Jules Grieveau, the "scape-goat" 
 and reputed assassin, carrying it through to the desired end of 
 conviction and proposed execution. 
 
 The same power which contrived the escape of at least one, 
 and afterwards planned the trial of the others interested in the 
 success of the great frauds, and carried the7n safely through to 
 a virtual acquittal of every one. 
 
 And with this influence, this power, whatever it' was, their 
 weakness was unable to cope, in staying the current or turning 
 the tide so fiercely setting against the doomed man. 
 
 With despairing sadness, the friends of Jules Grieveau at 
 last made up their minds that, as he expressed it, *'he must go." 
 
 They had expended every energy, done the utmost anxious 
 hearts could devise, made all effort their feeble means would 
 allow, had put in a brave fight for his defense against desperate 
 odds — naught availing. 
 
 Nothing remained but the heart-rending task of preparing 
 themselves and him for the horrible ordeal of a barbarous ex- 
 ecution. 
 
 A punishment under any circumstance, which is a disgrace 
 to civilization; but when, as in this case, visited upon a deluded 
 man believing in his soul, that God and his country received 
 good service, when that fatal shot was fired ; deluded because 
 his mal-formed and diseased brain gave only the ability of draw- 
 ing so warped, crooked and crazy a conclusion from the premises; 
 then such an execution is worthy the intelligence of a hundred 
 years ago, when even in proud England, the naked skeletons 
 were left swinging in the breeze from the road side gibbets, to 
 be removed as the judges went their yearly rounds, making 
 room for the newly sentenced victims of three-score petty crimes, 
 punishable with death. 
 
 As for Jules, it was still in his mind only the "Deity and me" 
 who were concerned in the matter, and having no compunc- 
 tions of conscience, he was fully reconciled to his fate, even im- 
 patient of delay in reaching what he considered his just and 
 sure reward for obedience to the Divine command, and which 
 he had come to believe attainable only as he should pass over 
 the river of death. "Because of the wicked perversity of men 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 248 
 
 who should have been instruments in the hands of the Lord for 
 my release, they refusing," said he, "I must suffer, but the Lord 
 will punish them, every one, and prove to the world sooner or 
 later, that I am '•God's man^ called to execute His will, and the 
 men who stand by and see this wrong done to me, shall be cursed 
 from Heaven ;" woe unto him through whom the offense cometh, 
 saith Holy Writ, "I am ready to go in five minutes, but I dread 
 the retribution of the Deity on the American people. Make 
 no mistake; it is not Grieveau who is in trouble, it is the people 
 of the United States who are on the brink of a crime. I was 
 inspired by Deity to remove the President, Grieveau, the patriot, 
 is all right; but those who hang him will wish they had never 
 been born." He continued to the last to resent the theory that 
 he was insane; and the success the man who now installed 
 himself as his confessor had in winning his confidence, was 
 due to the fact that he humored his whim in this regard. 
 
 On the Tuesday night before the execution, this confessor 
 has reported that Grieveau pointed to a . verse he had been 
 reading, "Except ye be converted and become as little children, 
 ye shall not enter the kingdom of Heaven." "And," added the 
 confessor, "Grieveau was the happiest man last night, positively 
 that I ever saw." He said, "He was counting the hours until he 
 was to die and be done with mundane things." During the 
 same conversation he said, "Confessor, you are going with me 
 to the scaffold and you'll stand by me there, and I shall look up 
 to where God is waiting for me, reaching out His hand to me, 
 and when the time comes, I think I shall be so near to God that 
 when I let go of your hand I shall be able to take hold of His." 
 Oh no! it was not Grieveau who was in trouble now, whatever 
 he may have suffered during his sad, earthly life. 
 
 To his sister, for whom he retained a special affection, he 
 said at their final interveiw, " Yes indeed, I'll be glad to leave 
 this place, no matter how; Paradise's a great improvement on 
 this world. There's nothing here that / want.'''' And as she 
 alluded to the probable meeting with his mother in Heaven, he 
 answered, " Yes, I'll be glad to see her when I get there. If 
 she had lived I shouldn't have had so much trouble. I don't 
 remember much about her, but I'll be glad to make her acquaint- 
 ance. I guesb she'll be glad to see me, too — " half crying. 
 
 Jules' indifference did much to reconcile his friends to the 
 inevitable; as they pondered over his sad, unfruitful life, they 
 ceased to wonder that he should anticipate with eagerness al- 
 most any change. * * * 
 
244 7 HE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 The terrible tragedy through which they were passing had 
 for the time being absorbed Lucille's every thought and feeHng, 
 and she had scarcely wondered during the first days of intense 
 excitement and dismay following the shooting of the President, 
 why Henry had not returned, or at least written an explanation 
 of his strange conduct. Surely he had given the proof of a 
 true and passionate love which neither separation or time could 
 quench, and this complete assurance comforted Lucille and 
 supported her through daj^s, weeks, months of grievous trial; 
 it was a boon beyond estimation she thought, the knowledge 
 that Henry had been, in his heart, true to his love for her, even 
 though she never saw him more. 
 
 But as the weeks passed into months and she heard nothing 
 from him, after the suffering and death of the President, after 
 the trial, conviction and sentence of Jules, now the ordeal of 
 his execution and the ignominy unavoidably endured and shared 
 with him by his relatives, confronted them; partially recovering 
 from the shock of the unjust verdict, and beginning to revolve 
 in her mind the feasability of plans whereby to save him if pos- 
 sible, her thoughts turned anew to Henry, and she could not 
 understand how affection which she believed equal to her own, 
 could be estranged by any calamity or why he had not come 
 forward as a staunch-hearted man, helping her, even though 
 ever so little. 
 
 And when one and another not as near in friendship offered 
 their sympathy and assistance — for there are some whom the 
 wildest storm will fail to unsettle — then, steadfast, patient Lu- 
 cille began to waver in her trust, and indignation filled her heart, 
 that a man for whom she had suffered so much, and whose love 
 had after long years again asserted itself, should keep aloof 
 from her when in trouble; because, as she concluded, he lacked 
 the courage to stand by her even against the world. 
 
 At last poor Lucille drank the dregs of her bitter portion ; 
 after all those years of self-sacrifice to this ideal lover of her 
 youth, whom she had cherished sacredly, carried in her heart of 
 hearts; after the chasm had been bridged and they two stood 
 face to face united — alas! she had found he was unworthy of 
 her devotion, of her life-long love — now she would tear his 
 image from her heart and trample it under foot. 
 
 Could she? Verily she could not; the idol had been too 
 long enthroned, worthy or not worthy, whether pure gold or 
 only dross; in the inmost recess of her soul Henry Armstrong 
 must remain enthroned — entombed if you will, to Lucille's dy- 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 245 
 
 ing day; this she felt, and grieved as of yore; even more sorely 
 than ever before. 
 
 All the long years of the past it had been only the memory 
 of the young love of her girlhood, the memory of a man scarcely 
 more than a boy, the memory of an inexplicable mystery; but 
 now they had met in the full prime of maturity, every attribute, 
 every atom developed to the utmost of which pure, loving man- 
 hood and womanhood is capable. Had met and been clasped in 
 each other's arms, her tortured heart at last lay upon his own, 
 his protecting arm around her, his warm breath upon her 
 cheek and life, passionate, loving life, had been eagerly absorbed 
 and freely given back from off dewey lips, and then — he was 
 gone — his last words: 
 
 "I beg of you say you never knew me; I will come again 
 and explain all." And now months had elapsed, and he had 
 not come. 
 
 This was all she knew, and she believed he did not come be- 
 cause of the terrible disgrace which had smce fallen upon her, 
 and for his cowardice she tried to hate him, but could not. 
 
 True love never turns to hate, but sometimes into indiffer- 
 ence when the adoration is gone. Lucille was passing through 
 this transition she thought, otherwise she must have sank over- 
 whelmed. 
 
 John having refused help and co-operation in the defense of 
 his sister's child, a coldness had come between himself and the 
 friends of Jules; but Lucille still continued for a long time 
 visiting her brother's house occasionally, with the hope of again 
 meeting Henry ; in this she was disappointed. 
 
 For Henry Armstrong kept entirely aw^ay from the home of 
 his old friend. Gen. John A. Gascoigne, for several reasons; 
 one, that he wished to avoid Lucille until he could make an ex- 
 planation, which was now impossible without compromising 
 others; another, that he determined not to give Mistress Julia 
 an interview under any circumstances, and still another grave 
 reason made it inexpedient if not dangerous. 
 
 The rumor of conspiracy had not entirely died away ; (al- 
 though the Vice-President had been quietly installed in the 
 place made vacant by the death of the President, secretly at 
 midnight^ on the day of his demise), and there had been just the 
 faintest whisper of a hint that himself and Gen. Gascoigne 
 were in some way connected with it, and safety dictated that at 
 this juncture these politicians should become estranged from one 
 another. Somehow as only intriguers can accomplish their de- 
 
246 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 signs, it was bruited about that Gen. Gascoigne was jealous of 
 attentions bestowed upon his wife by the fascinating " accidental 
 President," especially since his bereavement, and which had 
 called for remonstrance from Gen. Gascoigne, who, the gossips 
 averred, oft times had occasion to look rather sharply after his 
 gay wife. In this manner w^as t-lie public deceived as to the real 
 intimacy between these men high in official position, and thus 
 it transpired that Gen. Gascoigne no longer spoke the name of 
 the new President in his home, and forbade his wife the privi- 
 lege. This command would have annoyed Mistress Julia less 
 could she have continued her flirtation with the handsome 
 widower President, but one cannot flirt all alone, and he ignored 
 her existence. For the time the passionate, fickle woman was 
 desperately in love with her new flame, and would have braved 
 a scandal; disgracing husband and children for his sake, and 
 was now deeply chagrined and puzzled to account for the sud- 
 den coldness. She did not know there was another woman in 
 the case, and that herself was getting a taste of her own medi- 
 cine, which she had forced upon many a true wife ere her own 
 retribution came. 
 
IVNO WERE TO BLAME. 247 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIIl. 
 
 lucille's letter to henry. 
 
 Jules was now a closely guarded felon under sentence of 
 death. 
 
 One day Lucille and Gertrude were returning from a visit to 
 his cell; as they were passing on foot past the Capitol, after 
 their weary walk of an hour across the common, who should 
 Lucille discover coming down the broad marble steps, but 
 Henry Armstrong. One quick glance, to which there was no 
 apparent response, and she passed on, with feeble, grief-stricken 
 step, and head bowed down. 
 
 He recognized her at once, and had Lucille seen the concen- 
 trated, passionate love of years, which came unbidden and in 
 spite of a strong man's will, into the eyes that hungrily sought 
 her downcast face — a passion, a love, leaping like liquid fire 
 from the throbbing heart, burning through every vein and fiber^ 
 though suddenly, instantly repressed, crowded back into the 
 secret sanctuary of the man's hidden life, mastered by a super- 
 human force; but leaving those glorious, warm brown eyes 
 burnt and scared and changed', forever after of an ashen, dead, 
 blue-grey hue, so unlike those of the Henry she had known-;— had 
 she seen this, the positive assurance thus unwittingly given, of a 
 love as unquenchable as her own, it must have comforted Lucille's 
 breaking heart. And if the noble-looking, imposingly handsome, 
 altogether exquisite gentleman, had been shot then and there, 
 he could not have turned to a more deathly pallor, or shown 
 greater trepidation, for an instant — only an instant, so quickly 
 did he recover himself. 
 
 Without haste or further apparent emotion, he came down 
 the steps with a party of noted men accompanying him, taking 
 seats in a carriage waiting for them. Yes, it was the Presi- 
 dent's liveried carriage, Lucille could see; although she came 
 near falling in a faint with the shock of surprise, grief and con- 
 sternation which overpowered her. 
 
 Certainly the gentlemen in his company gave him prece- 
 dence-^what could it mean? 
 
 He must be an influential man, a friend of the President, 
 his private carriage placed at his disposal. 
 
248 ^ THE STALWARTS; DR. 
 
 " No wonder," thought the sad, crushed Httle woman, " he 
 could not come to me, or keep up his acquaintance with Gen. 
 Gascoigne, both now known to be relatives of the despised 'as- 
 sassin.' " And Lucille thought she had solved the mystery, and 
 for the first \!\mQ Jully realized what a terrible calamity had be- 
 fallen her sister's child and all who should be connected with 
 him down to remotest time. 
 
 She felt now that fate had her in its iron-vise, relentlessly 
 pressing the life current from her bleeding heart — and that no 
 earthly power could save. 
 
 And Henry Armstrong, the " accidental " President, what 
 of him? 
 
 How he reached the end of that long flight of steps, com- 
 posedly continuing the conversation, and chatting gaily with 
 his friends as they rode together to the White House, quietly 
 maintaining his equilibrium until he could finally dismiss them 
 and be alone, was past his own comprehension; and certam it 
 is, from that day, wiienever the beautiful and imposing Capitol 
 of the Nation came within view, his heart sank and sickened, 
 and he could see Lucille exactly as she appeared to him then, 
 and he felt again just as when he had passed her by without the 
 slightest sign giving proof of his love, or even that he ever 
 knew her. Passed her by — the woman he would have died to 
 possess as his own, with not so much as a glance from his eyes, 
 and hers cast upon him with such a desperate, hungry look of 
 longing, not the least reproach or anger, at what anyone must 
 deem his outrageous treatment; but only surprise, and love be- 
 seeching and inexpressibly tender, expressed in every line of 
 her sad, worn, pale face. 
 
 And the struggle of those few hours which he spent alone, 
 when his friends had left him, the strong man never forgot. 
 
 His life would not have weighed a feather in the balance, 
 could its forfeit have gained for him, and for her, one quiet hour 
 of companionship and happiness in the complete possession and 
 ownership of love. 
 
 But others besides himself were involved in the tangled 
 thread of their destiny, and this could not be. How he longed 
 to take the weary little woman in his arms and comfort her 
 aching heart, but at present it was absolutely impossible to com- 
 municate with her in the slightest. They must continue as 
 though they had never met, until the revolving wheel of fate 
 brought some propitious changes. Whatever this might involve 
 Henry had no idea, but that some event or events would transpire 
 
IV//0 WERE TO BLAME. 249 
 
 whereby Lucille should be his own in fact, as she was now in 
 feeling and desire, he believed. The possibility of such con- 
 summation depended upon persistent avoidance of recognition, 
 on this point his mind was clear, further into futurity he did 
 not penetrate. 
 
 As for Lucille, accustomed co shocks and griefs and suffer- 
 ing of almost every kind, figuratively knocked down so many 
 times before, she only gathered herself up wearily, and sick 
 with despondency, dragged along her homeward way, carefully 
 helped by Gertrude, to whom she explained her condition as 
 the effect of intense heat and fatigue. 
 
 Reaching her quiet room she sat herself down to think of 
 all the long, dreary past, of the present, and of the unknown 
 future. 
 
 Sadly and anxiously pondermg over the whole situation, 
 Lucille resolved upon writing a letter, not in her own behalf, 
 but interceding for Myra's crazy boy, with Henry Armstrong, 
 her old-time lover, and now certainly, she thought, the intimate 
 and influential friend of the President. 
 
 She had lately considered the plan of going herself to the 
 Chief Executive, begging his clemency, trying what she could 
 do by personal appeal; but this would be better: yes, much 
 better, she would write to-morrow. 
 
 On the morrow, as Lucille had resolved, she wrote to Henry 
 Armstrong, directing her letter in the care of Hon. Gerald A. 
 Johnson, His Excellency, The President of the United States. 
 She had seen Henry but twice during her residence in Wash- 
 ington, and concluded him to be merely a visitor, and with the 
 President's carriage at his disposal, she argued a letter sent 
 through his hands would reach its proper destination. 
 
 Henry begging Lucille not to disclose their acquaintance, 
 when leaving her at Gen. Gascoigne's, she had refrained from 
 making inquires regarding him of her brother or his wife, and 
 not meeting him there again, was corroborated in the idea that 
 he was an occasional visitor at the Capitol, accidentally, per- 
 haps, securing an introduction to her brother's family, know- 
 ing, as she did, Julia's predeliction for cultivating distinguished 
 strangers, in which category Henry surely seemed to belong. 
 She had heard the rumors of jealousy on the part of her brother 
 towards several gentlemen, the President included, and doubted 
 not the gay Julia had given ample occasion ; probably Henry had 
 been one of her casual admirers and come under the ban of 
 John's displeasure; this would account for his continued absence; 
 
250 THE STALWARTS: OR, 
 
 or possibly he wished to avoid herself, and thus the discovery of 
 their secret. Fortunately or otherw^ise, on the day of the en- 
 counter, at her brother's house, w^hen the servant came in view, 
 Henry and Lucille had taken the alarm and were standing one 
 on either side of the room, each cold as an icicle, entirely self- 
 possessed, their trouble safely concealed in their own hearts. 
 
 After that interview, Lucille was positive, whatever the 
 mystery influencing Henry's past and present conduct might be, 
 his heart was true to her, and that he would now respond to her 
 request, and try his best to induce the President to commute the 
 sentence of Jules Grieveau to imprisonment, and thus they, no 
 less than himself, might be saved from the disgrace of his ex- 
 ecution, as she had come to consider the world would estimate. 
 
 Until recently, his friends, absorbed in the anxiety and grief 
 of the situation, had given no thought as to how they were re- 
 garded in their relationship to the "vile assassin," their first aim 
 being to save Jules from a cruel and unjust fate. But during 
 the time intervening between his sentence and its execution, 
 they were considering the importance to themselves as well as 
 Jules, of averting it if possible. 
 
 They believed that time, the softener of all bitterness, would 
 in a measure, right the wrong by allowing the truth of his in- 
 sanity, and that history would excuse the deed in him, placing 
 the blame where it belonged; but remembering it were always 
 better to prevent, than to depend upon correcting an evil, they 
 redoubled every effort to avert the catastrophe. 
 
 With this view the following letter was sent to Henry Arm- 
 strong in the President's care, by Lucille, as her final attempt 
 in his behalf: 
 
 Washington, D. C, June 29th, 18 — , Thursday. 
 To the Hon. Henry Armstrong, 
 
 My Friend of the Olden-time: 
 
 With emotions inexpressible, an uncertainty bred from ig- 
 norance of your position, a mingling of doubt, chagrin and 
 sorrow, but withal of love, which, since our meeting at my 
 brother's I am free to confess is boundless and unutterable; I 
 address you, not in the capacity of any high place or influence 
 you may hold, but as a man wnth the sense of right, the feel- 
 ings of humanity common to good men ever3^where. 
 
 Not in my own behalf; too many years has self been cru- 
 cified — as between you and me all is mystery unfathomable — 
 sometime — somewhere — God grant it may be solved. 
 
 My request now is, for my dead sister's child, Jules Grie- 
 
H'lIO WERE TO BLAME. 251 
 
 veau, " the assassin." I yesterday visited him in his cell, or 
 rather outside the grated door, not being allowed to enter, but 
 kissing the lips dear to me, taking the warm hand in mine 
 through the bars. He was at times so violent they dared not 
 open the grating into the corridor. I was unprepared to find 
 him in this wild, crazy condition, for much of the time he is 
 quiet and reconciled to the inevitable in the strong belief that he 
 is " God's man," as he expresses it, and will be cared for either 
 here or in the Great Beyond, having no anxiety about himself, 
 it is immaterial to him whether he remains in his cell or goes 
 " to Paradise," as he says, of the two preferring Paradise. 
 
