ALVMNVS BOOK FVND 
 
 \Vf, 
 
 \_ ^ \ "^ 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 BY 
 
 A COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER, 
 
 , W^ v ~: 
 
 If L hold you overlong, lay hardly the fault on my old age, which in its 
 nature is talkative-... SIDKEY. 
 
 WE W.YORK : 
 
 PRINTED BYJ.&J. HARPER, 82 CLIFF-ST. 
 
 SOLD BY E. DUYCKINCK, COLLINS AND HANNAY, COLLINS AND CO., G. AND C 
 ,AND H. CARVILL, WILLIAM B. OILLKY, E. BLISS, O. A. ROORBACH, WHITE, 
 6ALLAHER, AND WHITE, C. S. FRANCIS, WILLIAM BURGESS, JR., AND N. B. 
 HOLMES ; PHILADELPHIA, CAREY, LEA, AND CAREY, AND JOHN QR16G;- 
 ALBANY, O. STKSLE. 
 
 1829. 
 
-vvv 
 
 SOUTHERN DISTRICT OP NEW-YORK, "ss. 
 REME pEBED, That on the llth day of June, A.D. 1829, in tlw 
 ye f ar >, 0f th | Independence of the United States of America, J. &. .f 
 , of the said District, have deposited in this office the title of a Bool- 
 . ngnt whereof they claim as proprietors, in the words following, to wit: 
 " Tales and Sketches. By a Country Schoolmaster. 
 
 "If I hold you overlong, lay hardly the fault on my old age, which in if* 
 nature is talkative. . .. .SIDNEY." 
 
 In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, entitled " An act 
 the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, and 
 oks, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein 
 act . ent , it , led " An , act supplementary to an act, 
 
 moneci, and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of desinii) 
 engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 
 
 FRED. J. BETTS, 
 L Clerk of the Southern District of WwTork 
 

 
 r 
 
 COXTEffTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SCIUATTER, . "" ,. .13 
 
 A BURIAL AT SEA, ... Jg . 84 
 
 THE STANTON GHOST ; OR, MISTAKE OF THE PRESS, 90 
 THE STEEL CLASP,. . . .. . , 108 
 
 THE LIE OF BENEVOLEKCE, . 139 
 
 THE RIFLE, . . . . . . 146 
 
 NEAR-SIGHTED, . . . . . ? . .188 
 
 A WATCH IN THE MAIN-TOP, . 205 
 
 WHITE HANDS ; OR, NOT QUITE IN CHARACTER, .219 
 THE MISTAKE, . , 240 
 
 420766 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 THE SQ,UATTER 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A goodly fellow by his looks, though worn, 
 As most good fellows are, by pain or pleasure, 
 Which tear life out of us before our time 
 I scarce know which most quickly ; but 
 To have seen better days, as who has not 
 That has seen yesterday? -- 
 
 THERE is nothing more true than the saying of 
 Horace, that it is sweet to remember those things which 
 it was hard to suffer. In youth we listen to the pro 
 mises of hope, and look forward to the future with 
 confidence for their fulfilment. But as years roll by, 
 f.he sanguineness of our character becomes diminished ; 
 disappointment after disappointment occurs to cloud 
 the prospect ; and we turn more frequently, and with 
 more fondness, to the contemplation of the past, in 
 proportion as the field is lessened whereon fancy was 
 wont to build her delusive fabrics. For my own part 
 in my early years I possessed a wild and wayward 
 spirit, that thirsted for adventure and renown ; and by 
 ,sume path or other I was determined to ascend the 
 B 
 
]KD ^KETCHES. 
 
 height of fame. It would be vain to recount the va 
 rious exploits by which I successively sought to accom 
 plish my object : suffice it to say, that in all I was 
 disappointed ; and that now, at the age of nearly sixty 
 years, occupied as the teacher of some eighteen or 
 twenty boys, in an obscure village, beyond which I am 
 scarcely known, I can look back over the toils and 
 perils of an active life, with a degree of tranquil 
 pleasure that the anticipation of my proudest scheme 
 never afforded. Indeed, oftentimes of an afternoon^ 
 lulled by the drowsy murmurs of my little school, I 
 become entirely unconscious of the realities around 
 me, and live over some long passed period, amidst 
 scenes and companions that the talismanic power 
 of memory can alone restore. Among the associates 
 of former clays, thus brought before me, I often think 
 of one with whom I was acquainted in some trying 
 scenes, both of adversity and prosperity ; and several 
 curious incidents in the fife of whom, if the reader can 
 spare time to peruse the garrulous effusions of an old 
 man, he will find related in the following story. 
 
 On the edge of one of the finest and most fertile 
 prairies in Illinois, and in the midst of a grove of 
 stately locust trees, the foliage of which, in the sum 
 mer season, almost hid it from the sight, there stood a. 
 few years ago, (and it stands there still, no doubt, 
 unless the prairie-fires have reached it, and consumed 
 its perishable walls) a little log-cabin, so humble and 
 lowly in its outward appearance, that it scarcely won 
 a momentary glance from the travellers who chanced 
 to pass that way. It was situated on a gentle accli 
 vity, just under the brow of the forest, the lofty and 
 leafy branches of which, as soon as the sun attained 
 the meridian, cast over it a deep and agreeable shade. 
 J3ehind the cottage, ;it the distance of about a hundred 
 yards, a rivulet, meandered in many curious windings 
 through the level bottom-land of the wood?, denn- 
 
\ 
 
 THE SQUATTER. 15 
 
 minated not unaptly, from the glittering translucencc 
 of its current, Silver Stream. Unlike most of the 
 brooks and rivers of that savanna country, which are 
 usually stagnant during the warmest months of the 
 year, the limpid tide of this one continued to gurgle 
 on its course through every season alike, thus giving 
 to the prospect in the sultry afternoons of summer a 
 delightful richness, and gratifying the ear with its me 
 lodious flow. 
 