 But yesterday he was in terrible excitement over something 
 
 « the making of a will," said the confessor and the lawyer, 
 
 both employed as I am informed and believe by the administra- 
 tion to protect itself and its co-workers in iniquity from any 
 scheme Jules may at the last moment perhaps reveal, though 
 inadvertently, in his insane ravings, likely to criminate any other 
 than himself. Whatever he may know or imagine of concealed 
 villainy, he was yesterday pounding his cell door until it rang 
 even louder than his voice as he denounced the warden, the 
 President, the Stalwarts, in curses loud and long, saying God 
 would punish every one because they had gone back on him, 
 leaving him to suffer while they had " a good time outside," as 
 he made us understand, in spite of the confessor, who, inside the 
 cell, was vainly trying to quiet him with soft words and endear- 
 ments, his arms about his neck, so anxious w^as he tp keep back 
 any revelations. 
 
 I have tried to picture Jules to you as he appeared to 
 me, that you may more fully understand his case and condition 
 and where the real blame lies; and I entreat you to use your 
 utmost endeavor with the President for the commutation of his 
 sentence to imprisonment. What good to society or to him 
 can be accomplished by the execution of this insane man I am 
 at a loss to understand.* Why not stay the sentence procured 
 by an unjust and unfair trial, and appoint a competent commis- 
 sion to examine his case from a medical, not from a legal or 
 criminal standpoint? 
 
 Surely could the President be acquainted with the facts di- 
 vested of prejudice, he would interfere and the country be saved 
 the disgrace;' himself, the remorse of allowing the execution of 
 an irresponsible man. 
 
 A petition will be sent to the President to-day signed by 
 hundreds of the best people in the land, physicians, lawyers. 
 
252 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 men and women connected with educational institutions and 
 others, of refinement, intelligence and thought, who have gone 
 below the surface in this matter, forming just conclusions which 
 time will confirm. 
 
 You have no need to be ashamed of their company. Will 
 you for truth's sake, for justice's sake, for the old love's sake, 
 for 7ny sake^ if happily this can move you, join them, and in- 
 tercede with the President, whom I judge to be your friend, 
 when the intimacy places his private carriage at your disposal; 
 for the reprieve of one unjustly condemned? 
 
 Oh! Henry, my friend of years gone by, will you not use 
 your influence for the rescue of Myra's boy from his impend- 
 ing fate? 
 
 Think, Henry, of his sainted mother, you who knew her 
 pure and lovely life, remember the boy's unfortunate birth, en- 
 tailing years of suffering upon her, finally ending in her early 
 death; a birth proving only a calamity to himself and his 
 friends. 
 
 You who knew his ancestry, respected, upright, honored, 
 tell me, must all this be lost, and we as a family go down into 
 the depths of shame? 
 
 Oh! Henry, my beloved! for I will say this now, even 
 though you cruelly passed me by yesterday without the slightest 
 notice, for I know you love me still notwithstanding your strange 
 conduct; and I am sure you can help me in this dire distress. 
 Will you? This is my last appeal. W^ill you help me save 
 Myra's boy, Jules Grieveau? * 
 
 Should success attend your efforts, the undying gratitude of 
 poor Jules' friends will be yours, not least in value perhaps to 
 you may be that of Lucille. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 PLAYING FATHER CONFESSOR. ONE OF THE 306. 
 
 Lucille's letter was delivered immediately to Henry; the 
 petition he never saw. Somehow by the manipulation of the 
 same invisible power, before referred to, it remained tied up in 
 the White House "red tape," and never came to light until long 
 after Jules Grieveau had opened his eyes in Paradise. 
 
 The agony of mind and heart endured by Henry upon the 
 perusal of this letter, was beyond anything he had before un- 
 dergone; but for reasons already explained, he could not re- 
 spond, or help Jules in the least degree. An interference on his 
 part, or of anyone connected with the administration, would be 
 regarded by the people as corroborating the vague rumors of a 
 conspiracy still floating through the air, of which Jules was said 
 to be the unconscious, deluded tool ; they had not forgotten the 
 suffering and death of the martyred President, and could hardly 
 settle down to the belief that only crazy Jules Grieveau was to 
 blame. 
 
 And some unseen intelligence seemed to fear the friends of 
 Jules would claim after his death that he had imparted to them 
 more than they made public; and for this reason both were 
 closely watched. 
 
 The new President's most intimate counselor, a wealthy 
 minister and renowned politician, one of the 306, being sent to 
 sleep on a cot injront of the cell door ^ and for weeks before his 
 death watching "the assassin" night and day lest a word or 
 hint should escape of which they were not apprised. 
 
 His spiritual advisor, the confessor and politician mentioned, 
 taking care to gain the confidence of Jules, who, being of an 
 affectionate disposition, this was easily accomplished; by flattery 
 and sympathy he was encouraged to communicate, and every 
 word uttered, carefully noted by the devoted confessor; not less 
 devoted than was the dead President's most devoted doctor; 
 these two, by faithful service to the cause, certainly earning an 
 exceeding great reward in the interest of virtue or villainy, 
 which was it? 
 
 The transcript of his sayings which accumulated ^uring the 
 last weeks of Jules Grieveau's life were preserved by the con- 
 
254 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 fessor, he omitting any objectionable hints or passages, any al- 
 lusion to the Stalwarts; he intending, should the necessity arise, 
 to give all a thorough revision, publishing the revised work as 
 Jules' statement of all the facts in his possession, thus exonerat- 
 ing and protecting those who sent him to do the work. Jules 
 had invariably insisted when questioned that " The Deity and 
 me" had accomplished the deed, and denied any knowledge of 
 a conspiracy to save the men interested in the success of the 
 great frauds from prosecution and punishment, by " the remov- 
 al " of the President. Deceived, deluded tool, although he 
 knew not the hidden hand which was using him, often in his 
 rattling, crazy talk, he verified the adage, " Children and fools 
 tell the truth." Hence the precaution practiced as to his sayings, 
 writings and finally his execution, forever stilling his excited, 
 feverish brain and babbling tongue. 
 
 The unseen mtelligence engaged in manipulating his case, 
 also encouraged him in writing, for it would never do to let the 
 claim be made that he had been deprived of the privilege of 
 promulgating all he knew. Therefore a book was prepared 
 and published after careful supervision, Jules believing a second 
 trial would be granted and the sale of the book which was called 
 by the taking title " The Truth, and The Removal," would en- 
 able the payment of suitable counsel for his defense. Jules was 
 also given to understand that the notes and papers bequeathed 
 to the confessor by virtue of a bogus will, void and ofnon effect 
 wrung from him at the last moment — concurred in under pro- 
 test^ by his sister as his heir; for thus only could she secure a 
 final interview with her brother; should be used just as received 
 from him in compiling another book, to be a complete vindica- 
 tion of his act, and prove that he was inspired of God to " re- 
 move " the President, and thus prevent another civil war; which 
 he fully believed the truth, and expected his name after the 
 publication to " go thundering down the ages," not as Grieveau 
 the assassin^ but as Grieveau the Patriot and savior of 
 his Country, beside those of Washington and Lincoln and 
 Grant, as he classed them. 
 
 This project pleased him beyond measure, as he was ex- 
 tremely sensitive upon the point of his insanity, always resent- 
 ing the imputation angrily; calling the working of his mind 
 which culminated in the shooting of the President, inspiration. 
 But withal the rest of his strange make-up, possessing in some 
 directions the quick-witted cunning common to the insane, he 
 would sometimes admit, both in speaking and writing, that such 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 255 
 
 manifestations constituted i?isanity in thelazv^ '■^Abraham's insan- 
 ity ^^'' he would say, with his chuckling, crazy laugh. This was one 
 of the ideas which cropped out after the lawyer before referred 
 to as working with the confessor, both Covering up tracks, had 
 gotten into the case for the defense, gaining unbounded influ- 
 ence over Jules, and injecting this, with other like ideas, into his 
 crazy brain for a purpose. 
 
 He also bitterly resented the thonght that he could do so 
 dastardly a deed as murder a fellow-being in cold blood from 
 selfish motives. He said: " The President -was a good Jellowjie 
 never did ?ne any har?n^ but he was wrecking the Republi- 
 cafz party ^ and sure to bring on a civil war^ and the Deity put 
 it upon me to <- remove ' him, and I had to do it if I had been 
 shot dead the next minute. I prayed and prayed for weeks to 
 be let off — but the pressure of inspiration was on me, grinding, 
 grinding^ grinding me down, and I could not escape; I tell 
 you I had to do it^"* he would sometimes yell out in thundering 
 tones. " I would not go into that crov^d of people at that depot 
 and fire that shot again, not for a million dollars. I was never 
 so unhappy in my life (and I'd had trouble enough before), as 
 I was that spring when the Deity was putting it upon me to do 
 that thing; but when it was done I was all right, and told the 
 folks so — told them to go home and keep quiet; the Deity and 
 me had fixed it, and everything would be all right now and no 
 more trouble, and I was happy and contented after I gave my- 
 self up and the officers got me safely into my cell. I could 
 sleep then^ for I knew I'd done the Deity's work, and He'd 
 take care of it. I hadn't had a night's rest for weeks before I 
 fired that shot, and I tell you it seemed good to get into a quiet 
 place, with my mind easy and nothing to trouble me." [These, 
 and all quotations attributed to Jules Grievau, are my brother's 
 very words. F. M. N.] 
 
 Poor fellow, he did not understand or recognize the fact 
 that the grinding pressure was an influence from without, per- 
 sistently exerted with malicious intent, for weeks and months, 
 until the time came when for their ow^n protection, murder was 
 to be preferred to political suicide, and the hypnotized tool held 
 as though by an iron hand^ was at the right ?no?ne?zt (as he ex- 
 pressed it in his testimony upon his trial) "projected upon the 
 President," and the desired end accomplished by those who 
 willed the deed. 
 
 How shamefully his " spiritual advisor," the confessor, de- 
 ceived him in every particular, and especially as to the use he 
 
256 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 intended making of the knowledge gained through intimate as- 
 sociation with him and from his writings, happily Jules Grie- 
 veau never knew. 
 
 • Neither did Lucille know why Henry Armstrong failed to 
 answer her appealing letter, or did anyone know^ outside the 
 ring, why nothing more was heard about the petition to the 
 President after it went to the White House in the hand of the 
 same trusty and most devoted confessor; he having, with wily 
 tact, ingratiated himself with the friends of Jules, thereby learn- 
 ing all their plans, that he might frustrate them, they believing 
 from his manner of treating both Jules and themselves that he 
 was using his utmost endeavor trying to save the boy; mean- 
 while doing well his work of watching and revising, even to the 
 scaffold speech and prayer. 
 
 The queer, pathetic, crazy death-song written by Jules 
 Grieveau, early upon the morning of his execution not being 
 exempt from the pious confessor's sacreligious meddling; but 
 even so, the little story based upon the thought which came to 
 Jules with the first light, as in the early dawn of his last day 
 upon earth he read from a book of poems presented to him by 
 C. J. Griffith, of Baltimore, as inscribed therein, a hymn, which 
 his sister found marked in his own writing after his execution, 
 — namely: "/ shall be there soon^'' of which this is the first 
 verse : 
 
 Beyond the smiling and the weeping, 
 
 I shall be soon; 
 Beyond the waking and the sleeping, 
 Beyond the sowing and the reaping, 
 
 I shall be soon. 
 Love, rest, and home! 
 
 Sweet hope! 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 In conversation with his confessor, following the thought he 
 said, "Before to-morrow I shall enter the kingdom; it is the 
 Lord's will or it would not be permitted. / am satisfied^ it's 
 all right. As a little child I will go to Him, nothing doubting," 
 and this thought suggested Jules Grieveau's Death Song, "/ 
 Am Going To the LordyT 
 
 I am going to the Lordy, 
 
 I am so glad; 
 I am going to the Lordy, 
 
 I am so glad; 
 I am going to the Lordy, 
 Glory Hallelujah! Glory Hallelujahl 
 I am going to the Lordy. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 257 
 
 I love the Lordy with all my soul, 
 
 Glory Hallelujah! 
 And that is the reason I am going to the Lord, 
 
 Glory Hallelujah! Glory Hallelujah! 
 I am going to the Lord. 
 
 I saved my party and my land, 
 
 Glory Hallelujah! 
 But they have murdered me for it, 
 
 And that is the reason I am going to the Lordy. 
 Glory Hallelujah! Glory Hallelujah! 
 
 I am going to the Lordy. 
 
 I wonder what I will see 
 
 When I get to the Lordy, 
 I guess I will weep no more 
 
 When I get to the Lordy, 
 Glory Hallelujah! 
 
 I wonder what I will see 
 
 When I get to the Lordy, 
 I expect to see most splendid things, 
 
 Beyond all earthly conception, 
 When I am with the Lordy, 
 
 Glory Hallelujah! Glory Hallelujah! 
 
 / am with the Lord! 
 
 The thought and the pathos of it, even thougn marked un- 
 mistakably by msanity, must touch a tender, sympathetic chord 
 in every heart wherever it shall be read. 
 
258 ^^-^ STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 ready! glory! 
 
 The hours were rapidly passing, and now unfortunate Jules 
 Grieveau must ascend the scaffold. On the morrow, so soon, 
 was the execution of the unjust sentence to be consummated; 
 his friends were allowed a parting interview, and sadly, with 
 tear-dripping hearts, Lucille, Gertrude and the others, led by 
 one of the guards, passed through the large outer room where 
 had gathered a crowd of the curious, into the narrow way lead- 
 ing to the cell of the "assassin." 
 
 When they reached the door Jules was heard denouncing 
 the " accidental " President, whom he styled an " ingrate and a 
 villain," implying that he expected some favor from him, and 
 had been disappointed, saying that " Deity would curse him, 
 and every one concerned in this judicial murder. I spit upon 
 this death warrant, this execution," he said. 
 
 " You can hang me if you want to, you can put my 
 body in the ground, it is all you can do; but I'm God's man 
 and you'll find it out yet. God'll curse you for this, r?n not 
 afraid to die. Paradise's a great improvement on this place. 
 I'm God's man, he'll take care of me, I'd rather die like a man 
 than be shut up like a dog. Put me in the insane asylum! ha! 
 ha!" Again that laugh. " That crazy sister of mine is trying 
 to get the President to put me in a lunatic aslyum. Me, a luna- 
 tic! ha! ha! ha! Guess I know what I'm about. The Deity 
 and me's all right, but the President's a villain to keep me here 
 so long while he's having a good time outside, and he won't let 
 me go now when I've got my satchel all packed to go to Mar- 
 sailles, Consul to France, you know where our folks came from. 
 I wouldn't care only they promised me. I'd rather go to Para- 
 dise anyhow, but now my lady's waiting for me in New York 
 ready to take the steamer, you know — we were going to be 
 married," and he gave a significant look towards Gertrude and 
 Lucille who came up to the door just then. " But the President 
 won't let me go now, after all, he's an ingrate and a villain, he'd 
 never have been a President if it hadn't been for Deity and me, 
 and God will curse him for this, I'm God's man, and I'm all 
 right, but I'm sorry for the President, he'll get punished yet, 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 259 
 
 and you'll all find out that I'm right. And you're a villain too," 
 turning and noticing the warden. " You pretended you'd let 
 me go whan the time came, and now you won't; I don't care, 
 but I hate deception and trickery and meanness, it's nothing to 
 me though, what you do an}- of you, the Deity'U take care of 
 me, and take care of every one of you villains yet, too." 
 
 And as the crazy man talked loudly in his excited, wild, in- 
 coherent manner, he pounded the bars of his cell door until they 
 rattled and resounded through all the jail. 
 
 Lucille and'Gertrude spoke gently, lovingly, trying to quiet 
 him with pleasant allusions to a boquet they had before sent in, 
 by the warden's son John, and to his mother dwelling for long 
 years past in the Better Land. The confessor within the cell, 
 having every appearance of the watchful English mastiff, laid 
 his hand on Jules' shoulder, not roughly; and speaking kindly 
 the desired effect was produced, and he became for a few mo- 
 ments docile as a child with its mother, and turning, laid his 
 head affectionately on his keeper's neck, throwing his arms around 
 him, saying, "Yes, confessor, I'll be quiet; I'll do as you say, I 
 suppose it's all right, you know best; but don't forget the book 
 and the record, and my vindication, Grieveau the Patriot! 
 that's the way I want my name to go 'thundering down the 
 ages,' mind you don't forget, confessor, don't forget what you 
 promised me. The Deity'U get down on you if you do; I don't 
 care what they do with 7iie^ I'd rather go to Paradise anyhow; 
 there's nothing in this world that /want; they are all a mean 
 lot down here anyhow; the Stalwarts, the President and all of 
 you, all but the Lord's men. It's all right if the Deity wants 
 me to go. I'd rather sit on one of those thrones up there than 
 to be President, or get married and go to Marsailles. Paradise 
 is a great improvement on this place anyhow." 
 
 Trying to divert his attention from the theme which ex- 
 asperated him, the confessor reached for the flowers before men- 
 tioned, taking them from the ledge of the little window, 
 which had been bricked up to within four inches of the top for 
 protection his friends insisting, after one of his own guards 
 had fired at him, instigated by authorities. For in every w^ay had 
 the administration, ajter conviction^ tried to avoid hanging a 
 man they knew to be insane, and this by trickery; well knowing 
 a pardon or even reprieve to Grieveau, would be their own death 
 warrant, so suspicious were the people of the Stalwart Presi- 
 dent. Handing the boquet to Jules, he smelling it, said, "Yes 
 thev are verv nice; I haven't had any flowers before for a long 
 
260 THE STALWARTS; OR. 
 
 time; but I'll have all the flowers I want when I get there to- 
 moi'roiv.'''' Lucille catching this moment when he was calmer, 
 spoke again of his mother. "She'll be glad to see you Jules, 
 she's waiting for you up there, she's — " but a sob uncontrollable 
 broke the sentence. "Yes," he answered, not taking notice of 
 her grief, "I don't remember much about her, I suppose she 
 was a very nice woman. It's a long time since I've seen her, I 
 don't suppose she'll know me, but I shall be glad to make her 
 acquaintance again; I guess she'll be glad to see me too," be- 
 coming excited again. "I was all ready to go to*France, w^here 
 our folks came from you know, but the President won't let me 
 go, he's a villain. I don't care only the lady'll be disappointed 
 you know. I'd rather goto Paradise anyhow, for the confessor 
 here says the Deity wants me up there; but the Preside?it^s a 
 villainV screaming and yelling at the top of his voice, pound- 
 the cell door until it shook and rattled, he not minding the work 
 of the cruel iron on his bare fists. 
 
 At last Lucille and Gartrude could endure no more, and 
 Gertrude said, weeping, "Jules, you know I always loved you, 
 no matter what you did, will you kiss me good bye?" 
 