 In front of the cottage, an immense prairie extended 
 itself as far as the eye could reach, its surface smooth 
 and unbroken as the bosom of some inland sea. Not 
 a tree or shrub was seen to break the green monotony 
 of its appearances ; but as the seasons varied, an innu 
 merable succession of flowers, of every hue and every 
 combination of hues, sprang up, and bloomed, and 
 withered, amid that vast and beautiful solitude, as if 
 nature had scattered them there in wanton prodigality, 
 
 * To waste their sweetness on the desert air," 
 
 without there being any salutary object in their crea 
 tion. Philosophy, however, has, with tardy step, at last 
 discovered the correctness of the humble Christian s 
 belief, that nothing is made in vain ; and that these 
 very flowers, which smile away their brief existence 
 in unconscious loveliness, unseen by the eye of man, 
 are wisely intended to counteract or diminish, by their 
 odorous breath, the latent causes of the dreadful epi 
 demics, which sometimes spread disease and death 
 through that luxuriant region. 
 
 The cabin itself was rudely constructed of unhewn 
 logs, the interstices between which wera filled with 
 small blocks of wood and mortar. The roof was of 
 rough oaken shingles, and instead of being secured 
 with nails, long logs placed upon it, at regular intervals, 
 and lengthwise of the building, served to keep them in 
 
10 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 their places. The house had but one door and window, 
 the latter furnished (an uncommon thing in that wil 
 derness country) with panes of glass. A small en 
 closure in front of the humble edifice was cultivated 
 as a flower-garden ; and the neatness with which it 
 was kept, and the taste displayed in the arrangement 
 of the beds, and in disposing to the best advantage the 
 few varieties of flowers and shrubs it contained, evinced 
 that it was the work of woman s delicate hand. 
 There were no out-houses, nor was there need for any ; 
 for the dweller in that secluded and lowly abode had 
 neither horses, nor oxen, nor lands, nor earthly riches 
 of any kind unless indeed we may class under that 
 head a wife and two fine and promising boye. If these 
 be treasures, he was indeed rich ; for never was hus 
 band blessed with a more lovely, or more loving wife ; 
 and never did the midnight prayer of a father ascend 
 to heaven in behalf of more filial offspring. But be 
 sides these he had nothing absolutely nothing. He 
 was what is denominated in the language of the terri 
 tory in which he resided, a Squatter; or, in other 
 words, one who, without permission, resided on and 
 cultivated lands belonging to the United States. 
 
 The Squatter was a tall, well formed man, appa 
 rently about thirty-two or three years of age. His 
 countenance indicated manliness and intelligence ; 
 and though a shade of sadness and care dwelt almost 
 always upon it, there were times when his dark blue 
 eyes became lighted up with uncommon vivacity. 
 His conversation and manners were said by those who 
 had had an opportunity of observing them, to belong 
 to a rank in society much superior to that which he 
 now occupied ; but the number of such as were quali 
 fied to come to this conclusion was but small, as he 
 studiously shunned society, and was seldom to be met 
 with beyond the limits of the retired plantation which 
 he cultivated. 
 
THE SQUATTER, 1 1 
 
 His wife seemed six or seven years younger than 
 himself, and exhibited a combination of charms that 
 are rarely found united in a single individual. In 
 stature she was of the middling size, and her form had 
 been moulded with faultless symmetry. Her eyes 
 were black as the sloe, and were singularly adapted to 
 the expression of every variety of feeling. Her com 
 plexion, though slightly browned by exposure to the 
 sun, was clear and transparent ; and the rich blood 
 that mantled in her cheeks, imparted to them a hue 
 that outvied that of the roses in her garden. 
 
 Besides this lovely woman, the expression of whose 
 countenance indicated great sweetness of disposition, 
 as well as intelligence, there was another female mem 
 ber of the secluded family, apparently about eighteen 
 years of age, whom a stranger would at once have re 
 cognised, by her tall person, dignified deportment, au 
 burn locks, dark blue eyes, and the general and strong 
 resemblance of her countenance, as the sister of the 
 Squatter. 
 
 Of the children, the elder, about seven years of age, 
 partook in a large degree of his father s characteristics ; 
 and the younger, not quite five, was the softened imago 
 of his mother s beauty. An aged negro domestic, 
 named Mungo, whom it would be difficult to describe, 
 made up the number of the little family. He was a 
 short, square-built man, with a stoop in his shoulders, 
 arms of uncommon length, and legs, on the contrary, 
 of very disproportioned brevity. His face was of a 
 deep black, which contrasted oddly enough with the 
 grizzled and close curled covering that surmounted it, 
 blanched by time to an almost silvery whiteness. His 
 features, and indeed his whole appearance, partook 
 very largely of the African peculiarities. His forehead 
 was low and full, terminating at the bottom in two 
 bushy projections, which bore but little resemblance to 
 eyebrows : beneath rolled a pair of dilated orbs, that 
 B 2 
 
18 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 might, in relation to expansion, if not brightness, have 
 entitled Mungo to Collins s epithet of " moon-eyed ;" 
 and these were separated by a nose, the growth of 
 which had been altogether lateral, for though it spread 
 nearly half across his face, it protruded scarcely half an 
 inch beyond. The lips underneath, however, as if to 
 compensate for the deficiency of longitude in the nasai 
 member, extended themselves for a good inch beyond 
 the usual proportion, till the lower one, of its own 
 weight, curled over on the chin, presenting to view a 
 row of substantial teeth, as white as driven snow. The 
 form of honest Mungo was in every way deserving of 
 such a "human face divine." His body, from his 
 breast to his hips, presented the shape of an inverted 
 cone, and it was supported on legs which seemed to 
 have been unequal to the burden, and to have bent 
 beneath it, till the knees were at least half a yard 
 asunder. 
 
 I have been thus particular in describing the ap 
 pearance of the sable domestic, because Mungo is* 
 about to act a very conspicuous part in the following 
 narrative; and I could not forbear being minute in 
 speaking of one who lives so vividly in my recollec 
 tion, and who, underneath a skin of Ethiopian black- 
 ness, possessed a heart as warm and faithful as ever 
 beat in a human bosom. 
 
 It was in the spring season of the year that my story 
 commences. The brief winter of the delightful cli 
 mate in that part of our country in which I place my 
 scene, had passed away, and the first glance of the 
 genial sunbeams had wakened inanima-te nature from its 
 chilly torpor. The silvery waters of the little stream 
 which glided at a short distance behind the log-cabin 
 I have partially described, had cast off their chain of 
 ice, and once more went gurgling and singing on their 
 way through the forest. The stately trees the oak, 
 the sycamore, the cotton-tree, and all the thousand va- 
 
THE SQUATTED. 10 
 
 rieties which mingle their many-hued foliage in one 
 immense mass of verdure in our western woods 
 seemed swelling with conscious life, as the south wind 
 dallied around them; and all nature began to assume 
 an appearance of bloom, like the cheek of a young 
 maiden, when the interval of anxious suspense is past, 
 and she hears the amatory declaration of her lover. 
 Before the cottage, the prairie still wore its wintry ap 
 pearance ; for the tall grass that clothed it had escaped 
 the fires which usually kindled either by accident or 
 design spread over their surface during the autumn, 
 destroying whatever they encounter in their progress. 
 The withered herbage rustled as the breeze passed 
 over it, and presented a vast sea of wavy undula 
 tions, not unlike those which agitate the bosom of the 
 ecean. The forest which fringed the opposite side, 
 was scarcely visible from its distance ; and seemed, to 
 a fanciful view, like the dim green outline which the 
 weary and homeward bound mariner rejoices to descry 
 upon the verge of the deep, because it speaks of a ter 
 mination to his wanderings, arid is rife with a thousand 
 heart-hoarded associations. 
 
 In the little enclosure which surrounded the cottage 
 of our Squatter, the forward flowers and plants already 
 began to reward the assiduous and delicate hand that 
 nurtured them ; and the opening buds as they expanded 
 their leaves to greet the morning sun, effused a delight 
 ful odour on the breeze, as if in grateful return for 
 the care which they received. 
 
 Such was the state of things on the evening of the 
 delightful spring day on which I commence my narra 
 tive. The sun had set in cloudless majesty behind the 
 extensive forest, on the edge of which was situated 
 the cabin of William Wilson, (the name by which the 
 Squatter was designated), and the lengthened shadows 
 of the lofty trees reached far over the prairie like the 
 thoughts of age "repining towards the past." 
 
*20 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 family group were assembled round the door of their 
 humble dwelling, conversing in a tone that seemed to 
 partake somewhat of the twilight softness of the hour. 
 The mind of the Squatter, like the shadow of his own 
 person, as a straggling gleam of the setting sun fell 
 upon it, stretched itself far back towards the morning 
 of life, and his brow wore an expression which plainly 
 told that the subject of his meditations was not alto 
 gether of a pleasurable kind. He sat on the log step 
 which led to the door of his rude habitation, his 
 face partly concealed by his hand, on which his head 
 was resting. His wife was beside him, her delicate 
 white arm white in the twilight as the silvery bark 
 of the lofty poplar trees which surrounded their cabin 
 gently wreathed around his neck, .and her sweet 
 voice conversing with him in a low and soothing tone, 
 as if desirous to dispel the memories that were throng 
 ing through his mind. The sister of William was at a 
 little distance from him, engaged in teaching the 
 younger of the boys, while the elder, just beyond the 
 enclosure, was playing with a huge mastiff, called Pom- 
 pey, which was so much a part of the family, that I 
 should not altogether omit him in my enumeration. 
 
 " Look yonder, look yonder, aunt Susan !" cried the 
 merry urchin who was romping in the prairie grass 
 with the dog, addressing himself to the sister of the 
 Squatter, Look ! yonder comes Squire Blandley to 
 see you." 
 
 The cheek of the conscious girl reddened at the an 
 nunciation, and she turned a furtive glance in the di 
 rection pointed out by the merry boy, which was im 
 mediately withdrawn again, and succeeded by a deeper 
 tinge of crimson on her face, as she perceived that 
 there was indeed a traveller on the prairie, who had 
 left the road to the settlement beyond, and was canter 
 ing along the path that led to their secluded abode. 
 