 "Kiss you! kiss you? Yes, kiss me through the bars; let it 
 go thundering down the ages that my sister kissed me through 
 the bars. Ha! ha! ha!" and the parting kiss and the crazy laugh 
 were inseparably intermingled. 
 
 Bidding him again a final farewell, in their hearts commend- 
 ing poor Jules Grieveau to the care of that God who looketh 
 upon the sparrow in tenderest compassion when it falleth, 
 his devoted friends, every one with streaming eyes, turned sadly 
 away ; believing that in the balance of the Most High, this man, 
 who to-morrow must meet an unjust fate, was of more account 
 than many sparrows, or than those who had ensnared him, men 
 sound of mind, black of heart, devising only evil; and in the 
 Great Hereafter each should find meted out to them equitable 
 judgment. 
 
 June 30th — on Friday, between the hours of twelve and 
 one, by the prison clock, Jules Grieveau, the unfortunate off- 
 spring of untoward circumstances, gave up his sad and un- 
 profitable earthly life. 
 
 When marching to the scaffold, impatient of delay, he 
 urged the escort and accompanying friends to greater speed, and 
 reaching the place of doom, after a short address to the crowd 
 assembled inside the jail, a prayer followed by the little hymn 
 "I Am Going to the Lordy," prepared in the early morning, 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 261. 
 
 all rendered in his own peculiar, insane fashion, pathetic yet 
 triumphant, dropping a white paper by preconcerted signal, 
 from his pinioned hands, at the same time shouting loud and 
 clear until the words rang through all the jail, "ready ! glory !" 
 In an instant, paijilessly^ zvithoict a struggle^ Jiardly a tremor 
 of the hody^ the sjDirit of Jules Grieveau had entered the realm 
 of the Unknown, where are gathered the sheaves of the Great 
 Harvest Home of Humanity; and not with more tenderness and 
 compassionate love, was he welcomed by the angel mother who 
 had bestowed his earth life, than by the Father God from whom 
 he now received immortality. His "Faith accounted unto Jiim 
 for righteousness." 
 
 In this belief, Lucille, Gertrude and all who, knowing his 
 sad history, were moved to pity and grief, were comforted, and 
 they said, "When our time comes may we be 'ready,' and assure 
 of reaching 'Glory.' " 
 
 Immediately after the barbarous execution, and while the 
 old guards who had discharged well their trust in conveying 
 crazy Jules to and fro from the prison van to the court room in 
 safety, thus earning the gratitude of his friends, were gathered 
 around the carriage in which w^ere Lucille, Gertrude and Aunt 
 Debby with Uncle Tut, offering their honest, sad-hearted con- 
 dolence to the women convulsed with grief, expressing admira- 
 tion of their brave steadfastness, wavering not to the bitter end; 
 inside the jail was the horror being finished. 
 
 At the time of his execution, the insanity of Tules being a 
 a mooted question, the parties involved in the dispute agreed 
 that an autopsy should be performed, examining into the actual 
 condition of that abnormally developed, unevenly balanced, 
 queerly constructed brain, which had worked out such dire re- 
 sults to himself and others. 
 
 Scarcely had the throbbing heart ceased to beat, the quiver- 
 ing nerves to vibrate through all their substance in the birth- 
 throes, as the liberated spirit took its flight, ere the work was 
 commenced, at the instigation of cruel, savage science, eager to 
 catch the ever eluding secret of the why, the wherefore, the 
 how, a soul can influence matter, working out the will, the 
 thought, the desire, through the delicate, complex, wondrously 
 formed tissues prepared for this end. So delicate, that however 
 little the space intervening between the state we call life, and 
 the state we call death, it seems to obliterate in greater or less 
 degree, according to the time elapsing, the connection known 
 to exist, the impression disappearing, so that it is impossi- 
 
.262 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 ble to determine, even by actual sight, by actual handling, 
 whether a given brain carried out a sane or an insane thought 
 or desire, unless the brain tissue is markedly diseased, the con- 
 struction of the organ decidedly abnormal and mal-formed. 
 
 Hence the haste, regarded by those not understanding its 
 importance unseemly, that this particular brain should be care- 
 fully, quickly and thoroughly examined, in the cause of science, 
 justice and mayhap vindication, either for the departed man, or 
 for those w^ho had defrauded him of bodily life. 
 
 The government having the powder, had appointed their own 
 experts for this work, and to make the report to the Press, so 
 that the people might as usual be deceived. 
 
 The friends of Jules Grieveau had done their utmost in se- 
 curing the attendance of two physicians at the autopsy, whom 
 they hoped would report truthfully, whatever they saw, though 
 not officially, and thus a record might be kept of the real facts, 
 available for future corroboration of their assertion in Jules' be- 
 half. One of these men, the confessor before mentioned as a 
 noted Divine, was also a most unscrupulous politician, being one 
 of the steadfast "306," and withal a medical professor, who, 
 exhibiting a wonderfully affectionate interest in the welfare of 
 Jules while living, they supposed could be trusted to act at least 
 not adversely to his cause after he was dead, but the outcome 
 proved him determined, as he stated to Gertrude, "To stand by 
 the President and the administration, even though the Heavens 
 fall." Faithful henchman. Time should hasten your reward. 
 
 The other physician upon whom these sorely tried ones de- 
 pended for achieving tardy justice, was the superintendent of 
 the Government Asylum for the Insane. A good and true man, 
 incorruptible, who having been requested officially at the be- 
 ginning, while the President still lived, and before the changed 
 administration came into power, to examine "the assassin," had 
 reported him "undoubtedly insane, a man who should be tried 
 by a lunacy commission, not as a murderer," and since watching 
 the case persistently, attending the trial from day to day for 
 his own edification, instead of changing, he had repeatedly 
 averred himself firmly grounded in his first opinion This 
 physician, more competent than any one accessible, had pur- 
 posely been left out of the afficial appointment for the autopsy, 
 and purposely kept from the witness-stand during the trial ; the 
 Government knowing his report adverse to the view of the 
 case taken by the prosecution, and that his testimony would be 
 the same. 
 
IV HO WERE TO BLAME. 263 
 
 The defense, because he was under Government pay and 
 patronage, not understanding or being acquainted with the man's 
 nobihty of nature, feared to call him, not daring to trust their 
 cause in his hand; herein was their most grievous mistake. At 
 the last moment his position was understood, but when sub- 
 poenaed in sur-rebuttal, his testimony with that of eight other 
 most important witnesse^s, was not admitted, being ruled out by 
 the judge; the only reason given being urged by the prosecu- 
 tion, " this case has already taken too much time^ and must be 
 closed.^'' 
 
 Now of his own accord this physician offered his services in 
 attending the autopsy of Jules Grieveau, which he did in the 
 capacity of a privileged spectator, afterwards reporting the facts 
 to the man's friends, and incorporating the result in a little book 
 issued soon after the execution, named " Two Hard Cases," 
 comparing this and a similar one coming under his observation. 
 In relating to Gertrude the sickening occurrence constituting the 
 finale of Jules Grieveau's tragic end, the good doctor, waxing 
 warm, said, " The moment the man's brain was stripped," using 
 medical parlance, " undoubted insanity caused by pre-natal and 
 subsequent conditions, was indicated ; but although every man 
 present knew this was true beyond question, the Government 
 will if possible prevent the knowledge coming to the people. 
 Their experts will defer the report for a month or two, fixing 
 up a scientific diagnosis for the newspapers w^hich no one but a 
 professional can understand, and conveying by the heading and 
 italicised phrases as they well know how, the idea to the minds 
 of the people, that ' the assassin ' was not crazy at all or irres- 
 ponsible, but only 'cranky,' whatever that may be. There never 
 was a surer instance of mal-formed, diseased brain; but what I 
 tell you these fellows will do," said the doctor, full of wrath. 
 And they did, everyone agreeing to promulgate what they knew 
 to be a falsehood. 
 
364 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 ON THE SCENT. CORRALING THE CONSPIRATORS. — FICTION. 
 
 As the vast crowd gathered around the jail, was dispersing, 
 who should Uncle Tut discover with those sharp, twinkling 
 eyes, but his old-time enemy, Silas Smith. 
 
 He was getting into a carriage accompanied by a gentleman, 
 and carried Jiimself with the pompous dignity, and magniftcent 
 ease, of a man to whom the world has been forced to bow by 
 his imperious will and undoubted ability; but Uncle Tuttv 
 Swanson, the detective, recognized him instantly. Aunt Debby 
 knew him too, although her eyes were still wet from weeping. 
 Astonished, Uncle Tut saw that the man with whom Silas rode 
 was none other than the elegant Cronksey, just returned from 
 a European tour, and who had been pointed out to him by the 
 Chief only that morning. 
 
 Uncle Tut and the Chief had by untiring diligence and en- 
 deavor, nearly succeeded in fastening the infamy of planning 
 and instigating, indirectly, the "removal" of the late President, 
 upon this man Cronksey and his co-workers, but there were 
 missing links, which hunt and ferret as they would, could not 
 be found, and without which the chain of evidence, even cir- 
 cumstantial, necsssary to convict, was incomplete. 
 
 Uncle Tut now said to himself, "Here's another of these vil- 
 lains; we will get them all yet." 
 
 Leaving Aunt Debby with the other women to the care of 
 Gertrude's husband, who had just come upon the scene, he fol- 
 lowed the carriage closely, impeded as it was by the crowd; 
 when coming accidently upon Chief Strong in his private con- 
 veyance. Uncle Tut tapped on the glass door, which quickly 
 opening, he entered and in a few words related what he had 
 seen and all he knew of Silas Smith. The two men drove close 
 in the rear of Cronksey and Smith among the people huddled 
 together, who with unappeased curiosity, elbowed and tiptoed 
 and pushed, straining every sense and energy, in the vain en- 
 deavor to compass still more of horror. 
 
 At last, leaving the rabble, the old jail full of tragedies, the 
 stretch of common, the Congressional Cemetery and the Park 
 behind them, driving on past the Capitol, down Pennsylvania 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 265 
 
 Avenue, the carriage containing the suspected parties persistently 
 dogged by the Chief of the Secret Service and his aid, though 
 eircuitously, finally drew up in front of one of the old historical 
 hotels of Washington, known as "Willard's." 
 
 The pursuers arriving just in time for Uncle Tut, alighting, 
 to overhear the order given Spideler, (who had been called out) 
 in a Idw tone at the carriage door, to meet them in an hour at 
 the house of General Gascoigne, bringing with him J. G. Bam- 
 boozle and the Doctor who had so devotedly attended the 
 wounded President. 
 
 They then drove to the Court House where Jules was tried 
 and sentenced, calling for the District Attorney who had pro- 
 secuted the case in so malicious and vindictive a manner, and 
 who had a few moments before returned from witnessing the 
 execution of his victim. He, much to the Chief's surprise, 
 brought with him one of the lawyers who had volunteered for 
 the defense during the latter part of Jules' trial, remaining as 
 devoted to his interest apparently, as had the confessor, or as had 
 the probing Doctor at the bedside of the martyred President. 
 Taking his seat beside the driver, the party proceeded to the 
 White House, when the lawyer hurriedly alighting, ascended 
 the broad steps, the carriage going round to the secluded side of 
 the mansion, the lawyer soon emerged, accompanied by a heavy 
 man with iron-grey hair and beard, carrying a cane upon which 
 he leaned for support as though feeble from age, assisting the 
 old man, both hastily entered the carriage. 
 
 The Chief and Uncle Tut following at a safe distance, were 
 again surprised to find themselves going in an opposite direction 
 from Gen. Gascoigne's house. 
 
 Uncle Tut was sure he heard aright, for he stood not a foot 
 away when Spideler received the order. At last, after making 
 several turns they came up to the house by an unfrequented 
 street, thus avoidingattention, and coming leisurely up the grand 
 driveway, entered from the front, while Chief Strong and Uncle 
 Tut, who were now in dead earnest, being sure they were on the 
 right scent, were coming from the back, in through the garden, 
 piloted by crazy Leonard, Uncle Tut making him understand 
 there was no nonsense about their errand. 
 
 Leonard would do anything L^ncle Tut bade him, and he 
 now conducted them to the library, or rather to a small closet 
 between this room and the one adjoining, which was a study or 
 office used by Gen. Gascoigne exclusively for private business. 
 This closet was situated at the end of a narrow hall, into which 
 
2'66 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 both apartments opened, leading into the garden, the shrubbery 
 and vines coming close up to the door. 
 
 The two men hastened along fearing to meet any one, and 
 "hurriedly entered the closet just as the others passed from the 
 front into the study, soon being joined by Spideler and the 
 two he had brought with him from the hotel. 
 
 Leonard remained with the men in the closet, for they dared 
 not trust him outside. He was well content to cuddle down in 
 the darkest corner and keep still, while Uncle Tut, to whom 
 he was much attached, was near. "Yes, Massa," he whispered, 
 "Leonard'll be a good boy — he'll keep still, hi! hi!" he giggled. 
 
 "Well ke-keep st-still then, wi-will you," stammered Uncle 
 Tut under his breath, while he alternately applied an eye or an 
 ear to an aperture no larger than a knitting needle, through 
 the wall dividing the closet from the study, by which observa- 
 tions had been taken before this, being prepared by Leonard at 
 Uncle Tut's suggestion, for if crazy, he understood enough to 
 take a hint when the service of a friend came into the account. 
 
 Many a disjointed bit of information had Leonard carried to 
 Uncie Tut and Aunt Debby from the house of Gen. Gascoigne, 
 as well as from poor Jules, who had been regularly supplied 
 from his Uncle John's kitchen, with comfortable meals, carried 
 every day across the common by Leonard, m one of the tin cup- 
 boards contrived for transporting hot meals by the cooks in 
 Washington, where so many transients dwell in rooms, their 
 food served by colored men. 
 
 This privilege Gen. John A. Gascoigne insisted upon, for 
 himself and for his sister's child, from the authorities, for, 
 although pretending to believe with the populace, that Jules was 
 responsible for his act even if a "crank," and deserved at least 
 some punishment, he did not propose to have him ill-used or 
 poorly fed. His pretense as to his nephew's responsibility was 
 of course assumed to shield himself and others from the com- 
 plications and dilemmas, which they could not otherwise escape; 
 but he never dreamed his luke-warmness in the defense, or 
 rather refusal to defend him, would do more perhaps than any 
 one thing to help along the final catastrophe. Gen. Gascoigne 
 up to the last moment, never believed they would dare execute 
 his crazy nephew, any more than he and the others associated 
 in the great frauds, the scope and purport of which they did 
 not understand, finding themselves forced to seek shelter from 
 the President, who prying into hidden schemes, was crowding 
 them from their holes — dreamed, when they placed their des- 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 267 
 
 Derate case in the hands of the great / am, the unconquerable 
 and unscrupulous Cronksey, that he would resort to measures 
 resulting in assassination. 
 
 They learned, when too late, the danger of trusting vital 
 matters to the sole management of any uninterested person, 
 either tried friend, spiritual advisor or legal counselor. Each 
 must give their special business careful attention if they would 
 escape' disaster. By shirking responsibilities, we are often 
 obliged in the end to shoulder greater. This is true in a paramount 
 degree of leaving affairs entirely to the option of those long 
 and successfully engaged in the legal profession, the first maxim 
 instilled into the aspirant's mind being succeed, no matter by 
 what means, only so that you succeed and accomplish the end 
 sought. 
 
 Many a noted lawyer looking at his processes from the stand- 
 point simply of a man!^ would shudder, in contemplating his own 
 inhumanities . Why is this ? Why have these things come to be ? 
 Because the technicalities of law, or rather of legal decisions, 
 and the practice of the courts all over Christendom, have so 
 warped and corrupted the channels through which justice should 
 come to us, that the side possessing most power, either of mind, 
 ley or influence, wmII, as a rule, win without regarding 
 
 mon( 
 
 equity. 
 
 Hence, those involved in law from any cause must employ 
 such means as are at command, or they will likely suffer whether^ 
 in the wrong or in the right. And likewise a good lawyer' 
 taking cases expecting to carry them through to a successful 
 issue, when his mettle is up, "'scruples at nothing, and is some- 
 times forced by circumstances to go further than he first in- 
 tended. 1 . r- 
 
 To return, our party was now snugly ensconced in Oen. 
 Gascoigne's private office; after a hearty hand-shaking and an 
 introdu^ction or two, for all had not before met, while the gen- 
 tlemen \vere disposing themselves about the room, mine host 
 unlocked a little closet built in the end of the massive fireplace, 
 where were stored choice wines and cigars, which, offering to his 
 guests, they proceeded to enjoy themselves, at the same time 
 conferring together. 
 
 An incident here occurred which attracted ths attention of 
 the two detectives, each watching through his own loop hole, 
 for they had made a second, with the strong wire left on the 
 floor by Leonard after the previous operation. The sight which 
 met their astonished gaze was the performance of the gentle- 
 
268 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 man who had entered the carriage at the White House, deHb- 
 erately laying aside his cane and the heavy over-coat, which 
 gave him the figure of a portly old man, carefully removing 
 his long grey beard, his mustache of the same color, though 
 not so white, also his iron grey hair, straightening himself and 
 at the same time his beautiful brown mustache, the man was 
 seen to be none other than the elegant Gerald A.Johnson, the 
 "accidental" President of the United States. 
 
 No one present exhibited the least surprise, if we except Si- 
 las Smith, who, when the President was removing his disguise, 
 first eyed him curiously, then enquiringly, and at last knowingly^ 
 with a gleam of malicious hatred and sullen vengeance flashing 
 from his snakey little eyes. 
 
 Aside from this episode, which perhaps boded some un- 
 pleasantness, but was unnoticed even by the President at first, 
 the party of jolly fellows seemed very comfortable sipping their 
 wine and inhaling their fragrant cigars, chatting the while 
 earnestly and cheerfully, with now and then a joke. 
 
 Comfortable? Well, yes, almost comfortable, even gay, 
 notwithstanding several of them had so lately witnessed the ex- 
 ecution of poor Jules Grieveau whom every one of them knew 
 to be irresponsible and insane, long before he fired the fatal shot 
 upon the President; and every one of them knew now, if they 
 did not then, %vhy he did it. Every one of these men was 
 aware the deed had resulted in shielding them from harm; pol- 
 iticians, capitalists, lawyers, doctors, plebians and aristocrats 
 who had become involved in the "great scheme" which had 
 been contrived to defraud the government, which they now 
 understood the dead President had been determined to investi- 
 gate, and to punish the wrong doers whether friends or foes, 
 and they were also certain that nothing short of his "removal" 
 had saved them. 
 
 They wxre before this almost sure in their own minds, 
 though they dare not say it, w^io had planned the dreadful al- 
 ternative for their protection; who it was had carried the poison 
 of assassination, and deftly but surely inoculated the crazy brain 
 of Jules Grieveau with the terrible inspiration which ripening 
 and bursting forth, had horrified and sickened the whole world 
 by the vile abomination. 
 
 But now they were almost comfortable, although they could 
 hardly forget so soon, that at the last moment the poor fellow, 
 by an insane intuition, had divined their treachery and denounced 
 as villains and ingrates those who had deceived him, declaring 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 269 
 
 that Deity would curse them for their cruel treatment of "God's 
 man," curse every one. 
 
 Yes, almost comfortable, though in their ears was still ring- 
 ing loud and clear, Jules Grieveau's brave death cry, "Ready! 
 Glory!" Quite well satisfied; they knew no pains had been 
 spared by the confessor and the devoted lawyer (who both at- 
 tended him at the last), in keeping the doomed man quiet, and 
 preventing the revelation of any knowledge he might possibly 
 have acquired, of the real benefit resulting to those engaged in 
 the "great frauds" by the "removal" of the President. 
 
 He had been at their headquarters before the election, and 
 around the hotels where they congregated, even in their private 
 rooms at hotels and boarding houses, both in New York and 
 Washington, and just how much Jules had picked up, they were 
 in ignorance; but they dared not ribk any future disclosure. 
 
 They were sure no one had voluntarily trusted the strange, 
 erratic man with momentous secrets, but after firing upon the 
 martyred President, Jules Grieveau had also sent a fatal shot 
 into their camp, when he had shouted, "I am a Stalwart of the 
 Stalwarts." From that moment every Stalwart involved sought 
 only safety for himself, and Jules Grieveau's fate was sealed. 
 He had also said, "My friend Johnson will now be President;" 
 and continuing with an impressive gesture, "keep quiet, friends, 
 keep quiet, it's all right, the Deity and me's fixed it, there won't 
 be any war, you can all go home now, I'm going to the jail un- 
 til the excitement cools down; you'll all understand it when you 
 see my account of the affair in the morning papers," for he had 
 left his documents with the Washington agent of a Chicago 
 Stalwart organ. ''Goodbye, friends, till I see you again, you'll 
 understand my motives then, they are for your good, my friends, 
 good bye," as the ofiicers hurried him away from the gathering 
 and infuriated mob; he, after the climax and achievement of 
 his insane impulse, the calmest man among them. 
 
 This assumption that the leaders of the Stalwart clique, and 
 the man who afterwards became the "accidental" President, were 
 his friends, and would save him in the end, (an assertion which 
 his real friends could not restrain him from reiterating, for they 
 knew it would hang him, and it did,) resounded through all the 
 land, arousing in the popular mind *a suspicion of the truths 
 causing the nerves of every one of the infamous crew to tingle 
 and vibrate with fear. An assumption resulting on his part, 
 partly peihaps from insane egotism, and Spideler's indiscriminate 
 pandering to his vanity; a fear causing those who were so des- 
 
27 J THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 perately trying to cover their tracks, to act in a manner which 
 only confirmed the suspicion; showing by the vindictive, unjust 
 prosecution and execution of their "scape-goat," that they dared 
 not let him live; they knowing that a hint of any of the real 
 facts in the case, had he discovered them, would be fatal. 
 
 But now yules Grieveau was actually dead^ his white lips 
 forever sealed beyond any possibility of divulgement, and if the 
 people, the only power feared by politicians in this Republican 
 land, could be made to believe that the man who was undoubt- 
 edly insane, and from his peculiar make up and condition, exactly 
 suited for their use, was, after all, a responsible, sane villain, who 
 had himself alone planned and executed the deed, the entire 
 work undertaken might be said to have been successfully com- 
 pleted. Hence, the care taken at the autopsy to cover up the 
 truth; and they were now assembled at the house of Gen. John 
 A. Gascoigne, in spite of his protest (for they had him in their 
 power) for the purpose of hearing the report of the confessor, 
 momentarily expected ; and if necessary that any change should be 
 made in their program, after the result of the examination of the 
 brain and other visera of Jules Grieveau, the "assassin" was 
 known, they would then perfect their final plans. 
 
 Yes, these men were really quite easy and comfortable at 
 last over the situation, but yet needed a few bottles of choice 
 wine, and a mild cigar or two, enabling them to overcome the 
 intense heat liable to occur in Washington the latter part of 
 June, also the nervous strain and depression to which each had 
 been for so long a time subjected. During the year past all had 
 been annoyed, especially the President, by a series of unpleasant 
 events, and as they sat smoking and drinking, waiting the arriv- 
 al of the Confessor, they complacently planned how the re- 
 mainder of thesummer should be spent now that the business of 
 changing the administration, (though they had got no further,) 
 and the final disposal of poor Jules Grieveau had been accom- 
 plished ; and they decided upon giving themselves a long holiday ; 
 for the present dropping all ambitious schemes. 
 
 Cronksey and Smith, accompanied by Spideler, were to 
 start immediately upon a European tour; the doctor thought 
 likely he would soon follow them. 
 
 While Jules lay in prison, Cronksey and Smith had remained 
 most of the time in London, they getting away on Smith's fast 
 yacht immediately after the assassination, deeming a foreign 
 climate advisable, should by any accident a denouement occur. 
 Not having been in Washington since, until now, it chanced that 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 271 
 
 Smith never had seen the " accidental " President until the 
 meeting at Gen. Gascoigne's. All he knew of him was the in- 
 formation volunteered by Cronksey, that he " Was an old friend 
 who could be trusted, that he had spent several years in Aus- 
 tralia, returning long enough before the election to be eligible 
 for nomination to the vice-Presidency." 
 
 The President was evidently annoyed and depressed, even 
 more so than Gen. Gascoigne, the uncle of Jules, and he plainly 
 betrayed his deep trouble, for he was very sad at the outcome 
 of events. Neither entered freely into the conversation, 
 although the President expressed a desire to visit the Rocky 
 Mountains, through which he had passed many years ago, he 
 said, "In mid-winter when the 'California fever' was first 
 raging, and it would require more gold than any mine contains 
 to induce me again to undertake the same experience; but I am 
 told the trip is delightful in summer." At this. Smith, who had 
 from the time the disguise was removed, been casting upon him 
 occasional sharp glances, now eyed the President intently, dis- 
 turbing him not a little. 
 
 The President knew very well who Silas Smith was, and 
 when they had met; but hoped Smith would not recognize him. 
 Now he began to fear he had or would. 
 
 This contingency was talked over between Cronksey and 
 himself, when the conference at Gen. Gascoigne's had been de- 
 cided upon, and, as many times before, he yielded his own judg- 
 ment to the other's importunity, consenting to risk the en- 
 counter. 
 
 The worst that could happen he thought would be a dis- 
 covery of the man supposed to be Gerald A. Johnson as none 
 other than Henry Armstrong; and Lucille, her brother, Gen. 
 Gascoigne, and the rest might find out the deception practiced, 
 but he hoped by some explanation as to the changed name con- 
 nected with the inheritance of property to delay further investi- 
 gation for a time at least. 
 
 Cronksey had somehow learned that Silas Smith was in 
 possession of the fact of the murder of his relative Wm. Smith, 
 years before in the " Rockies," and that a man by name Henry 
 Armstrong, had taken charge of his will and effects, also as- 
 suming his name, but he did not know that against this man 
 Smith held an old grudge, even more personal. Of this cir- 
 cumstance Henry was cognizant though not of the other, fearing 
 only should his identity becomes known, a murderous attack 
 from Silas Smith, but not the disclosure of his whole secret; 
 
272 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 Cronksej deeming it inexpedient to inform Henry of what he 
 had ascertained, and as to this part of the difficulty Henry re- 
 mained ignorant. 
 
 Both trusted Smith would not recognize his enemy in the 
 President, and here they rested, Cronksey hoping in any event 
 he would estimate the great secret they were now engaged in 
 hiding as of immeasurable importance, compared with any mere- 
 ly personal spite. Even Cronksey failed to realize the hoggish, 
 wolfish nature of the man, and reasoned that now they were 
 involved in a scheme requiring concert of action for self-pro- 
 tection, it did not much matter if he knew the whole affair with 
 every complication; not one of the three, any more than did the 
 others assembled, guessing the ramifications of the net in which 
 they were entangled, or what the result would be when it began 
 to unravel. 
 
 They had been so closely w^atched since the assassination, 
 the President, even before the change of administration being 
 subject to an irksome surveillance, which had not yet decreased 
 on the part of the ever suspicious people, with the result, that 
 neither himself. Gen. John A. Gascoigne or the doctor who at- 
 tended the dead President, had dared absent themselves from 
 the capitol lest an intention of escaping detection should be at- 
 tributed as the motive; and Cronksey, Smith and Spideler, even 
 more certainly marked than they, had cautiously refrained from 
 approaching the dangerous district. 
 
 During all the months of the martyred Presidents suffering, 
 ending in his death and a changed administration, while Jules 
 Grieveau, the crazy fool who persisted in saying too much^ lay 
 in prison waiting upon his doom, these men wisely kept apart, 
 not risking close proximity by venturing a conference; mes- 
 sages sent by inconsequential persons who being in the " ring " 
 could be trusted from self interest; and the cypher dispatch, 
 being their " denier resort." But on this memorable day so 
 many visitors congregating in Washington, these wary schemers 
 concluded upon meeting quietly as possible immediately after 
 the execution of the assassin, at the house of Gen. Gascoigne, 
 which being situated in a retired quarter, they hoped to elude 
 notice, as the mind of the public, especially of the omnipresent 
 reporter and news-monger was sure to be fully occupied. 
 These starvelings, who, vulture like, subsist by devouring the 
 vitals of those unfortunates upon whom they light, having this 
 day for once, their maws, their heads and their hearts (if they 
 have any) and eyes and ears, and hands full ; obviating the neces- 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 273 
 
 sity of breaking into any private residence, or prying open sacred 
 secrets, or defaming anybody's character, breaking hearts and 
 wrecking Hves, in the ravenous hunt for items. 
 
 As the whole infamous business was at last finished, except 
 the sham trial soon to follow of those who had been engaged 
 in the great frauds, and which could now be easily managed 
 by placing a relative of the devoted Doctor in charge, and who 
 had purposely been kept in the back-ground for this service, to 
 be associated at the proper time with the ostensible prosecutor 
 for the government, by collusion, thus saving them, every one; 
 certainly in view of all that had passed, no less than because of 
 liabilities in the future, a careful consultation was advisable at 
 this juncture, they must plan for a conclusive, final showing in 
 their interest, to the people, providing for every contingency, 
 and agree upon a satisfactory settlement among themselves, each 
 hereafter going his own way, carrying a terrible secret, only 
 partly understood, certainly, undivulged to the end of his career, 
 if happily conscience should not too hardly smite them, and re- 
 morse wring from some a confession. 
 
 Surely, sober deliberation was necessary, but before they 
 were aware, important issues were foolishly and irretrievably 
 betrayed by weakly yielding to the demoralization of the mock- 
 ing wine. 
 
 Only Silas Smith and the President realized the need of 
 moderation; Silas was on the scent of an enemy, and the Presi- 
 dent felt himself watched, and he knew he must be cautious. 
 However, the tipsy crew waited patiently for the arrival of the 
 confessor. 
 
 18 
 
274 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE CONSPIRATORS IN CONFERENCE. — MORE OF FICTION. 
 
 On the way from Pennyslvania Avenue, across to the upper 
 street, upon which was situated the White House, as the Presi- 
 dent's mansion is styled, and also at the further end of which, 
 quite in the suburbs, Gen. Gascoigne resided; the Chief had 
 stopped at the Metropolitan Police Headquarters, and given an 
 order for a squad of picked men to surround the house of Gen. 
 Gascoigne, as secretly as possible, so sure were both himself 
 and Uncle Tut that they should now bag the game for which 
 they had so long been on the hunt. 
 
 To Uncle Tut the fact that Siias Smith was around, gave 
 conclusive evidence that some desperate villainy was being, or 
 had been concocted. 
 
 In all their searching for the hidden, mysterious WHY, of the 
 terrible deed which had been committed, and of the subsequent 
 conduct of those who had been placed in power by the change 
 it had wrought, they had not until now encountered him, or 
 mistrusted any connection on his part in the work. 
 
 They knew of Smith's prominence in financial matters per- 
 taining to the government, his gigantic speculations, rather 
 frauds, and that occasionally in his interest apparently, some 
 mysterious power manipulated public opinion at will, through 
 the medium of the press associations; and although they had 
 recognized a similar influence, working adversely to Jules, both 
 before, during and after his trial, from the fact of Smith being 
 much of the time in London, choosing that citadel of capitalists 
 as a center of operations for his schemes, they had not connected 
 him in their minds with the trouble, supposing the enemy had 
 his lair nearer home among the political tricksters with which 
 this country is infested. 
 
 But now that he had been discovered in the intimate com- 
 panionship of one whom they could almost prove to have been 
 the prime mover of the plot, they wondered at their own stupid- 
 ity in not before suspecting his agency, at least in the control of 
 telegraphic matter, as it was w^ell understood he held a monopoly 
 of the lines of communicatioTi throughout the United States. 
 
 Now that their attention was directed to him, they were quite 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 275 
 
 sure his personality had permeated the whole diabolical mystery 
 from the beginning. 
 
 Just here, for a moment, the Chief and Uncle Tut were di- 
 verted from their observation of the men in the little study, by 
 the arrival of Lucille, Gertrude, Aunt Debby and Gertrude's 
 husband, in the private carriage of Mistress Julia Gascoigne, 
 which she had kindly sent that morning to take them to the 
 jail, as they insisted upon being as near as possible to poor Jules, 
 in his trouble at the last. His Aunt Julia had done all she dared 
 from the first, all she could, without compromising her husband 
 in the position he had as-^^umed. 
 
 Driving in through the garden, the ordinary entrance for the 
 family, the party were welcomed in silent grief by Julia, and 
 taken directly to the library where they were to rest a short 
 time for condolence and sympathy before retiring to the rooms 
 which Julia had begged that Lucille and Gertrude should oc- 
 cupy during the remainder of their sojourn in Washington, 
 
 * Little Elsie came rushing in from the nursery where she had 
 been left with the children, (upon hearing her dear mamma had 
 arrived) and throwmg her arms about the neck of one and 
 then another, tried to comfort with her childish philosophy. 
 "Don't cry Mamma, Uncle Jules gone straight to Heaven, sure, 
 he said the Lord would take care of him, and that he'd punish 
 those naughty men, don't cry, he didn't want to stay here, he 
 wanted to go to the 'Lordy,' don't cry," and the little girl patted 
 and stroked and kissed their wet faces, until the weeping eyes 
 'were finally dried, and they could talk composedly, of the poor 
 dead boy's life, of his mother and dear old Grandpa Gascoigne, 
 both gone so many years. Happy Jules had met them in the 
 Better Land, seen them face to face, even while those who loved 
 him for their sakes, were grieving over his sad fate. 
 
 Said Aunt Debby, who w^as an old woman now, " I declare 
 to it, Gertrude, if that Elsie o' yourn ain't the complete picture 
 of yourself when you were her age, just the same golden hair, 
 and the same eyes; wouldn't good Dr. Gascoigne have doted on 
 the little pet? Come here, honey," taking the child on her lap, 
 " tell me about your kittens, I know you've got at least a dozen, 
 you wouldn't be your mother's girl if you haven't, you must 
 come over and see my 'Tommy,' he beats any cat you ever did 
 see." And thus, so soon was the trouble passing out of mind 
 to live only in memory. 
 
 The eyes and ears of the Chief and Uncle Tut were again 
 intently fixed upon the men in the study; the Confessor had ar- 
 
276 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 rived, and gathering around him they listened to the report of 
 the autopsy just completed at the jail. 
 
 The wine, too, was beginning to make them talk freely, and 
 it was of the utmost importance to know what they were saying. 
 
 The Confessor reported that the uncovering of the brain 
 had shown one side much larger than the other, strangely de- 
 veloped and out of shape, that the substance itself had under- 
 gone changes indicating disease, especially the covering show- 
 ing chronic inflammation, the autopsy proving conclusively mal- 
 formation at birth, which could only have resulted in insanity; 
 that the man had been more or less insane all his life because 
 of pre-natal conditions. 
 
 The autop.sy was carried even further at the insistence of 
 the superintendent of the asylum, at Washington, who as the 
 Confessor pettishly said, " Sat watching us like an old grey 
 eagle ready to pounce down at the least provocation. I tried to 
 stand so he could not see, but he deliberately left his position 
 and came over examining everything carefully, crowding hirn- 
 self in without invitation. We dared not remonstrate, for the 
 old Doctor is independently rich, and cares neither for Govern- 
 ment patronage, the criticism of the Press or the snubs of his 
 fellow professionals when he gets on a scent. If you'll believe 
 it, he deliberately declared the man unmistakably insane, and 
 towering his full height, his keen eagle eyes fairly piercing us 
 through, he turned full upon us and said, ' Gentlemen, every 
 one of you know that man to have been from birth tending to 
 incurable insanity. Now, gentlemen, let us finish this work 
 properly, that there may be no question as to this fact; examine 
 his heart and lungs,' actually directing the remaining examina- 
 tion himself, when the President had requested me to act in 
 special capacity for his protection, though I was not, of course, 
 officially appointed; that would not have answered the purpose. 
 Grieveau's friends might have insisted upon some other phys- 
 ician being present had they suspected me. 
 
 " But what could I do? The old doctor would have floored 
 me in a minute had I remonstrated, and all the others too; he's 
 a giant in size and a terror in strength when he starts in. We 
 just had to let him have his own way. He found the heart en- 
 larged, the lungs hepatized and with tubercular deposit, the 
 spleen atrophied; thus contradicting the testimony of our ex- 
 perts on the trial, who swore every one that the man was per- 
 fectly healthy. Of course all this must in some way be kept 
 from the people. It will never do to let them know^ we have 
 
M^HO WERE TO BLAME. 277 
 
 hung a crazy man after all. They'll think there is something 
 wrong then, sure. I told them all to keep still and mysterious, 
 and use some confoundedly long, unknowable, supposed to be 
 medical term, in talking to the reporters who'll flock around us, 
 and tell them we'd give them a written report in a few days. 
 In the meantime we can contrive something among us which 
 even the most learned professor of medicine will be mixed up 
 and puzzled over, and which no ordmary reader can interpret, 
 and we'll head the paper, " The Assassin was sane^'' and that'll 
 end the whole disagreeable business, thank the Lord. The 
 worst of it is that old grey eagle threatens to write a book giv- 
 ing an account of ' The Trial and the Autopsy^ the truth as 
 I saw it^ he will call it, and if he does all our fine plans will be 
 knocked into ' pi ;' but it will take some time to get out a book^ 
 we may all be dead before then. If he'll only keep still and 
 write his book we're safe enough; the people will forget about 
 this business soon and be after some other craze.'* 
 
 And thus these villains consoled themselves. 
 
 Spideler, not being used to high living, as it would unfit him 
 for his master's service, was beginning to talk more than Cronk- 
 sey cared to hear, but he found it impossible to control him. 
 
 Coming up familiarly to the elegant Cronksey, Spideler, 
 slapping him on the shoulder, broke out with, " I say, Cronk- 
 sey, we did a slick job that time, didn't we? About the best, 
 hey?" 
 
 Cronksey winced visibly, but dared not repulse the disgust- 
 ing little imp in his present mood, too many of his secrets 
 were stowed away in that round, shining pate. 
 