 William started to his feet as the horseman ap- 
 
THE SQTTATTEH. 21 
 
 preached, for viewing him with a steadier gaze than 
 the timid eye of love dared venture to give, he recog 
 nised in him, not the welcome visiter, whom his rosy 
 son had announced,but a prying and pettifogging lawyer 
 who resided in the same village with the other, and who, 
 with a degree of impertinent curiosity often found in 
 the lowest members of his profession, had several times 
 endeavoured to penetrate the mystery which shrouded 
 the circumstances of the Squatter. 
 
 "Curse on the quibbling wretch!" muttered he; 
 11 he comes to rack my heart again with his idle ques 
 tions, and makes me tremble for the safety of my 
 dreadful secret. Eleanor," (addressing himself to the 
 gentle being beside him, whose countenance had also 
 assumed a saddened expression,) " Eleanor, I cannot 
 wait here to meet his inquisitive eye, and answer to his 
 wily interrogations. My heart of late seems to have 
 lost its firmness, and my nerves are shocked by the 
 most trivial occurrences. I fear that even the deep 
 solitude of this wilderness country will not long con 
 tinue to afford me concealment." 
 
 " Look not so wildly, William," replied his wife, " nor 
 attach so much importance to the aimless curiosity of 
 yonder lawyer. His visit will doubtless be brief ; and 
 whatever be its object, it cannot be possible that any 
 suspicion " 
 
 " Do not name that dreadful, that hateful occur 
 rence," said he, interrupting her, " Do not name it, 
 Eleanor, lest the winds should reveal the secret, and I 
 should yet meet the fate so narrowly avoided. It is 
 not for myself not on my own account, my best be 
 loved, that my heart has grown so feverish and faint. 
 But when I think of you, and these dear pledges of 
 our love, and the indelible ignominy which would fall 
 upon their names, and pursue them with a hissing 
 mockery through life, I experience a degree of trepi 
 dation which it is not in the power of reason to calm, 
 
-2 TALES AWD SKETCHES. 
 
 But no, I will not avoid the face of this talking fool I 
 will not hide myself from his sight ; but will rather 
 confront him, eye to eye, and frown the inquisitiveness 
 of his petty soul into silence." 
 
 The object of the Squatter s biting remarks had by 
 this time drawn near to the enclosure. He was a short, 
 thin man, of rather a cadaverous complexion, with light 
 blue eyes, which turned from side to side with a quick 
 and restless expression. His face was lean and wrinkled, 
 his nose long and sharp, and his hair of a reddish 
 cast, closely shaven, and combed down with the utmost 
 precision. In form he was muscular; his shoulders 
 were broad and square ; and his legs, which were clad 
 in pantaloons that fitted tightly to his flesh, were long, 
 bony, and disproportioned. On his head he wore a 
 hat which had evidently seen much service, for it. had 
 been in constant use until not a fibre of the nap was 
 left, and it had acquired, from long exposure to wind 
 and weather, a hue almost as red as the hair which it 
 covered. He was dressed in a suit of coarse apparel, 
 which seemed scarcely more modern than the beaver, 
 exhibiting as it did in every seem, and indeed in every 
 part of the thread-bare surface, the ravages of the 
 brush. 
 
 As soon as he succeeded in checking the speed of his 
 horse, and breaking him into a gait that allowed him 
 the use of his lungs, he cried out in a tone of voice 
 meant to be conciliatory. " How d do, how <P do, 
 neighbour Wilson. Glad to see you. Stopped this 
 way to have a little pleasant chat, and hear what news 
 are stirring. Hope your family is all well ?" 
 
 " My family is well," replied William Wilson, "and as 
 for news, I have none to communicate that will make 
 it worth your while to dismount." 
 
 " Must alight must alight" said the talkative law 
 yer, at the same time getting down from his saddle, 
 jind throwing the bridle over one of the stakes of th* 
 
T1IH SQUATTER. &3 
 
 enclosure. " Have rode my animal hard, and must rest 
 awhile. Can t stay long : going to upper county court. 
 Full of business always busy. Any thing to do in 
 my line, happy to attend to it. Charges moderate." 
 
 " I have no occasion for your advice at the present 
 time," responded the Squatter, as he led the way into 
 the house, evidently displeased at being forced to act 
 the part of host whether he would or not. The law 
 yer followed him, with a short quick step, casting a 
 furtive glance around on every article in the apartment 
 which he was entering, actuated by that intense and 
 restless curiosity which was one of his strongest charac 
 teristics. 
 
 " Snug cabin you have got here, Mr. Wilson," said 
 he, " very snug cabin for a squatter." 
 
 A blush mounted to the forehead of William Wilson 
 at being thus uncourteously addressed by the appella- 
 tion which he knew was generally applied, in the an- 
 guage of the country, to^ persons who like himself had 
 settled, without permission, on public lands ; but he en 
 deavoured to suppress his emotion as he answered, 
 - J Yes, Mr. Facias, seven years of incessant toil have 
 collected some few comforts around me, and enabled 
 me to give some little appearance of snugness to the 
 interior of my hut. Still, however, I am only a squat 
 ter, without the means of rendering any suitable ac 
 commodation to a person of your situation in life^ and 
 you will excuse me, therefore, if I do not press you to 
 prolong your visit." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," said the imperturbable lawyer, 
 who had quietly seated himself in a chair beside the 
 opening that served the purpose of a window, and was 
 alreadily busily engaged in looking over a bundle of 
 newspapers that he had drawn from his pocket. " Let 
 me see what nevys we have from the eastward," con 
 tinued he ; and he kept on humming over the contents 
 >f the papers, until his attention became suddenly mom 
 