 " I sa-ay, Cronksey," holding on by the lapel ot his mas- 
 ter's immaculate broadcloth, staggering and stammering drunk, 
 *' I sa-ay, Cronksey, you ought to pl-plank hie-down an-hic- 
 nother ten thousand for-hic-me on that. Everything-hic-all 
 right and safe now-hic-mum's an-hic-oyster. He'll never sq- 
 hic-squeal now. Oh! no, he'll never sq-hic-squeal now, the 
 doctors have been-hic-clean through-hic-that crooked head-hie 
 -of his, you bet he'll never squeal-hic-now. I say, Cronksey, gi- 
 hic-give me your check while the-hic-thing's fresh-hic-strike 
 while the-hic-iron's hot, is my motto; de-hic-delay's dan-hic- 
 dangerous, dang it, gi-hic-give me-hic-your check-hic-I say, or 
 hic-PU squeal-hic-my-hic-self, I will, dang you." 
 
 And to quiet the man, Cronksey took out his check-book, 
 tearing a check off the stub, handing it to Spideler. The man, 
 though drunk, knew more than Cronksey thought he did, and 
 
278 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 taking the check to the window, scanned it closely, leaning- 
 against the casing for support; looking where the signature 
 should be, and not finding the name, Spideler called angrily to 
 Cronksey with an oath to come over by the window, in front of 
 which the writing table stood and sign the check. 
 
 Hoping to appease the irate man, Cronksey crossed over to 
 the table, intending if necessary to sign the paper, but before 
 he could do so, his hand was arrested, his eye riveted — paralyzed 
 by a most appalling sight. * * * 
 
 While this scene was transpiring between Spideler and 
 Cronksey, Silas Smith was tantalizing the President to the 
 point of torture. 
 
 He would commence a conversation leading by slow degrees 
 up to the night of the fight at the claim, and the President as 
 persistently, would politely but decisively, by his answers lead 
 away from it; Silas, the while eyeing him as a cat when she 
 has the rat in her power, or as a tiger toying with its prey be- 
 fore making the final spring. 
 
 With Silas Smith the desire to satisfy a bloodthirsty, cruel 
 spite, was stronger than the instinct of self-preservation. He 
 would have visited vengeance upon this man who had so nearly 
 been his death that night of the desperate fight years ago, even 
 if himself sure to be killed in the encounter. 
 
 Revenge was sweeter to him than aught that life contained, 
 even than life itself. 
 
 After the report of the Confessor had been listened to, and 
 during the lull in the proceedings, each waiting for some one 
 else to make a suggestion as to the future conduct of those 
 present. Gen. Gascoigne and the Confessor, not noticing the 
 others, were talking soberly and sadly together of poor Jules' 
 last hours, his implicit faith in Deity and his own inspiration, 
 amounting to an insane delusion; his loving confidence in his 
 Confessor, who said *' I tell you. General, I really became at- 
 tached to your crazy nephew, and I can't have the heart to deny 
 his last and constant request, that I should embody all his writ- 
 ings and sayings in a book, which he imagined would set 
 him right *in history,' but I'll have to go over them all 
 carefully, and expunge anything detrimental, (to the book I 
 mean, of course,)" said the Confessor, giving Uncle John a 
 knowing look which they both evidently understood, "for we 
 must stand by the cause and the Administration if the Heavens 
 fall. After a while when I have time, I'll take the papers he 
 left, which you know belong to me under the will signed and 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 279 
 
 corroborated by yourself and sister, (another exchange of 
 glances) ''down to Florida, they'll be safe there on my planta- 
 tion, and I can look them over and prepare the book at my 
 leisure." 
 
 " All right, all right," answered Gen. Gascoigne. " I leave 
 all these matters to you," only too glad was he to shirk the re- 
 sponsibility and dismiss all thought of his dead sister's wronged 
 child from his mind. Surely was he in pitiable trouble. 
 
 Still another conversation was going on between the two 
 lawyers and the doctor, who did so much of that cruel probing 
 after the bullet had lain undisturbed, until nothing could bene- 
 fit the sick man. 
 
 " I suppose, Bloaty," said the doctor, " there'll be no slip 
 about my getting that twenty-five thousand dollars for my 
 services, just as soon as Congress convenes in the fall? 
 If I can be sure of it, some of my friends w^ill advance $5,000 
 or so and I'll be off to Europe with Cronksey and Smith, for 
 I'm sadly in need of rest. Fact is I am completely exhausted. 
 I'd no idea the President would hold out as he did, it was won- 
 derful the grip that man had on life. I tell you his constitution 
 and endurance were astonishing; nothing but the poison of that 
 bullet could have done the job. Poor fellow, how^ he suffered. I 
 did all I could to save him after I came to know his noble nature, 
 but the business was done before the first twenty-four hours had 
 passed, and no hope for him then. I wouldn't undertake another 
 such case for one hundred thousand dollars, no, not for a 
 million! It was terrible, terrible." And the worn and de- 
 bilitated doctor wiped his smooth, intellectual brow with a 
 sky-blue silk handkerchief and sighed. 
 
 And the pompous little attorney, who prided himself upon 
 his remarkable physical likeness to the great Napoleon, ans- 
 wered v^^ithout hesitation, " Certainly you'll get it according to 
 understanding. The people surely will not refuse to requite 
 suitably the devoted physician of their dead President. Leave 
 that all to me, I'll see it through when Congress meets and send 
 you the check for the amount if you'll leave your address with 
 colored Sam my factotum. Sam and I'll attend to it. You 
 needn't delay a day on account of the money, you'll be sure to 
 get it, all in good time." 
 
 But although the pompous, self-suflicient little bloat, nothing 
 doubted of his own ability to compass an end, some people 
 remarked ivhen Congress met^ that it required rather more than 
 one little man, even possessed of a factotum to run the whole 
 
280 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 country^ and that the people had something to say about paying 
 the worthy doctor's Httle bill; at any rate in the manner he 
 wished and expected, but he received his pay in the end surely. 
 
 " And," chimed in the disinherited lawyer, who had been 
 so ready with his services on the defence, " how about my fees, 
 Bloaty?" 
 
 " You mustn't forget me. I'm not sure but those devoted 
 friends of the 'vile assassin' would have gotten him into an 
 asylum after all, at the very last, if it hadn't been for me and 
 the Confessor there, we both worked hard that last week I can 
 tell you. That little sister of his had secured a string of names 
 a yard and more long, signed to a petition for the President, 
 asking him to commute the sentence to life imprisonment, life 
 imprisonment, ha! ha! his life would have been short, I reckon, 
 which she was bound to t^ike^ herself \v\ pei-son to the President. 
 A pretty kettle of fish we should have had then, dori't you think 
 so? Ha! ha! we had to tell her all sorts of stories, false as hell 
 of course, to keep her away from him, myself, the Confessor 
 and her Uncle John. She's a holy terror when she gets started 
 on a track she thinks is right; about as crazy as her brother 
 Jules on matters of conscience, but we managed her among us 
 all, and that confounded jDetition never saw the light or got 
 near the President, the Confessor and I took care of that. 
 
 " He's soft-hearted you all know. Look at him now, he's 
 as pale as a ghost and trembling from head to foot as though he 
 actually saw Jules Grieveau or the dead President come back to 
 him. We feared if the little sister or lovely Miss Gascoigne 
 got at him with their imploring, beseeching ways, he'd cave 
 after all, and give us all away, but it's over now, thank the 
 Lord or the Devil, as you please, and we can breathe easy." 
 
 " Yes," said J. G. Bamboozle, who seemed by natural fitness 
 to be the spokesman of the party, and had faced about, drawn 
 down his face, not forgetting his leering, "evil eye," and 
 hemmed and hawed in the vain endeavor to clear his throat of 
 a lump which threatened to annihilate his voice. "And now if 
 you are ready we will attend to the business for which we are 
 assembled. Gentlemen, this solemn occasion upon which we 
 meet, the memorable day when we have witnessed the execu- 
 tion of ' the assassin ' of our beloved and lamented President, 
 calls for " 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE MOB. 
 
 "Henry Armstrong, as I live! Now, you villain," cried 
 Silas Smith, " I'll have your blood and your life, as you tried 
 years ago to take mine!" 
 
 And before anyone, even the President, mistrusted his in- 
 tentions. Smith had made a spring for Henry's throat. 
 
 As they grappled, Gen. Gascoigne heard the name Henry 
 Armstrong — the name of the man who had defrauded his beau- 
 tiful, noble sister Lucille of her best young love, had wrecked 
 years of her life; and he there, the " accidental " President was 
 Henry iVrmstrong! Surely no honorable man would have re- 
 ceived the suffrages of a great people under an assumed name, 
 under Jalse colors. And this man, this Gerald A. Johnson, was 
 the one who had been instrumental in getting him into the toils 
 of the conspirators, as in his own mind Gen. Gascoigne had 
 come to regard his associates, into the meshes of a net of steel 
 wrought chains, from which he found it impossible to free him- 
 self, even though his dead sister's crazy boy had been sacrificed. 
 
 Surely this Henry Armstrong, this Gerald A. Johnson, must 
 be a double-dyed villain; and upon the impulse of the moment, 
 as insane perhaps as the delusion of poor Jules, Gen. Gascoigne 
 fired, and Henry Armstrong, who was getting the better of 
 Smith, fell bleeding from a ghastly wound in the head, inflicted 
 by the General's sure aim; and he did not stop at this, the one 
 insane, reckless deed, sent him into a frenzy of excitement, for 
 stung by remorse, and with a sudden premonition that now 
 retribution was coming upon them all, that the curse of Jules 
 Grieveau was to be verified — he placed the muzzle of the pistol 
 at his own heart and fired again. 
 
 The shooting and the instant confusion ensuing scarcely at- 
 tracted the attention of the two men at the window. Spideler 
 was stupid with wine, and only stared vacantly, mumbling to 
 himself, stammering, and with the drunken hiccough, about the 
 check. "I'll sq-hic-squeal, I will, Cronksey,dang you." And 
 Cronksey, whose eyes now beheld from the open window 
 where he stood spell-bound, frozen, paralyzed; a sight which 
 blanched his face till it was colorless as white marble, and his 
 
282 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 brow was clammy with the dew of fear, would at that moment 
 have signed ten thousand checks, even the whole of his immense 
 fortune, away, could it have procured his escape from that spot 
 where were centered upon him wrathful glances, menacing 
 swift vengeance, from the congregated seething mass of human- 
 ity outside. 
 
 The people having somehow heard the rumor, that a party 
 of the much talked of conspirators had been discovered holding 
 a conference at the residence of Gen. Gascoigne, the assassin's 
 uncle, a mob was gathering in front of the house, and Cronk- 
 sey well knew his time had come, and that there would be no 
 respite. 
 
 Some little time before the attack of Smith upon Henry 
 Armstrong, the Chief, leaving Uncle Tut with crazy Leonard 
 in custody, to watch, himself slipped out, hidden by the vines 
 and shrubbery, through the garden, joining his men stationed 
 around the place in ambush; and seeing the mob gathering^ had 
 dispatched orders for the whole available police force to report 
 at once on the grounds of Gen. Gascoigne. 
 
 Soon after. Uncle Tut, hearing the shots, and seeing the 
 commotion in front through a crack in the door which had 
 been left for ventilation, no longer able to restrain his impetuous 
 nature, had rushed out from the hiding place into the study, 
 just as the women came running, screaming in alarm, from the 
 library across the hall, aiming also for the scene of the disaster. 
 
 Rushing past those who were striving to come out, not 
 knowing what they wanted except to escape from violence, 
 blood and distress, Lucille was the first to enter the room, where 
 she was encountered by the appalling sight of Henry her lost 
 love, lying apparently dead before her, upon the floor. One 
 thought only possessed her, to go to him, raise him in her 
 arms, clasp his bleeding head to her heart, while she implored 
 him to speak to her, look at her. Slowly the wounded man 
 opened wide his eyes, and with a deep sigh of happiness, mur- 
 mured, *'My darling, my life — " sinking instantly away again 
 in a faint like unto death. 
 
 Gen. Gascoigne, who had but succeeded in wounding, not 
 killing himself, gazed upon his sister and her lover with a dazed 
 e-xpression, as though he were losing his mind, but he was quite 
 too weak to express his astonishment; Julia was now bending 
 over her husband, oblivious to the surroundings, and in real grief 
 at his sad plight. 
 
 When the police heard the sound of firing, they suddenly 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 283 
 
 appeared like the locusts of Egypt, everywhere, and before 
 anyone knew what was happening, the supposed conspirators 
 and all in the room were under arrest. 
 
 Uncle Tut had already tackled Silas Smith, and Aunt Debhy 
 seeing her husband through the open door in the midst of the 
 melee, had tried her best to rush in and rescue him, but being 
 encumbered with little Elsie in her arms, Aunt Debby was for 
 the first time in her life too slow, and the door was closed against 
 her. 
 
 But crazy Leonard, quicker than Aunt Debby, catching a 
 glimpse of Spideler, sprang through, and wnth the exclamation, 
 "Bless de Lord, dar's my ole massa at last, shoah, let me eat de 
 debil," Leonard leaped upon the man, who, drunk as he was, 
 knew enough to try to escape from danger, and had reached the 
 threshold of the room ; as a wild beast springs upon its prey, and 
 before any one could could prevent him, Leonard, in his frenzy, 
 had bitten Spideler's nose clean off. 
 
 There is no telling how much more of his individuality 
 would have been sacrificed upon the shrine of vengeance, had 
 not the men of the force taken Leonard away. 
 
 The reinforcement ordered by the Chief had now arrived, 
 and numberless men, mounted and on foot, were on the premises 
 ready for any emergency, and as it proved in good time, for 
 when those on the outside heard the shots wnthin, they made a 
 rush, and every man, woman and child must have met a fearful 
 fate, had not the police restrained the unreasoning wrath of 
 the mob. 
 
 Sooner than it can be told, the Chief had surrounded the 
 house by a force scrong enough for their protection as well as 
 safe-keeping. Only Cronksey came to any real immediate harm. 
 Beset upon all sides, partially recovering from his trance like 
 state of fear, trying to shun the danger, every moment growing 
 more imminent, he foolishly jumped from the open window to 
 the ground, which the mob seeing, broke pell-mell through the 
 garden, breaking down shrubbery and even small trees, in their 
 haste to get at the man whom they believed morally guilty of 
 all the deviltry enacted in connection with the great frauds, and 
 the assassination of the President. Upon him for the time was 
 concentrated all the hate felt for a Benedict Arnold, who in the 
 first revolution had fried to betray us to the English, for an 
 Aaron Burr, a Jefferson Davis, for every traitor who has sought 
 to overthrow our government, be he erring countryman or for- 
 eign potentate. 
 
284 THE STALWARTS; OK, 
 
 In this desperate strait, Cronksey endeavored to evade his 
 pursuers, by secreting himself among the shrubbery, but soon 
 ten men stood in the places of each, bush, vine and tree de- 
 stroyed; being thus hardly pushed, rushing from cover to cover, 
 as a hare hunted to its death, the wretched man essayed to scale 
 the wall, but in this attempt also he failed, for reaching the top, 
 han2:inor on by the iron spikes set closely together along the 
 edge, those nearest in the crowd dragged him fiercely down, 
 not heeding the lacerated, bleeding hands used only to dainty, 
 gentlemanly work. At last the rabble had him in their clutches, 
 hesitating not to end his life in the roughest, most precipitous 
 manner. 
 
 Before the corpse w^as finally left dangling from the con- 
 venient lamp-post, the elegant and altogether exquisite Cronksey 
 that was, had been utterly despoiled of every attraction, and 
 none who had known him in life would have recognized the 
 hideous cadaver, above whose head w^as placed the words, "Be 
 it thus to all conspirators and traitors forevermore." 
 
 Crazy Jules. Grieveau made a better appearance when the 
 doctors had finished their v/ork and composed his remains to 
 rest, lying peacefully in that upper room of his prison home, 
 dressed neatly, with the placid smile which had settled upon his 
 face when the spirit took its flight; and keeping him company, 
 the fair flowers which Gertrude and Lucille had placed above 
 his breast; than did the man of wonderful intellect but depraved 
 heart, whose dead body hung helplessly there that night in the 
 ghastly moonlight, wnerdly swinging to and fro in the midnight 
 breeze, with a look of hate and terror imiprinted upon the dis- 
 torted countenance, the last impression left upon the inanimate 
 clay by the sin-steeped soul, departing to meet its God. 
 
 When the mob w4iich had gathered at Gen. Gascoigne's, (as 
 the rumor at first whispered, and then flying wildly from mouth 
 to mouth, spread and was corroborated, that the men suspected 
 of complicity in the "removal" of the martyred President, had 
 been discovered while in conference and heaid to confess to one 
 another their scheme, and that their arrest was about to be 
 made,) had satiated their fury upon Cronksey the typical con- 
 spirator and traitor, they dispersed contentedly, leaving the 
 others to the care of the police and the troops, who had also 
 been called into requisition. 
 
 After the turmoil subsided, surgeons were sent for, and Gen. 
 Gascoigne, Henry Armstrong and Spideler, who was certainly 
 one of the wounded, were removed to comfortable quarters in 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. ^85 
 
 the General's residence, and placed under care of the doctors 
 and women, but of course as closely guarded prisoners. . 
 
 Lucille begged to remain with Henry, who, recovering from 
 his faint when the flow of blood had been stopped, and was 
 now able again to speak, suplemented her request. The con- 
 sent of the guards was readily obtained through the interposi- 
 tion of Chief Strong, w^ho had disclosed himself to the stricken 
 family of his old time friend. Dr. Gascoigne, assuring them 
 that the course his oath of ofhce required him to take towards 
 them, had been a great grief, still continuing, and furcher, he 
 hoped that when they came to the examination. Gen. Gascoigne, 
 the President, and perhaps some of the others under arrest, 
 would be able to prove their innocence of actual crime, either 
 in the first or second degree; time and evidence must determine 
 this point, his duty now was to the commonwealth, in the ex- 
 ercise of his prerogatives, he would deal as gently as possible 
 with those in his charge, especially with the wounded men. 
 
 It w^as found that neither the President or Gen. Gascoigne 
 had been fatally injured, and as Lucille nursed Henry through 
 that long illness, so painful, and which several times came near 
 ending in death, such perfect happiness and peace came to both, 
 as is seldom experienced by mortals, and Lucille was fully re- 
 paid for all she had endured. 
 
 They conversed when Henry was able, of what each had 
 experienced during the long years of sadness and trouble, and 
 as Lucille recounted her longings, her sorrows and her fears, 
 his love for her grew to adoration. He was never tired of 
 watching her as she moved about the room, arranging every 
 minutia with regard for comfort, convenience and taste ; and his 
 eyes would follow her beseechingly if she did not come near 
 enough to his bed-side every few moments, that he mig^ht grasp 
 her hand in silent caress, and she had no choice but to leave 
 what she was doing, and go to him. 
 
 Lucille's mature but soft and loving touch would quiet his 
 pain when opiates failed, and he could only sleep restfully while 
 her hand lav upon his brow. 
 