; 24 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 deeply rivetted by an article which seemed to possess 
 particular interest. " Bless, my eyes !" exclaimed he ; 
 " what have we here ? A person taken upon suspicion 
 of being the murderer of Thornton, about eight years 
 ago. Ay, I recollect the circumstance. I passed 
 through the village a few days after Woodville made 
 his escape. It was the talk of the whole country. I 
 am glad they have got the villian. But let me finish 
 the paragraph." He then turned his eyes again upon 
 the passage, and continued to read along, in a humming 
 and half articulate manner, as follows. * Proved on ex 
 amination not to be the person. By certain circumstances 
 which have recently transpired, it is believed that the 
 real murderer is now living in one of the western 
 states, under an assumed name. Measures have been 
 taken to ascertain the truth of this supposition, and the 
 governor has issued a proclamation, doubling the re 
 ward formerly offered for his apprehension. It is 
 thought that he cannot much longer elude the vigilance 
 of tfie defeated laws. " 
 
 The reader was here interrupted by a stifled shriek 
 from Eleanor, who, trembling in every limb, and pale 
 as a statue, had fainted in the arms of the Squatter. 
 From the time that the lawyer had commenced read 
 ing, her attention had been fastened on him, and as he 
 proceeded, her countenance had manifested increasing 
 agitation, until her overwrought mind could no longer 
 endure the struggle of her emotions, and she had sunk 
 insensible on the bosom of her husband. From some 
 cause or other, probably anxiety occasioned by the 
 situation of his partner, William seemed also labouring 
 under deep emotion. The blood had forsaken his lips, 
 and drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead. His 
 sister, scarcely less agitated, rushed into the apartment 
 when the faint scream of Eleanor reached her ear, and 
 as she cast a rapid glance around on the different mem 
 bers of the group, an eye skilled in the language of ite 
 
THE SQUATTER. Si> 
 
 countenance might have detected the struggle of very 
 complicated and contrary feelings. The whole group 
 presented a scene of confusion and distress which words 
 are not adequate correctly to describe. 
 
 " Bless me !" cried the astonished lawyer, bustling 
 about and gathering up his papers, " bless me ! what 
 have I done ?" 
 
 " Nothing !" sternly responded the quivering and 
 husky voice of the Squatter. " It is an attack of a com 
 plaint to which my wife is sometimes liable ; she will 
 shortly recover." 
 
 Eleanor now opened her eyes, and casting them 
 wildly around, muttered a few incoherent words, the 
 purport of which the lawyer s quick ears were not 
 able to glean. Her senses, however, seemed suddenly 
 to return to her, and rising from the recumbent pos 
 ture into which she had sunk, and assuming a languid 
 smile, she excused herself in a faint voice, to Mr. Facias, 
 on the plea of sudden indisposition, and begged her 
 sister to conduct her into the adjoining apartment. The 
 lawyer now rose to depart, but not before he had 
 again unfolded the newspaper, and cast another 
 glance over the passage which had created such a gen 
 eral sensation. His eyes wandered once or twice 
 from the paper to the person of the Squatter, and their 
 little blue and ever-moving orbs gleamed with some 
 thing like a sinister expression, as if he were satisfied 
 with the result of his scrutiny. 
 
 " Mr. Wilson," said he, as the former followed him 
 to the door, " you have been in this country, I believe* 
 about seven years ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," responded the other, in a tone of voice 
 meant to suppress farther inquiry. 
 
 " You have a negro man, named Mungo, who came 
 to the country with you ?" 
 
 " Mr. Facias," said the Squatter, drawing up his tall 
 and handsome person to its full height, " I do not choose. 
 C 
 
36 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 f o be interrogated in relation to my private circum 
 stances. Fium the sudden indisposition of my wife, 
 which you have witnessed, you must be aware that J 
 have no time to devote to the gratification of idle curi 
 osity ; and if you have any more important object in 
 your inquiries, you must pursue them through a differ 
 ent channel. I bid you good evening, sir." 
 
 The baffled lawyer mounted his horse, and turned 
 his head towards the road by which he had lately 
 arrived at the cabin. 
 
 " I thought you were on your way to the upper set 
 tlement," said William, in a manner that betrayed con- 
 siderable anxiety. 
 
 " I have changed my mind," was the brief reply. 
 
 " And do you mean to return to Edgarton to-night T 
 
 " Mr. Wilson has become the interrogator now, v 
 responded Facias, with a sneer. " But I am more- 
 communicative than he, and answer that I do." 
 
 " Do you expect to ride this way again soon V f in 
 quired Wilson with great perturbation. 
 
 " Sooner, perhaps, than you will wish to see me, if 
 I may judge by the courtesy of my present entertain 
 ment." And with these words he clapped spurs to his 
 horse, and was soon lost to sight in the twilight hazi 
 ness of the distance. As long as the tramp of the 
 receding hoofs was audible, William Wilson continued 
 standing in the door-way of his humble cabin, in a 
 state of feeling which it would be difficult to describe. 
 Silence had for some time settled again over the wide 
 and solitary prairie, when, starting from his reverie, he 
 turned with a sigh into the little apartment, where, riot- 
 withstanding the peculiar circumstances of his situa 
 tion, he had enjoyed many happy hours, but where ho 
 could scarcely count upon enjoying many more, 
 
THE SQUATTm 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 Anil oft, in sudden mood, for many a day. 
 From all communion he would start away : 
 And then, his rarely called attendants ^aid, 
 Through night s long hours would sound his hurried tread. 
 
 LARA. 
 
 WHILE our hero is endeavouring to forget, in the 
 temporary oblivion of slumber, the cares and anxious 
 forebodings occasioned by the circumstances related in 
 he previous chapter, perhaps the reader will be willing 
 to accompany me to the little village, which I have 
 already mentioned as the residence of Mr. Facias. 
 
 The delightful afternoon which we have partially 
 described, was succeeded, as is often the case with the 
 first warm days of spring, in the changeable climate of 
 the western states, by a cool and cloudy evening. As 
 ihe sun went down, the wind, which had been plea 
 santly felt before in balmy breathings from the south, 
 now blew in fresh and frequent gusts from a northern 
 quarter of the heavens, causing such travellers and pas 
 sengers as were exposed to its influence, to wrap 
 themselves more closely in their cloaks, as they shivered 
 with the suddenness of the transition. The moon had 
 risen ; but large and dense masses of clouds, driven 
 along the sky with the broken, confused, and rapid 
 flight of a retreating army, for a greater part of the 
 time completely obscured her brightness. 
 
 The village to which I have given the appellation of 
 Edgarton, was situated on the summit of a long ridge 
 of ground, which, commencing in the skirts of a prairie, 
 gradually became narrower, as the valleys or ravines, 
 on either side, grew deeper and wider, till it at last 
 
J TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 terminated in a steep hill at the- very point where the 
 valleys, converging into one, emptied the little rivulets 
 that meandered through them into a broad and placid 
 stream, which glided slowly through the level land of 
 the bottom. A rude road, by which emigrants passed 
 on to the more northern sections of the territory, wound 
 do\vn the steep acclivity, at the ^bottom of which a 
 rustic looking bridge, that exhibited in its structure 
 a much greater abundance of materials than of me 
 chanical skill, enabled them to cross into the forest, 
 whose stately trees reached to the edge of the banks, 
 and overhung the water, on the opposite side. 
 
 The village consisted of about fifty houses, for "the 
 most part built of logs, and fronting on the broad level 
 road that ran lengthwise of the ridge, along its very 
 summit. Two or three more ostentatious dwellings, con 
 structed of bricks, and furnished with glazed windows, 
 interpersed among them, indicated the residence of the 
 more opulent part of the simple inhabitants. Before 
 one of the former kind, a huge sign swinging in the blast 
 informed the weary traveller that he might there find 
 entertainment for man and beast ; while the old hats 
 and ragged apparel, thrust into the apertures of the 
 windows to supply the place of the broken glass, and 
 the general filthy and uncomfortable appearance of the 
 place, seemed to contradict the information. 
 
 The appearance of the interior of this house did not 
 belie its outside. The floor was soiled with dirt, the 
 walls discoloured by smoke, and the furniture was 
 mean and squalid in the extreme. A large fire had 
 been burning in the chimney-place : but, as the even 
 ing advanced, it had gradually smouldered away, and 
 the dying embers now shed a sort of dusky twilight 
 through the apartment. A saddle and saddle-bags, a 
 horse-whip, an old harness, and two or three bridles, 
 and horse-blankets, occupied one corner, either thrown 
 an the floor, or hung up on pegs driven in the wall ; in 
 
THE SQUATTER. 29 
 
 the opposite one, a bar was partitioned off, forming 
 the segment of a circle, behind the palings of which, 
 when the brands occasionally kindled into a brighter 
 bJaze, an odd assemblage of kegs, bottles, tumblers, and 
 tin measures, was to be seen. A few rush-bottomed 
 chairs, and some without any bottoms, or only a piece 
 of clapboard nailed across instead, were placed in the 
 intervals between the windows ; a long, rou^h oaken 
 bench stood along the wall on the opposite side ; and 
 in the midst of the apartment was a table of the same 
 material, at which sat two men, engaged in conversa 
 tion, a bottle of whiskey, a tin flagon, and several tum 
 blers being on the table between them. On one end 
 of the bench which we have mentioned, and almost 
 concealed by the shade which the projection of the 
 chimney-place cast upon him, sat a third guest, who 
 by his stillness and silence might have been judged to 
 be asleep, had not the quick glancing of his eyes, when 
 now and then his attention was attracted by some ob 
 servation of the two who were conversing at the table, 
 evinced him to be awake. 
 
 " It was late on a stormy night," said one of the 
 speakers, who was a tall, thin man, dressed, after the 
 manner of the country, in a linsey-woolsey hunting 
 shirt, bordered with red woolen fringe, a pair of leg 
 gings of dressed deer-skin, sowed with strings formed 
 of the sinews of the same animal, and wearing on his 
 feet a pair of mockasins curiously wrought and orna 
 mented, " It was late on a stormy night, seven years 
 ago last winter, that he arrived at Brown s tavern, 
 which was then, and for a good while after, the only 
 public house in Edgarton. I was deputy-sheriff thai 
 year, and had reached town from a hard riding just 
 after night set in. There was Joe Somerdike, Major 
 Whitesides, and me, and we sat late, enjoying a glass 
 together, when we were all startled by a loud knock 
 a* the door. It had set in to snow hard soon after I 
 C2 
 
30 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 reached town, and we could hear the wind howling 
 and moaning around the house as loud and fierce as 
 a pack of half famished prairie-wolves. 
 