 Many an hour did she sit stroking tenderly the aching head, 
 or pressing lightly the feeble pulse, watching closely every 
 symptom, when the patient was at the worst, but in spite of 
 sickening dread, fatigue and anxiety over-powering, Lucille had 
 never been so supremely happy and contented in all her life. 
 Certainly, Henry's countenance now that he was canvalescent, 
 
286 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 indicated only joy when his eyes rested upon Lucille, though 
 there 'was still a look of deep trouble when she was not near. 
 
 John too lav for weeks upon a bed of pain, and Julia tended 
 her' husband faithfully, if not with the absorbing love of Lu- 
 cille's' ministry at Henry's bedside. 
 
 When Julia understood that in the elegant Gerald A John- 
 son, who had captivated her fancy and temporarily aroused her 
 passion, Lucille had found her lost lover, Henry Armstrong, she 
 ceased to regard him as other than Lucille's affianced husband. 
 
 Women such as Julia, take a desperate liking for various 
 men, and are, for the time being, in earnest, but they are in- 
 capable of a devoted, lifelong, enthusiastic affection, enduring 
 through poverty, sickness and adversity, through evil repute, 
 sometimes even in spite of unkindness. 
 
 But although naturally of a vain and frivolous nature, Julia 
 was coming at last to appreciate her husband in some degree, 
 now that she had seen his patient good temper, during a long 
 siege of pain and discomfort; and these two felt themselves 
 growing together as they traveled life's pilgrimage side by side. 
 
 Juha's honest passion for a man so lovable as Henry Arm- 
 strong, had softened and sweetened her cKaracter; for even a 
 disappointing love is better than none at all, and besides the real 
 grief she had passed through of late, had made her more con- 
 siderate towards all with whom she came in contact. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME, 2b7 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 GEN. GASCOIGNE's STORY. CONSPIRATORS INDICTED. 
 
 As the wounded men were now recovering, the minds of 
 all reverted to the causes producing the catastrophe which had 
 befallen them, the assassination, the rumors of conspiracy, the 
 execution of the crazy scape-goat, the unwise meeting for con- 
 ference, and finally the arrests; and Gen. Gascoigne was glad to 
 relieve himself from the distressing strain of self-imposed se- 
 crecy, by relating to the Chief all he knew of the bearing of 
 recent events upon the points at issue. 
 
 He made a clean breast of his connection with the great 
 frauds; how for a long time, he, with many others, did 
 not understand that they were frauds, but had been enticed into 
 these speculations, as they were called, by the smooth tongues 
 and blandishments of Cronksey, Silas Smith and Spideler, 
 drawing them in little by little, until all their available capital 
 was invested, and ruin was upon them unless the scheme could 
 be pulled through. ''But" said Gen. Gascoigne, "I, long ago, 
 withdrew from the whole business, and am a poor man to-day." 
 
 With flashing eye, the gallant General related how these 
 men spared not even the honored General-in-Chief of the army, 
 who had led the country on to final victory in the late civil war, 
 and should have been exempt from their sacreligious touch ; how 
 by their mercenary machinations, he was induced to squander 
 the competence secured by his friends for an old age coming 
 fast upon him ; and besides, his connection, though indirectly , with 
 them, had cast a blot upon his fair name, which could hardly 
 be removed, and "For this injury to him and to me as well," 
 said the General hoarsely, "no consideration can ever atone." 
 
 Gen. Gascoigne recounted too, how, finding themselves un- 
 able to cope with the magnitude of the venture, and realizing 
 their desperate predicament, they had with one accord, assented 
 to the suggestion of Cronksey and Smith, conveyed through 
 Spideler, that they leave the whole affair to them, they manag- 
 ing it their own way; their way,, resulting in blacker villainy 
 than any had imagined possible. How, when too laie for a 
 remedy, although mistrusting what that wickedness was, hav- 
 ing no actual proof upon which to bring those they believed 
 
288 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 guilty to justice, and dreading an epoch of dangerous public 
 excitement, should a disclosure be attempted, they had, with 
 one accord, waiving consultation, decided upon remaining pas- 
 sive, and deeming it futile to beat against the current, hopelessly 
 ilrifting with the tide, as a sure result which might easily have 
 been foreseen, they had struck at last upon the rocks. 
 
 Not one had been willing to take the responsibility of cast- 
 ing a fire-brand into the minds of the already suspicious popu- 
 lace, for a terrific explosion was almost certani to follow, which 
 might rend into fragments the republic, and although this was 
 exactly what Smith and Cronksey had planned, the others were 
 not ready for any such outcome. 
 
 "It were better that Myra's crazy boy should suffer an ig- 
 nominious deatii unjustly, than that such a crisis should occur," 
 said Gen. Gascoigne. Chief Strong and detective Tutty Swan- 
 son had felt this truth, as they proceeded with their investiga- 
 tions, and they, as well as the guilty ones, who knew the real 
 state of the case, trembled from day to day, fearing that Gen. 
 Gascoigne or the President, whom they by some means had 
 ascertained was formerly acquainted with the family of Jules 
 Grieveau, should reveal all they knew or suspected, in their 
 endeavor to save him. 
 
 During the whole time from the firing of the shot until the 
 execution, these two men were as closely watched as Jules him- 
 self, by their own friends; but not before the denouement, did 
 any know that the Cliief of the Secret Service, seconded by 
 Uncle Tut, the detective, was also keeping over them a strict 
 espionage. 
 
 Even now that the arrests were made their vigilence did 
 not relax, and while Cronksey had met a retribution as swift 
 as terrible, and Silas Smith, the Doctor and the others were oc- 
 cupying fellon's-cells, these two. Gen. Gascoigne and the acci- 
 dental President, were also prisoners awaiting recovery only to 
 encounter the ordeal of a criminal trial. 
 
 The speaker of the house had been installed President pro tern, 
 in the interval of that official's disability, and the machinery of the 
 government was moving along smoothly. But the dear public, es- 
 pecially the news-mongers, were still in trouble, as to the myster- 
 ious shooting which occurred at Gen. Gascoigne's on the day of 
 the arrests. They at first attributed the tragedy to jealousy on 
 the part of the General towards the handsome President; but 
 when through the garrulous Leonard it transpired that Gerald 
 A. Johnson was really an old-time lover of Gen. Gascoigne's 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 
 
 289 
 
 beautiful sister Lucille, (at the age of forty accounted one of 
 the handsomest women in Washington,) this lover, strangely 
 enough, whom the General had never seen, and therefore 
 did not recognize in him the Henry Armstrong who had jilted 
 his sister, in years long gone, until iSilas Smith, who also counted 
 hnn an enemy, had spoken his real name. When they learned 
 about the horrible episode in the Rockies, causing him to pass 
 for years under an assumed name; when the rumor gained 
 credence that the old love and engagement had been renewed, 
 and that Miss Gascoigne was devotedly nursing the President 
 through his dangerous illness, although now he was under sus- 
 picion and arrest on account of recent events, and must- if he 
 recovered, stand trial with the others; when these items had 
 been corroborated, the prying gossips were just .wild with ex- 
 cited curiosity to know all the rest. 
 
 ^ As to Henry and Lucille, and why Gen. Gascoigne had as- 
 sailed the President, it was plain when the mystery of the 
 changed name was unraveled; but for w^hat reason had he shot 
 himself? 
 
 This was never made clear to the public, for only the Chief 
 and Uncle Tutty Swanson and Gen. Gascoigne's immediate 
 friends knew the remorse which for so long had been strainincr 
 every nerve, rendering existence a burden, and culminating in 
 the attempt upon his own life. The inference at last was, that a 
 taint of insanity existed in the Gascoigne and Grieveau families 
 after all, which was liable to develop upon any sudden excite- 
 ment. 
 
 These, wnse in their own conceit, did not stop to consider the 
 fifct that both Lucille and Gertrude had been under greater in- 
 tensity of anxiety heightened by grief , than Gen. Gascoigne had 
 ever known, and that without losing their equilibriu}7i the 
 difference being caused by the possession of a satisfied, as 
 against a guilty conscience. 
 
 But the news-gathering public were sure they understood 
 the whole matter fully, and desisted in their search. 
 
 As the President and Gen. Gascoigne were recoverino- rap-" 
 idly, the country was alive with expectation and exciteirTent in 
 view of the developments likely to occur at the approaching 
 trial of the men who had been arrested on suspicion of con- 
 spiracy to defraud the government, if no worse. 
 
 Just why the party of gentlemen who had been found at the 
 house of Gen.Gascoigne, enjoying themselves, on the afternoon 
 of the execution of Jules Grieveau, had been so roughly dis- 
 
290 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 turbed, no one but themselves, Uncle Tut and Chief Strong, as 
 yet altogether knew. 
 
 The rumor had started when the police were ordered to 
 surround the house that a discovery of conspiracy had been 
 made, which seemed probable enough, the General being so 
 nearly related to the "assassin;" and it was said also that Cronk- 
 sey was one of the party, and the people believed that were a 
 conspiracy proved, this man would without doubt be found to 
 be the "ring-leader;" and lately it had been acknowledged, as 
 had been asserted, that Cronksey was own cousin to Myra, the 
 mother of Jules Grieveau; Cronksey's father and Jules' 
 mother being descended from the same English lord. 
 This fact exerting a peculiar influence over the boy, who, 
 being by nature a hero worshiper, thought his celebrated rela- 
 tive the crowning glory of the family tree, and one of the 
 greatest men the world ever saw, and under his leadership, 
 willing to go to any extreme. 
 
 Putting these items together, when the house of Gen. Gas- 
 coigne was surrounded, the mob seeing Cronksey, whom they 
 hated on general principles, they made a rush destroying him in 
 a twinkling, for the time satisfying their revenge; since when 
 they had been quietly waiting for further developments and for 
 the law to interpose its powerful arm. 
 
 In the proper course of events the men who had been ar- 
 rested. President and all, were brought into the same court-room 
 where Jules Greiveau had been arrained, tried and sentenced; 
 and after a preliminary examination, those who were found 
 with suspicions confirmed by adequate proof were held for trial. 
 
 Such excitement was never known, but the well trained 
 force under the control of the Marshal of the District, who had 
 been an intimate friend of the martyred President, held the 
 populace in check until a thorough investigation was had suf- 
 ficient to bring an indictment. 
 
 The people were not in a mood for trifling, and watched 
 every movement made, determined that no truth should be sup- 
 pressed, no villainy left uncovered. At this point the slightest 
 mistake, blunder, or trickery would have, if discovered, brought 
 about an uprising of the people, clamoring wildly, unreasonably 
 perhaps, for justice, for vengeance. 
 
 Had they seen a disposition on the part of the authorities to 
 keep back any fact, or to shield anyone suspected, no power 
 could have controlled their wrath, and a wave of anarchy, riot 
 and bloodshed must have swept over the country, getting its im- 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 291 
 
 petus from Washington, the center of Government, such as has 
 never been experienced on this continent; distrust, reigning sus- 
 pense, every man's hand against every other, until our loved 
 Republic sinking under a military dictatorship must have gone 
 down, as sank the Roman Republic, as all Republics since the 
 w^orld began have disintegrated and disappeared, and the fair 
 goddess of Liberty despoiled of her rightful home, defrauded of 
 her children, gone weeping through all the Earth, homeless, 
 childless, dying. 
 
 Happily for the present and the future, for ourselves and 
 for posterity, was this calamity prevented. In this instance 
 those having power were as honestly in earnest to discover the 
 truth, and have absolute justice measured out to the guilty and 
 the innocent alike, as were the people themselves. 
 
 The Chief of the secret service with the power, the facts, 
 the case, in his own hands; had no intention anyone should es- 
 cape deserving of punishment, or that any should suffer, being 
 innocent. 
 
 Such confidence had the people in this man and his integ- 
 rity, as well as ability, they waited patiently while the facts he 
 had accumulated were being unfolded and the guilt placed 
 where it belonged. 
 
 By this man's wisdom and careful prudence at this critical 
 juncture of national affairs was the excitement controlled, dis- 
 trust removed, confidence in the Government restored, and dis- 
 aster for the time at least averted. 
 
 It was found that although these with others had blindly 
 placed their money in the hands of Smith and Cronksey, to be 
 used in the furtherance of the great frauds, meaning only to in- 
 vest in a legitimate speculation, no one knew^ of what was in the 
 mind of Cronksey except Smith, the doctor his old friend of the 
 western claim, and Spideler. 
 
 Mob law had already disposed of Cronksey, and it only re- 
 mained to be seen what should be done with the doctor. Smith 
 and Spideler. 
 
 Spideler soon settled the matter as to himself by turning 
 States evidence. Since Cronksey's demise Spideler seemed to 
 have come to himself, and to have recovered the slight degree 
 of manhood originally belonging to him, at best very little, but 
 quite as much as could be expected of a man who would treat 
 his faithful servant as Spideler had used poor Leonard. 
 
 Even with this added testimony, the proof brought before 
 the Grand Jury upon the preliminary investigation could not be 
 
292 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 construed as criminating anyone living except Smith and the 
 doctor; Cronksey being dead and vSpideler giving evidence 
 w^hich could not be dispensed w^ith, only Smith and the doctor 
 were finally arraigned for trial. 
 
 It turned out that the accidental President and the others 
 had allov^ed themselves to be thrown into a state of inorbidjear 
 of the populace although really guilty of no crime or complicity 
 with C7'ime^ but only Jrightened at the connection which they 
 knew could be shown betzueen themselves and tzvo men whom 
 they suspected of the blackest villainy ; a hint of which getting 
 into the popular mind would they feared bring dire results. 
 The suspicion had already lodged and hence the extreme caution, 
 even to the disguise of the President when going to attend the 
 conference called by Cronksey. 
 
 When the announcement was made that Silas Smith and 
 the doctor only were indicted, one as an instigator, the other as 
 accesory to the "removal" of the late President, the people 
 were well satisfied, cheer after cheer went up, nothing could 
 stop them in the manifestation of wild exultatioui 
 
 As for the General in Chief of the Army, he had long been 
 the idol of the people and they would believe nothing ill of him. 
 
 Gen. Gascoigne was scarcely less a favorite, and all Wash- 
 ington at least adored the handsome accidental President who 
 had by a sad tragedy been made the Chief Magistrate. 
 
 As for Bamboozle, there was no direct proof against him, 
 although Cronksey had once accused him openly of "wrecking 
 a President," supposedly by failing to win the man who stood 
 in the way over to their side of the contest, thus preventing an 
 investigation; a work for which he had been detailed by Cronk- 
 sey and Smith, and in which they long afterwards came to be- 
 lieve he had played them false; but the people hated him for a 
 sly, tricky, double-faced demagogue, full of fraud and deceit, 
 and after a little, finding it very cold over here at home, he de- 
 parted for more congenial European climes, and was never 
 heard from more. 
 
 The confessor and the attorney who had deceived poor Jules 
 Grieveau, suppressing the truth for the sake of the pay received, 
 though no criminal process could be brought against thern either, 
 yet in the minds of the people, they forever after remained un- 
 der a ban of reproach. 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME, 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 TRIAL OF THE CONSPIRATORS. SPIDLER'S CONFESS'iON. 
 
 The usual time elapsing, and the necessary legal formulas 
 having been obeyed, Smith and the doctor were brought before 
 the same Judge who sat upon the bench when Jules was tried 
 — a Judge, who against his will, had been overpowered by pop- 
 ular clamor and the strength of the prosecution, giving rulings 
 adverse to Jules Grieveau. 
 
 A jury was empaneled and the new district attorney, 
 (appointed in the place of Bloaty, who had died suddenly 
 of an excruciatingly painful disease brought upon him by dissipa- 
 tion,) assisted by the Attorney General, also newly installed, they 
 commenced the prosecution of Smith and the doctox\ 
 
 Spideler being sworn told how Cronksey had hinted, the 
 only way to save his clients, the men engaged in the great frauds, 
 was by changing the administration, and putting the Vice-Pres- 
 ident in power. Said Cronksey, *'I can manage him easily 
 enough, I've got a screw on him, ha! ha! and he's very am- 
 bitious too; but the man at the helm now will ruin the whole 
 business; we can do nothing with him, I've had Bamboozle and 
 two or three others v^orking with him for a month; but he's 
 as stubborn as a mule. They've even threatened him, and told 
 him plainly that sojnething terrible uuould happen^ if he did 
 not desist; but it's no use, he won't budge one inch, but says he's 
 bound to go straight ahead — go to hell — he will." And said 
 Spideler, "I saw what was wanted, and soon after, I got a notice 
 to go down to Washington and look around and report which 
 way the wind was blowing, and see what had become of that 
 *crank' we'd sent on that insurance business; see if he'd got 
 crazy enough to blow his own brains out yet, &c. Well," said 
 Spideler, "I took the hint as intended, and went down to Wash- 
 ington and talked 'removal' and 'inspiration' to cranky Jules 
 Grieveau, and showed him the Stalwart newspapers, which were 
 full of the idea that the President ought to be out of the way, until 
 he thought of nothing else night or day ; finally he announced that 
 the 'Deity and me' would fix everything up all right; and then 
 I knew he'd go along persistently until he had accomplished the 
 needed 'removal,' for you see nothing could stop him if once 
 
294 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 he got a notion of doing a certain thing, and he'd do it his own 
 way too. He would never allow that any one could advise him, 
 much less dictate. 'He always knew what he was about,' he 
 would declare; he'd never own to any 'boss,' unless possibly 
 'Deity,' he always called himself 'God's man,' and seemed to 
 regard the 'Deity' as a sort of senior partner in some great 
 business they two had undertaken together. But he was a man 
 who could be influenced, to anything, if you went at him right, 
 not letting him know your purpose, but just filling his mind full 
 of the idea, and then making him think he was doing it alone, 
 that the thought was the outgrowth of his own wonderful brain, 
 for this was his estimate of himself." Spideler did not know 
 this was the egotism of insanity afflicting all disordered brains, 
 unless the dementia tends to the stupidity of idiocy, when the 
 same thing shows itself in the willful, stubborn ugliness so hard 
 to deal with; instead of, as in the case of Jules Grieveau, in 
 good natured elation and extravagance of ideas and schemes, 
 often leading to most unexpected and cruel deeds; being re- 
 garded by. the insane perpetrator, as eminently suitable and pro- 
 per, often glorying in the accomplishment. 
 
 All this Spideler did not understand from the medical view 
 of the case; but as he said, continuing his testimony, "I saw 
 from the first that he was just the man for our work; and the 
 best of it all was, he'd be sure to claim the whole credit him- 
 self, and be so fearful of not getting it all, he would never ac- 
 knovvledge that any one had even so much as hinted such a 
 thing. Knowing him as I did intimately for months, the only 
 wonder was that he was willing to divide the glory of the deed 
 even with the 'Deity' Himself; ha! ha!" laughed Spideler; but 
 this unseemly merriment was instantly checked by the court. 
 