 " Who the devil can be out this time of night 1" said 
 Joe Somerdike, turning as white as a buck s tail. 
 It s the Wild Hunter, said Major Whitesides, with a 
 sneer on his lip, in derision of Joe s cowardice, and at 
 the same time staggering towards the door, where the 
 knocking was now repeated; white the landlord, Brown, 
 who had been sleeping in the corner, also aroused by 
 the noise, started to his feet, and demanded what was 
 the matter. 
 
 " Whitesides gave no answer, but jerking open the 
 door, admitted the stranger. He seemed nearly frozen 
 with the cold, and in a faint voice asked if himself and 
 family could be accommodated. A ready assent was 
 of course given, and every assistance rendered to pro 
 vide for their wants. His wife was a young and deli 
 cate woman, scarcely more than eighteen years of age, 
 though evidently in ill health, and as pale as the snow 
 amidst which they had been wandering. She was ac 
 companied by a female still younger than herself, 
 whom we afterward learned to be the sister of Wil 
 son, as the stranger called himself, (though I have 
 often suspected that that is not his name) and by a 
 negro man. 
 
 "When suitable pro visions were made for the females, 
 Wilson returned to the fire in the bar-room. We 
 asked a few natural questions, such as, where he was 
 from ? where he meant to settle ? and the like ; but 
 his answers were confused and unsatisfactory, and 
 conversation not encouraged, we soon fell into silence, 
 I noticed once that evening, and several times after 
 ward, that he did not pay any heed when spoken to 
 by name, and \vould start when he perceived that a 
 question had been addressed to him. His little sisteiv 
 too, on one occasion, when asked by some one what 
 
THE SQUATTER. 31 
 
 was her name, answered something else than Wilson; 
 but what I never heard. From these circumstances ] 
 have thought, and it is, as you know, the general opinion, 
 that there is a mystery about him which he is unwilling 
 to explain ; but, for my own part, I have never had 
 enough curiosity to press the subject. There is a man 
 liness and openness about him in every thing that does 
 not relate to his own history, which, in an honest mind, 
 is sufficient to counterbalance vague suspicion, and it 
 is time enough to make investigation when there are 
 more positive grounds than the unfounded rumour? 
 which are abroad." 
 
 The companion of the honest and open backwoods 
 man seemed not entirely to concur in his opinion, as 
 was manifested by twisting and turning in his chair : 
 though he did not venture to give utterance to his 
 thoughts, lest he should defeat his own object, w^hich 
 appeared to be to get some still farther information con 
 cerning the Squatter, who, as the reader will perceive, 
 was the subject of conversation. 
 
 " How long did he remain in the settlement after his 
 arrival?" asked he in a softly modulated tone. 
 
 "But a few days," replied his sturdy companion, 
 " As soon as the snow was off the ground, himself and 
 negro went out to the place where he now lives, and 
 worked continually until they completed their little 
 cabin. He then removed his family, and has dwelt 
 there ever since." 
 
 " Did he seem to have plenty of money ?" again de 
 manded the other. 
 
 " He had none, Mr. Facias," (for it was he who was 
 thus questioning the backwoodsman,) " he had none. 
 On the very morning after he reached this place, he 
 explained his poverty to Mr. Brown, telling him 
 that he had nothing under heaven but the miserable 
 horse and wagon in which he had travelled, together 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 with a few articles of apparel that belonged to his 
 wife." 
 
 " How did he support himself then ?" asked the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " For the few days that he would be obliged to tarrj 
 at his house, he offered Brown his horse and wagon, 
 But Brown was an old hunter, and a white man. He 
 told him that he was welcome to stay as long as he 
 chose, and need not trouble himself about the payment 
 till it should be convenient. The tears stood in the 
 poor man s fine blue eyes when he heard that friendly 
 speech. He grasped Brown by the hand ; told him 
 that he was a ruined man, who had sought the seclu 
 sion of the western woods in order to bury his woes 
 and shame ; that he did not look any more for happi 
 ness in the world, and all that he hoped for was to find 
 .some retired spot where he might live and die unnoticed 
 and unknown." 
 
 " Suppose it should turn out," said the lawyer, in a 
 hesitating and cautious manner, "that this very Wilson, 
 as he calls himself, is a murderer, an atrocious mur 
 derer, would you aid in seizing him. and giving him 
 up to justice ?" 
 
 " Impossible !" cried the backwoodsman, striking his 
 hand upon the table. 
 
 " I fear it is but too true," returned the lawyer, in a 
 soft voice, and with assumed seriousness of manner. 
 " The time of his arrival here, the number of his family, 
 his evidently bearing a fictitious name, and, more than 
 these, his own strong personal correspondence with the 
 description published in the eastern papers, all lead 
 me to believe that the unhappy man is no other than 
 the murderer Woodville." 
 
 " Woodville !" ejaculated the stranger in the corner 
 of the apartment, suddenly starting to his feet 
 Woodville, did you say?" 
 
THE SQUATTER. 33 
 
 I said Woodville," responded Mr. Facias ; " have 
 you heard of that miserable man ?" 
 
 " I have heard of him," muttered the stranger, in 
 a scarcely audible tone, as he sank down again upon 
 the bench, and drew his cloak more closely around 
 him. 
 