 " He was such a kind of a girl-boy," said Spideler, " never 
 having practiced any manly exercises, not knowing how to 
 swim, or ride, or shoot a gun, more afraid of a revolver than of 
 the Devil himself, that I feared he'd never get up courage 
 enough to fire the shot after all. At last I hit upon the thought 
 of the ' Deity and me ' theory and filled his mind full of this, 
 until he believed that God Almighty wanted the President ' re- 
 moved ' to save the country from a civil war, and that he was 
 God's chosen instrument for the work. This was all right so 
 far, but now another trouble suggested itself; how was I to get 
 him in training so he'd ever hit the mark when the time came.^ 
 If he missed after I got him worked up to the point of firing 
 the shot, the whole business would end in failure, and I knew 
 
IVIIO WERE TO BLAME, 295 
 
 there wasn t one chance in a thousand of our finding another 
 * crank 'just in \(\?>zoxid!\\\ox\^ just fitted for the occasion. And 
 hesides, when I received the signal, the thing must be done 
 Jorthzvith,, without delay,, without mistake — with no possibility 
 of faikire — for there were miUions of money involved, and 
 danger of a prison cell to hundreds of our men, should the Gov- 
 ernment probe into their secrets, which the incumbent Presi- 
 dent had avowed his determination to do, and unless he could 
 be dissuaded from his purpose, he must go. This was 7ny order 
 from the 'Boss,' there," looking towards Smith. At this pointed 
 disclosure from Spideler — a low, muttering growl, ending in 
 a venomous hiss, long and sharp and menacing, came up from 
 every part of that packed court-room, and for a few moments 
 it seemed that the prisoners were to meet the fate of Cronksey. 
 But it proved that almost every tenth man was a policeman, so 
 thickly were they scattered among the crowd, besides the uni- 
 formed force about the prisoners, the Judge's bench, the jury, 
 the witness box, and the doors. 
 
 The Judge, rising to his feet, brought his gavel down stroke 
 after stroke, until the resounding noise diverted the attention of 
 the angry mob from the prisoners and from themselves, to the 
 Chief of the Secret Service, who calmly standing by the Judge 
 surveying the crowd, addressed them, *' Gentlemen, I trust you 
 will obey the order of the court, and the decorum of this important 
 trial, remaining quiet and patient to the end, letting the law de- 
 cide this case according to all the evidence produced; remember 
 we have heard only the testimony of one man. I appeal to you 
 as good citizens, not again to interrupt the Court. I give you 
 my word,, based upon my oath of office, that the /'r2<5/'/^, whatever 
 it may be in this case, shall be fully shown,, so far as I have been 
 able to secure the witnesses for the use of the prosecution." 
 This was enough, the tumult subsided, and the Judge, turning 
 to Spideler, said, "Let the witness proceed." 
 
 " Well, as I said, the man, Jules Grieveau, didn't know how 
 to hold a revolver, much less^?*^ one; but I got over the diffi- 
 culty by suggesting that in case we did have a war, or an up- 
 rising of the people, every man ought to know how to defend 
 himself if attacked, and told him he ought to get a revolver and 
 practice shooting at a mark, which he finally did, I going with 
 him, selecting one sure to hit within a foot of anything it pointed 
 at. And then he went down to the bank of the river and shot 
 at fences and finally willow trees, until he got so he could hit 
 one. At first he complained of the noise hurting his head, and 
 
296 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 as I watched him from behind the fence the first morning he 
 went ' out hunting,' I laughed until I burst my jacket buttons, 
 to see him jump when the iron went off. The next day I told 
 him to stuff some cotton in his ears, which he did, and got along 
 all right after that. I kept him practicing at a mark for about 
 two weeks, and he could hit fairly well at the end of that time. 
 But there was too much at stake, and I was getting nervous 
 myself at the last. I had got notice that when the message 
 came over the wires, ' that murder was to be preferred to sui- 
 cide,' I might know the time had come and I must be ready at 
 the depot the next morning at nine o'clock with my man. As 
 I said, I feared Jules wouldn't hit in a vital place, if at all, and 
 so at the last moment I decided to fix the bullets so if they got 
 in at all they'd do the work, and I made up my mind not to risk 
 the ' removal ' to Grieveau's blundering aim, but I just provided 
 myself with a good shooting iron, and when the time came, after 
 he had fired twice as I told him to do, one shot hitting the Presi- 
 dent, and the other a poor dog which happened to be passing, 
 while Grieveau was shouting and claiming all the glory, I 
 just quietly put in a shot myself aimed at the heart from the back, 
 and onlythatthePresident was actually sinking to the floor at the 
 time, my shot would have finished him; as it was the backbone 
 w^as grazed, and they said the bullet passed down into the ab- 
 domen where it lay encysted, doing no particular harm, until 
 the surgeons found it after the man was dead. I don't know 
 how that was but my bullet struck nearly opposite the heart. 
 But the bullet I had fixed for Grieveau, although not touching 
 any vital part, did its work too, the poiso??ed bullet I mean. To 
 make the thing sure — sure to stay — I had to secure the services 
 of the doctor there, but it took some money for that though, I 
 can tell you. The doctor's a great fellow for money, but I 
 fetchedhim^ and had him at the depot all ready on time too. 
 And he stuck by to the end, although it was a longer job than 
 any of us reckoned on. We'd all been glad to have backed out 
 before we got through, but we couldn't — the die was cast — 
 there was no retreat. It was a terrible piece of business from 
 beginning to ending. We never really thought it would have to 
 be done; at any rate we hoped the President could be won over. 
 It was all Bamboozle's fault that he wasn't. While we were 
 depending on him more than anyone else to bring this about, 
 he was playing traitor to the cause, and just putting the 
 President up to be more contrary than ever, ' widening the 
 breach.' You see he hadn't got over his spitef ulness towards the 
 
;f//c were to blame. 297 
 
 leaders, for throwing him overboard at the Chicago Convention, 
 and nominating the man w^ho was elected, and he meant to get 
 even with them by manipulating the President and running the 
 administration to suit himself. You see it was next thing to 
 being president. This is what the leaders mean when they say 
 'he wrecked a President' — and he did. 
 
 " I guess this is about all there is to tell, only I forgot to say 
 that I told Grieveau he'd better leave all his papers and manu- 
 scripts at the news stand, for that agent connected with one of the 
 Chicago stalwart papers before he fired the shot, and that I'd 
 see him set right before the people if he did; and the poor fel- 
 low obeyed my advice for a wonder, for he'd got mightily at- 
 tached to me, he was very affectionate. You see I didn't know 
 what he might have been scribbling, and meant to get posses- 
 sion of his writings. And then it was me suggested his going 
 to the jail for safe keeping. I didn't want to see him torn limb 
 from limb before my eyes. 
 
 " He wouldn't consent at first, he didn't like the idea at all, 
 and I had to hire a carriage and let him go down and see what 
 a nice, clean, comfortable place it was, not at all like the old 
 Toombs prison, in New York, w^here he had once been kept 
 longer than he liked on a charge of vagrancy — not at all. He 
 finally agreed to give himself up, immediately after firing the 
 shot, and go quietly to the jail until the people could be informed 
 of his inspiration and be made to understand the matter. It 
 was actually ridiculous the way he looked at the whole affair, 
 only that anyone knowing how simple-minded he was could not 
 help pitying the poor fellow. 
 
 " I believe this is all I know about the business, all there is 
 to say." 
 
 At any rate it w^as all Spideler ever had a chance to tell ; for 
 when the guards were taking him back to prison that night for 
 safe keeping from the mob, who had declared their intention of 
 lynching the little dog, as they called him; when opposite the 
 Capitol, just where a rascal protected by those in power had 
 tried to kill Jules during his trial ; they surrounded the prison-van, 
 as the vehicle was styled which carried him, just as it had so many 
 times conveyed poor Jules Grieveau; and they tore him roughly 
 out, calling him a traitor even to His friends ! A murderer ! Using 
 means fit only for a savage, or a slave-driving and torturing " Le- 
 gree! " Exasperated to frenzy at the thought of all his diaboli- 
 cal deeds as a slave-owner and seller, as a sneaking, cruel, 
 plotting murderer, as the entrapper of the crazy, foolish tool 
 
298 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 with which he had accomplished the work, and all for gain, 
 from the lowest, most mercenary motives; the mob deeming the 
 little imp too low and vile even for their touch, wrenched the 
 iron spikes composing the fences in the vicinity wherevej- possi- 
 ble from their fastenings, and lifting the terror-stricken, abject 
 creature not gently upon them, they tossed him from one to an- 
 other to and fro, batting him about, applying heavy brogans not 
 unfrequently as the spirit moved them to rougher work — heap- 
 ing all manner of abuse and indignity upon him, as they had 
 a few months before done with Cronksey. Master and servant 
 ending their worse than useless lives in a similar way, each un- 
 mourned, unregretted even by their compeers in crime. 
 
U^HO WERE TO BLAME. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE FAIR EVANGELISTIC WIDOW HER STORY. — THE 
 
 CONVICTION. 
 
 A sensation was produced next day upon convening of the 
 court, by the announcement of Spideler's fate; and also by the 
 appearance of another voluntary witness for the prosecution, 
 whom a quickened conscience had driven upon the stand, in 
 spite of the reward which the witness of the previous day had 
 received for his testimony, given with the intent of shielding 
 himself from merited punishment; which the people understand- 
 ing, had taken his case into their own hands. 
 
 The new witness proved none other than the woman who 
 had been with Smith on the "claim" long ago out in Illinois, 
 passing as his wife, being for years since until quite recently his 
 mistress. She was also the " fair widow," whom Spideler had 
 introduced to Jules Grieveau for the special purpose of working 
 upon his imagination and passions, thus hastening the climax of 
 insanity. 
 
 The woman had it seemed, been honestly converted at one of 
 the Moody meetings, and truly repented of any wrong she 
 might have done in the past, and of the part she had unwittingly 
 played, in influencing the mind of Jules Grieveau to commit so 
 dreadful an act, as firing upon the President of the United States. 
 
 She now came of her own accord to Washington, offering to 
 tell all she knew of the assassination, in the cause of truth and 
 justice. 
 
 Her testimony was mainly against Smith, and being placed 
 upon the stand confronting him face to face, this under oath, 
 was her story : 
 
 " Years ago I met the man Smith, there," pointing with 
 trembling finger and flashing eye at her victim, "in what was 
 then the far west. I was young, perhaps attractive, surely 
 honest and loving — he won my heart — myself — body and soul, 
 under a sacred promise of immediate marriage, which was never 
 fulfilled; but instead he took me with him out on a desolate 
 prairie, where he had staked a claim and thrown a few boards 
 together which he called a cabin. In this home I was installed. 
 
 "I remained because I could do no better. Shame prevented 
 
300 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 my returning to my own home. My friends thought I had 
 been married before going with him, and being an orphan, hv- 
 ing with distant relatives who had httle sympathy for me, I 
 dared not return to them with my story, they never would have 
 believed me, and I should have been turned away disgraced — 
 and besides, I loved the man," said the woman, tears now stream- 
 ing from her eyes. 
 
 " We continued living together as man and wife for years 
 after, he drinking a good deal, I following his example to 
 drown my troubles. Finally after a desperate brawl, into which 
 he drew me trying to jump another man's claim, and in which 
 he came near losing his life, after forcing me to swear falsely in 
 a lawsuit over the dispute — when he had partially recovered, 
 we left the country together still as man and wife. I lived 
 with him for years, he sometimes treating me kindly, many 
 times otherwise; but persistently refusing to give me a legal 
 right to bear his name or call him husband. 
 
 "After a time when he became rich and powerful, he began 
 paying attention to other women, as the fancy took him, and — 
 and" — here the woman's trembling voice and tearful face proved 
 her emotion, ending in convulsive sobs, "he — he shook me off, 
 he broke my heart, wrecked my life, and now, I don't care what 
 becomes of me, or what you do with me — for I love him still." 
 
 Regaining her composure, she proceeded: "After refusing 
 utterly to have anything more to do with me, he advised me to 
 'try some other man,' as he expressed it; and I did try to form 
 attachments for other men, but I could not. I had for so many 
 years regarded this man as my husband in fact if not in law, 
 my whole existence being • bound up in him and his affairs. 
 He can be as lovely as an Angel of light when he chooses, and 
 as ugly as Satan too, when he likes," said the woman, her eyes 
 flashing again. 
 
 "Although I felt all the ownership any wife can have in her 
 husband, he cunningly avoided establishing a marriage holding 
 good in law, by refusing to live with me long enough in one 
 place or allowing me to bear his name; thus making me a re- 
 spectable — self-respecting married woman. All these years I 
 was only his mistress; that most degraded of all slaves to the 
 passions of men. His mistress! And I would have given my life 
 for him," sobbed the woman. 
 
 "At last," she said, drying her eyes again, "I thought if I 
 came across an honest, kind-hearted man who wanted to marry 
 me, (for I was still an attractive woman,) even though he was 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 801 
 
 not so smart or so rich as that villain Silas Smith there, I would 
 unite myself with some one and try and forget my past life. 
 
 "Well, about this time I met a gentleman to whom I was 
 Introduced by the name of Mr. Jules Grieveau, a lawyer, as was 
 said, poor but honest, religious and a gentleman, and I assure 
 you he zuas a gentleman before he got so crazy. 
 
 "I had been grieving and grieving for a long time over my 
 dreadful trouble, when one day in New York I wandered into 
 a place called 'the Tabernacle,' an immense structure erected for 
 the holding of 'revival meetings,' as the gatherings congregating 
 to listen to the ministrations of a noted Evangelist, were styled. 
 
 "I had been going about the streets all day, trying to forget 
 myself, and being attracted by the sound of a thousand or more 
 people singing together, old fashioned Methodist revival hymns, 
 not caring much what I did, but very tired, I went in and sat 
 down. 
 
 "After the singing, which from the number of voices and 
 the hearty enthusiasm was soul inspiring, a man of magnificent 
 physique and powerful voice, eyes large, black and penetrating, 
 arose, and clasping his hands, kneeled before the great congre- 
 gation, fervently invoking the Divine blessing. 
 
 "While the people were recovering their breath almost taken 
 away by the impetuosity of the short appeal, a slender man, a 
 complete contrast to the other, with fine features, noble brow, 
 loving eyes of purest blue, a mouth tender and delicate as a 
 woman's, came forward; seating himself at a little parlor organ, 
 and touching the keys with his long, white fingers, after a short 
 prelude, the marvelously sweet, far-reaching, spiritual voice with 
 which the singer was endowed, entranced those hundreds of 
 eager people, as though by some Angel descended from on 
 High. 
 
 "The words, simple enough, were fervid and appealed di- 
 rectly to the heart, 'Jesus Lover of My Soul, Let Me to Thy 
 Bosom Fly.' When the sweet singer had finished, tears were 
 streaming from many eyes in that vast assembly; my heart was 
 melted even before the wonderful sermon was commenced. A 
 sermon denouncing sin but not the sinner, calling upon those 
 who had done wrong to repent and flee from the wrath to come, 
 from the fire which consumeth, to come to Jesus — Jesus who 
 died to save — died that we might live. At the close, hundreds 
 in response to the final invitation crowded tearfully about the 
 altar, I among the number. 
 
 "The man who had so stirred our hearts came down to the 
 
303 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 altar rail, and passing from one to another gave each a message 
 of admonishment, of warning, of entreaty, of love — the love of 
 Jesus. The magnetism of the man was w^onderful. I would 
 have died willingly for Jesus then, or done any deed for Jesus' 
 sake, so enthused was I by the thought that Jesus was the lover 
 of my soul; that He offered me love pure and unselfish, not the 
 disappointing human love, but the love immeasurable, satisfying, 
 infinite and Divine, offered freoly without price, asking only 
 love in return. 
 
 "After this I went to the meetings every day, three, four 
 times a day ; feeding upon the excitement which I found there. 
 One day I met the very last person I should have expected to 
 see in such a place. A man whom I felt to be a villain of so 
 deep a dye that scarcely could the blood of Jesus even make 
 him white. A man whose sins I knew to be as scarlet, for I 
 had often heard Smith and himself and a man they called Cronk- 
 sey, talking over their plans together, and I knew they never 
 mentioned any but their mildest schemes in my hearing, and 
 that they were engaged in worse deviltries than I ever heard or 
 dreamed of; at any rate I was quite sure neither of the three 
 were saints or likely to become such, and here was little Spide- 
 ler in company with a man who any one could see at a glance 
 was a regular devotee, and honest too; and Spideler was attend- 
 ing a 'revival meeting' with this man — what on earth could it 
 mean thought I. Soon Spideler saw me, and my astonishment 
 was not greater than was his evidently; however, with a quick 
 change of countenance, a peculiar expression which I had never 
 noticed before coming into his face, he watched his chance, 
 edging around the crowd, and just as the meeting was breaking 
 up, he managed to get near me at the door, and stepping up 
 with his companion, introduced him without asking leave, as 
 Mr. Jules Grieveau. He seemed a gentleman and Spideler be- 
 ing on intimate terms with the man I regarded as my husband, 
 frequenting our room before I left him, took a liberty perhaps, 
 but not an unusual one for him. 
 
 " Whenever I went to the meetings after that day, invariably 
 vSpideler and Mr. Grieveau would meet me near the main en- 
 trance, a consummation seeming to come about by design; but 
 as I found my new acquaintance honest-hearted, kind and agree- 
 able, I had no objection; in fact, I soon came to feel under ob- 
 ligation for the introduction, for I was becoming attached to my 
 friend, Mr. Grieveau. 
 
 " He was so entirely different from any of the men I had 
 
WHO WERE rO BLAME. 303 
 
 met. Absolutely there was not a particle of the villain in his 
 nature. Other men with whom I had become acquainted 
 through my relations with Smith had been nearly all villains 
 through and through. 
 
 "After Spideler had established an intimacy between us, he 
 seemed satisfied to leave us mostly to ourselves. We talked 
 much upon different subjects, and I found him passably well- 
 informed. He had some unusual theories, and his mode of 
 reasoning was peculiar; but somehow he would arrive at pretty 
 fair conclusions generally— by instinct it appeared to me— but 
 one day he made such a queer remark about something after 
 there had been great excitement at the meeting, that I was really 
 startled. 
 
 "From that time I could see that the intense excitement of the 
 meetings was injurious, and I tried to disuade his constant at- 
 tendance, but to no purpose. He grew more strange each time 
 we met, and finally I could see that he was absolutely insane 
 upon certain subjects. 
 
 " The idea of Divine direction had taken possession of his 
 mind, and he refused to attend to the slightest matter until he 
 had first prayed over it, and he carried this to a ridiculous ex- 
 treme. 
 
 "Once, when I remonstrated, he became indignant and de- 
 clared, that ' If in answer to prayer he got the inspiration that 
 Deity (as he called God) w^anted him to kill anybody, he'd do 
 it sure, if he was shot dead the next minute.' 
 
 " This, and some other things, opened my eyes to the fact 
 that I was becoming attached to a lunatic, and I soon broke off 
 the intimacy ; but I never thought he would harm anyone, he 
 was always so kind and affectionate. 
 
 " When I began to repulse him, he was greatly distressed, 
 and at last followed me around as a child does its mother — 
 surely he was growing rapidly worse — more insane each day — 
 but so quiet and apparently harmless. I really pitied, but could 
 do nothing for him, except, as he seemed very poor, I often 
 gave him money; indeed, I now believe he must have suffered 
 only for the kindness he received from myself and Spideler. 
 
 *" After making some provision for his immedi^ite wants, by 
 depositing a considerable amount in the hands of Spideler for 
 his use, I left New York to be rid of him. I knew no other 
 way out of my foolish entanglement. 
 
 " I heard nothing more of Mr. Grieveau until the late Presi- 
 dent was shot, when recalling his condition, and the remarks he 
 
304 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 had made, I cannot say the news that he was the assassin very 
 much surprised me although 1 was deeply grieved. Immedi- 
 ately I set myself to the task of helping him out of the trouble 
 he was in, and endeavored to have him tried for lunacy instead 
 of murder; but I soon found I had undertaken more than I or 
 anyone could accomplish. 
 
 "Being known as the mistress for years past, if not the law- 
 ful wife, of so influential a man as Silas Smith, I was not with- 
 out power with a certain class, and after a second trial was re- 
 fused, I succeeded in securing many names to be affixed to the 
 petition for com.mutation of sentence to life imprisonment, which 
 was prepared to be sent to the accidental President, but wdiich 
 I afterwards understood he never saw. 
 
 " In the course of my investigations, which were commenced 
 early in the history of the case, I found out that Smith and 
 Spideler with someone behind them, had been for a long time, 
 even before the nomination of the lamented President, work- 
 ing a desperate venture to defraud the Government and the 
 people, a scheme which contemplated involving the country in 
 a foreign, if not perhaps also another civil war, and that the pre- 
 dicament of poor Mr. Grieveau was the outcome of a contingency, 
 wdiich had all along been considered probable, in the course of 
 events liable to produce an emergency. 
 
 " Smith had years before this initiated me in the duties of a 
 detective, and I had helped him work many a crooked transac- 
 tion. 
 
 " I had mistrusted at the last that the infernal scoundral late- 
 ly known as A. J. Spideler, Esq., had introduced me to Mr. 
 Grieveau for the purpose of working upon his passions, and 
 thus hastening the climax of an insanity all his life slowly de- 
 veloping, and which was nearing the point at the time our ac- 
 quaintance commenced, when some catastrophe must occur. 
 Bitterly I regretted my blindness, for certainly when I first met 
 Mr. Grieveau no one would have thought him more than queer, 
 more chan fanatical, and I now firmly resolved, if possible, to 
 save him from a cruel death. 
 
 " With this thought I went to Washington, and saw Jules 
 Grieveau in his cell. I had no difficulty in securing this privi- 
 lege as those in charge seemed to know the name of Silas Smith, 
 even the warden and the underlings of the jail, and of me as 
 his former mistress and confidential agent. Up to this time I 
 had no quarrel or formal break with Mr. Smith, although I 
 ceased to live with him after my conversion, and giving his 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. - 305 
 
 name as my credential, it proved the necessary 'open Sesame' 
 to the assassin's cell, although at that time admittance was re- 
 fused to ordinary visitors. 
 
 "How^ the change w^hich I sav^ in poor Jules Grieveau 
 shocked and horrified me I cannot describe, and can never for- 
 get; those incessantly rolling, quivering eye-balls glaring wildly 
 at me, that worn haggard face, those manacled hands, haunt me 
 still. Oh ! it was horrible ! horrible," and the woman, again over- 
 come, covered her face with her hands and wept aloud. Soon 
 she went on: 
 
 "After the first encounter and the excitement produced by 
 seeing a new face, whether friend or foe, he knew not, had 
 passed, Jules seemed partially to remember me, at least he liked 
 me and trusted me as he did no one else, for, previous to my 
 visit he had learned to distrust every one who came near him. 
 This was long before the advent of the Confessor, and before 
 his sister or Aunt Lucille had seen him; for them also he 
 seemed to have an almost natural affection. 
 
 "The authorities of the jail allowed me free access, suppos- 
 ing I was a detective acting especially in the interest of Silas 
 Smith and the 'Ring.' Smith being abroad in London had no 
 idea of what I was at, and those in the secret who knew of 
 my movements believed me working with them ; for there were 
 two others pretending friendship who were paid detectives. 
 One a former acquaintance of Jules, in Chicago, whose name, 
 no less than his character, was so nearly allied to Raynard the 
 fox, and who, when Jules was on trial for his life, basely sw^ore 
 to utterances which never came from the lips of the accused at 
 all, but which this man, well rewarded by the prosecution, de- 
 clared he had received from the prisoner in the first gush of 
 confidence upon meeting one whom he had known in better 
 days. Utterances which established the theory of the prosecu- 
 tion, that Jules was a sane villain, himsdf only to blame. Even 
 in Washington, during the trial, they dubbed this man ' The 
 Spy.' 
 
 "And there was still another, who, if he did not steal money 
 from the unfortunate, friendless prisoner, a commodity of which 
 he was destitute, he was certainly guilty of "larceny as bailee," 
 for he took notes of his case in shorthand, from which he pre- 
 pared an article for a New York paper, devoid of truths receiv- 
 ing for the same $500. An article intended to work against the 
 then utterly defenseless man. Afterward those notes were 
 turned over to the prosecution to be used as evidence against the 
 
 20 
 
306 . THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 prisoner, but upon examination there was found so much that 
 would help instead of hurting his case, they were destroyed. 
 This same Bailee swearing afterwards upon the witness stand 
 that he ' had destroyed his notes,' for he knew they would 
 contradict his testimony. He, too, was made to feel the 
 finger of scorn pointing at him derisively from that court- 
 room, for it was said no one who heard believed his story, and 
 that he went from the stand with red, confused, abashed count- 
 enance, as did many another witness for the prosecution. 
 
 "However I went every day to see Jules, and at last gained 
 his confidence; as we talked, I found that some one had assured 
 Jules certain protection, that he should be cared for, exonerated, 
 and lauded as a hero if he would go quietly to the jail, after firing 
 the shot upon the President. He had expected to be petted, 
 visited and made much of by his 'friends outside' as he said, and 
 'his friend, the President,' as he called him; especially depend- 
 ing upon this man, himself for a long time under duress, though 
 not actual arrest; watched even more vigilantly than Jules 
 Grieveau, both before and after he became President. Jules 
 did not at first know the wounded President still lived, and evi- 
 dently thought ^his friends' had come into power. 
 
 "But in all this expectation, poor Jules Grieveau was doomed 
 to bitter disappointment. Not being apprised of the true state of 
 the case, not knowing why the promises given him had not been 
 kept, he had come to distrust every one who approached him. 
 
 "But at last by slow degrees I gathered that Spideler had been 
 the go-between who manipulated the crazy man for the fatal 
 work. 
 
 "He said, 'Spideler told me this, Spideler said that,' and I 
 got at the fact that Spideler had for months before the catastro- 
 phe been filling the poor fellow's crazy brain with suggestions 
 of the very thing which happened; even directing him as to the 
 minutia, Jules not recognizing this, but thinking himself had 
 received the commission direct from 'Deity,' believing the Most 
 High was inspiring him from day to day in all the 'modus op- 
 erandi,' when, pitiful to know, it came from that vicious little 
 black Spideler as direct as any man's thought and desire can 
 come to another. o 
 
 "Finally I succeeded in getting Jules to write the things 
 Spideler had said to him, and then in Jules Grieveau's peculiar 
 hand-writing impossible to imitate, for it was in no two words 
 alike, I went to Spideler with his own statements and suggest- 
 ions, and told him an expose should follow if he refused to help 
 
WHO WERE TO BLAME. 307 
 
 me save Jules from his cruel fate. 'Very well, Madam,' said 
 Spideler, 'I'll do as you wish about it, if you'll agree to save me 
 harmless; but you will have to take your choice, either Smith 
 and Cronksey and the Doctor must hang or crazy Jules Grie- 
 veau. You say, which shall it be.' And I answered, let it be 
 the man to whom neither life or death can make much differ- 
 ence; the man whose insane fanaticism will carry him gloiying 
 and happy into Eternity; he who will be surely by death the 
 gainer — but not the man steeped in sin, whose soul must sink 
 in perdition, not the man I have loved truly for so long, not 
 him — not him!" 
 
 And the woman stopped her story, sobbing and moaning 
 and wringing her hands with grief uncontrollable. 
 
 Even Silas Smith, the time-hardened villain, shed tears, and 
 was visibly affected, and in ihe court room were very few dry 
 eyes, every heart seemed touched by the proof of a love which 
 none could doubt. 
 
 "And" continued the witness, "I gave the paper Jules had 
 written to Spideler for safe-keepi7zg,^shits^\d, and discontinued 
 my investigation and my efforts to save Jules Grieveau, but the 
 remorse I have since suffered God only knows; that haggard 
 face, those rolling eyes are with me night and day, and his out- 
 raged spirit walks ever before me with imperative gesticulations 
 imploring to be avenged. 
 
 *'I never thought that they'd dare execute their victim; 
 but they did— the villains! And now I have told all I know 
 about It, and that's not much without the paper; if I'd only kept 
 the paper, justice might yet be done, and the ghost of crazy 
 Jules Grieveau no less than our martyred President at last be 
 appeased." 
 
 "Has the witness anything more to say?" asked the Judge. 
 "Nothing," answered the woman faintlv,and a moment after 
 she was borne in the arms of friends from' the court room, over- 
 come and in a deathly stupor. 
 
 A murmur of sympathy surged through the crowd, and then 
 profound stillness supervened as the Judge called the Chief of 
 the Secret Service of the Government to the stand. 
 
 "Let Mr. Strong be sworn," said the Judge turning to the 
 clerk of the court 
 
 And as the venerable Chief lifted his penetrating eyes, and 
 that thin white hand, holding so much of power and of fate in 
 its grasp, up to high Heaven, with solemn mvocation taking the 
 oath to tell the truth, the whole truth so far as he knew it, and 
 
308 THE STALWARTS; OR, 
 
 nothing but the truth, a feeHng of awe fell upon every heart, 
 and a sickening dread upon the guilty ones before him, until they 
 trembled and quaked with the premonition of doom. 
 
 " Have you anything to introduce in evidence, Chief Strong ?" 
 asked the new prosecuting attorney. 
 
 " Only a few scraps of paper," answered the Chief, " corrob- 
 orating the testimony already given. 
 
 "One was picked up on the floor of Gen. Gascoigne's study, 
 near where the Confessor had been standing, by Mr. Swanson, 
 just after the shooting and the arrest, and which we had a mo- 
 ment before seen the Confessor take from his pocket, showing 
 it to Gen. Gascoigne. It confirms the testimony given by the 
 last witness as to certain vague promises made to Grieveau by 
 somebody, supposed to be Spideler, and which the Confessor 
 procured at the last from him as his whole statement of the case. 
 But the sequel has proved that he either could not, or did not try 
 to get the whole story from the doomed man. 
 
 *' The second paper, also the third, which I shall introduce 
 in evidence, were torn by Leonard, pocket and all, from the 
 coat of Spideler, upon recognizing and attacking his former mas- 
 ter, by whom he had been so cruelly wronged. 
 
 " The first of these papers taken from the pocket of Spide- 
 ler confirms his testimony as to the doctor; being a contract in 
 regular form, signed by both, stating that for ce-rtain indefi- 
 nitely described services to be rendered the late President the 
 sum of twenty-five thousand dollars shall be paid by the said 
 Spideler when those services are satisfactorily completed. 
 
 " The second paper taken from the pocket of Spideler, is 
 the writing secured from Jules Grieveau by the former mistress 
 of Smith, and which she declares she afterwards gave to Spide- 
 ler at his solicitation. 
 
 " It is a statement that ' Spideler told him not to be afraid, 
 but to follow his inspiration and go ahead and do the thing the 
 Deity wanted him to do, and that Spideler had promised him 
 that Cronksey and his friend Silas Smith, Esq., would see him 
 through, and that he should have at least a foreign consulate, 
 and then he could marry the widow,' as he thought her. 
 
 " The fourth paper which I shall introduce in evidence was 
 found on the floor of Jules Grieveau's cell, by Leonard, when 
 cleaning up after serving his dinner as ordered by Jules' Uncle, 
 Gen. Gascoigne Leonard had a propensity for picking up 
 scraps of paper and rags, ' to light the fire,' as he said, and often 
 took them to Aunt Debby Swanson. He also had a strange 
 
IVHO WERE TO BLAME. 309 
 
 habit of decorating the cat named ' Tommy,' upon his frequent 
 visits, and for some unknown reason he fancied tying this par- 
 ticular scrap on Tommy's neck. Aunt Debby, soon after his 
 departure, finding it and knowing the hand writing and signa- 
 ture of Jules Grieveau, very properly saved and handed it to her 
 husband. 
 
 « It was a scribbled letter from Jules to Spideler, threaten- 
 ing dire vengeance from ' Deity,' unless Spideler should come 
 to the rescue of « God's man,' as he had promised, hinting that 
 the ' accidental ' President, Cronksey, Gen. John A. Gascoigne 
 and several leading politicians and officials had made promises 
 they had failed to fulfill. Though the paper contained no direct 
 proof of guilt, it was valuable as giving the first clue we had re- 
 ceived as to the proper course our investigations should take. 
 And from that day, Spideler, Cronksey, the President, Gen. 
 Gascoigne and others were closely watched, but the denouement 
 did not come in time to help poor Jules Grieveau." 
 
 " I believe you have stated that you received these four papers 
 from the hand of Mr. Swanson, the detective. Chief Strong; 
 is this correct? " asked the prosecuting attorney. 
 
 " Yes, sir, that was my statement," said the Chief. 
 
 " Let the papers referred to be produced," said the Judge, 
 *' and have Mr. Swanson sworn." 
 
 This being done, Uncle Tutty Swanson identified the four 
 papers as the ones he had turned over to the Chief at different 
 times as he had come into possession of them. 
 
 " The first one described by the Chief," said Uncle Tutty 
 Swanson, " I myself secured, picking it up from the floor of 
 Gen. Gascoigne's study after the arrests were made, as stated by 
 Chief Strong. The second and third were handed me by my 
 wife on that day, in the evening, upon my return home, she 
 telling that Leonard had brought them to her. 
 
 " The fourth was given me quite early in the summer, short- 
 ly before the execution of Jules Grieveau, by my wife also, she 
 finding it on the cat's neck after one of Leonard's visits." 
 
 Finally, Mrs. Swanson was put upon the stand, and stated 
 that she received the second and third papers from Leonard, on 
 the day of the terrible doings at Gen. Gascoigne's, as he said "To 
 kindle a fire with." " And a fire sure enough we should have 
 had then, had I not sent them by my husband to the good Chief 
 there, for the people were like tinder that day,'and a fire ending 
 in an explosion might have occurred, destroying the guilty and 
 
310 THE STALWARTS; UK, 
 
 innocent alike, had not the Chief kept all quiet until the excite- 
 ment cooled. 
 
 *'The fourth paper referred to, I received also from Leonard 
 in an indirect way, as has been testified to, and he told me how 
 he came by it," "That will do, Mrs. Swanson, we cannot take 
 hear-say evidence which cannot be confirmed," said the Judge. 
 "If you have told all you know of your own knowledge, we 
 will excuse you." 
 
 Leonard could not of course be sworn, as the testimony of 
 the crazy or idiotic is not admissable in a court of justice. 
 
 The woman who had lived for so many years wuth Smith 
 as his wife, and had finally, conscience smitten, given her testi- 
 mony against him, having partially recovered from her swoon^ 
 was again called into court, and under oath, identified the second 
 paper referred to in the testimony of Chief Strong and the 
 other witnesses, as the one she had "Seen Jules Grieveau write 
 and sign, and which she had afterwards given to Spideler at his 
 request." She also swore, "That Spideler did not deny making 
 these statements to Jules, or that he had influenced him to do 
 the dreadful deed of shooting the President, or that he was at 
 the time working in the interests of Cronksey and Smith. 
 
 "All I have stated is true, so help me God!" exclaimed the 
 woman falling headlong from her seat in the witness-box. She 
 was found to be dead — gone beyond recall; her last earnest 
 words still sounding in their ears. 
 
 This episode delayed for a short time only the business be- 
 fore the court. 
 
 Upon the testimony which had been produced, the case was 
 allowed to go to the jury by the prosecution. No defense was 
 attempted except the point blank denial of the two men accused, 
 which went for naught both in the minds of the jury and the 
 people. 
 
 Had the verdict been returned of "not guilty," so enraged 
 had the populace become, the accused must surely have suffered 
 death before they reached the court house portico. 
 
 When the announcement was finally made of "guilty," Silas 
 Smith as the instigator and the Doctor as accessory to the mur- 
 der of the late President, the vast crowd dispersed, well satisfied, 
 to their homes. 
 
 The incumbent President, Gen. John A. Gascoigne, the 
 honored General-in-Chief of the army, and others more or less 
 mixed up in the intrigue; who at the last had weakly allowed 
 themselves to become enthralled by the horror of the situation,. 
 
lVI/0 WERE TO BLAME. 311 
 
 not daring bravely to face the popular clamor in the interest of 
 truth and justice, thus averting a w^rong; w^ere long ere this 
 verdict w^as rendered, excused in the minds of the people from 
 any supposed complicity in the terrible tragedy perpetrated 
 without their actual knowledgfe. 
 
 But the Confessor and the Attorney, who united in so shame- 
 fully deceiving poor Jules Grieveau, his friends, and the people 
 no less than they, in the endeavor to conceal and cover from 
 view the slimy track left behind him, of that political serpent 
 named "the Stalwarts;" and J. G. Bamboozle as well, whose dou- 
 ble-faced treachery helped '■'■wreck a President^'''' were each and 
 all ever after under a ban of reproach, because of their nefarious 
 conduct; and finding the climate of the United States uncom- 
 fortably cool, they wisely departed for foreign parts, remain- 
 ing permanently abroad. 
 
 After the usual preliminaries, legal and otherwise, had tran- 
 spired, everything possible being done to delay the event which 
 could be devised by the two felons, who, notwithstanding all, 
 still commanded great wealth and influence; they were executed, 
 both Silas Smith, che typical intriguer, and the typical Doctor, 
 on "black" Friday, but a few months after Jules Grieveau's brave 
 death cry "Ready, Glory!" had resounded from the same scaf- 
 fold. 
 
 They came pinioned from their cells, quaking with fear, 
 begging piteously for that mercy which they had not given; 
 but the time had come, there was no reprieve. 
 
 As the secret hand pulled the hidden rope, launching their 
 sin-burdened souls upon the sea of Eternity, all who remem- 
 bered the gambling in Wall Street stocks, as the cypher dis- 
 patches informed of a dying victim's fevered vibrating pulse; 
 and the horrible persistent probing, torturing a Martyred Presi- 
 dent to his death; could not but feel that a just retribution had 
 been visited upon these who were certainly to blame, whoever 
 else may have been concerned in this wrong to individuals and 
 to the Nation. 
 
 But still let us believe, that from the beginning was foundation 
 laid of some plan, whereby every creature, even though griev- 
 ously sinning and heavily chastened ; yet in the rolling cycles 
 of the ages, coming at last to recognize the Great Logos the 
 Loving Mediator from Everlasting to Everlasting, and find- 
 ing repentence, surely also forgivness, and the Infinite blessing 
 of Jehovah's peace. 
 
 THE END. 
 

 
RARE BOOK 
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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
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