 "Mr. Facias," said the backwoodsman, in a tone 
 and manner which plainly indicated that his mind was 
 vacillating between his prepossessions in favour of Wil 
 son, and his abhorrence of murder, " What is it you 
 propose to do." 
 
 " If he is a convicted murderer, he ought to be ar 
 rested. A large reward is offered for his detection. If 
 you will step over to my office I will read to you the 
 account in the eastern papers, and explain several other 
 circumstances, on which my suspicions are grounded. 
 If any thing is to be done, too much despatch cannot 
 be used." 
 
 " Strange !" muttered the sturdy backwoodsman, 
 as he followed the lawyer out of the apartment, " it 
 is strange indeed ! Wilson always wore an air of 
 mystery ; but my suspicions never reached this 
 length." 
 
 "Who is that pale and fidgetty stranger at the 
 inn?" asked the lawyer, drawing close to his com 
 panion. 
 
 "He is a yankee, as I reckon," answered the other, 
 * and I think somewhat deranged. He talks a great 
 deal to himself; sleeps in the bar-room, and neither 
 eats, drinks, nor acts, like other men. He has a small 
 plantation up in the Macoupin country, and the settlers 
 generally account him crazy." 
 
 As these words were spoken, they reached the low 
 door of a little log-cabin, on the front of which a tin 
 sign gave information that it was the office of F. Fa 
 cias, Esq. Attorney and Counsellor at Law. Throw 
 ing wide the entrance, a huge fire was discovered 
 
34 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 blazing in the capacious chimney-place, which, as well 
 as the papers that were spread upon the table in the 
 centre of the floor, gave intimation that the occupant 
 had prepared himself for a vigil. Leaving these dis 
 similar companions in deep consultation, with the result 
 of which the reader will, in due time, become ac 
 quainted, we shall now return to the subject of their 
 deliberations. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Ha ! it cannot sure be day ? 
 
 What star what sun is bursting on the bay ? 
 
 It shines a lake of fire ! 
 
 CORSAIR. 
 
 THE morning rose with unwonted brightness, but a. 
 Iresh wind still swept along the prairie, giving to its 
 withered herbage the multitudinous motion of an agi 
 tated sea. Now and then a cloud of silvery whiteness 
 j lurried along through the bright azure of the heavens, 
 casting a temporary shadow on the earth beneath ; but 
 these were as few and fleeting as the thoughts of sad 
 ness in a youthful breast. It is a melancholy reflection 
 that thoughts of sadness are unfrequent and transitory 
 only in the bosoms of the young. The day of life, 
 unlike the natural day, is seldom obscured in its early 
 morning by many clouds ; but they gather as the sun 
 progresses towards the meridian, and the evening is 
 too often shrouded in storm. Yet let me not be con 
 sidered as indulging in reprehensible sadness ; for these 
 are musings that naturally crowd the mind of an old 
 man, in looking back to 
 
 " Life s sunny morn, when his bosom was young," 
 
THE SQUATTER. 35 
 
 and calling up to view the thousand sources of antici 
 pated rapture, which then made his eyes sparkle and 
 his heart dance. Nor let me be supposed to complain of 
 the decrees of destiny I who have so much reason to 
 be thankful. Of those whose noonday of life has been 
 darkened by sorrow and calamity, how many are there 
 who can say, that these did not proceed from their 
 own folly or fault ? And it is oftentimes the case, too. 
 that as the evening comes on, a bright gleam of sun 
 shine breaks through the clouds, and life, after having 
 been long agitated by passions, and shaded by afflic 
 tions, sets in brightness and peace at last. 
 
 From a feverish and sleepless couch, Wilson arose 
 with an aching head and throbbing heart. The seclu 
 sion of his abode had been penetrated ; the dreadful 
 secret, over which he had watched with trembling 
 anxiety, had been well nigh discovered ; and the sus 
 picions which were excited might yet lead to a catas 
 trophe from which his mind reverted with horror, 
 His gentle partner, who, by a strong effort, had sub 
 dued her own emotion, that she might the more effec 
 tually assist in calming the agitated feelings of the 
 Squatter, endeavoured to turn his thoughts from tho- 
 dark subject on which they brooded ; but he knew 
 better than she the dangerous situation in which the 
 curiosity of Facias had placed him, and he shuddered ae 
 he contemplated the length to which the lawyer might 
 be led by his awakened cupidity. 
 
 Mungo, who had been absent during the occurrences 
 of the previous evening, but who saw, on his return, 
 with the instinctive perspicacity of a well and long* 
 tried attachment, the perilous situation of affairs, also 
 manifested, by the deeper and duller hue which his 
 countenance assumed, the more than usual protube 
 rance of his nether lip, and the unwonted gravity of his 
 general demeanor, his apprehension of the conse 
 quences which might ensue. 
 
SO TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 The frugal morning repast was spread as usual ; but 
 the corn bread smoked upon the board, and the nutri 
 tious substitute for coffee which Eleanor, with wo 
 man s ready skill and invention, had decocted from 
 certain plants that she cultivated in her garden sent 
 up its fragrant steam in vain* Even the children 
 seemed to partake of the general anxiety, and their 
 playmate, Pompey, walked about with a gravity en 
 tirely different from his usual frolic mood. 
 
 " Be not so cast down, William," said the excellent 
 wife of the Squatter ; " all will yet go well. Let your 
 trust be in Him who has already rescued you from a 
 more terrible danger, and who will not suffer the guilt 
 less to perish." 
 
 " Eleanor, that I am guiltless heaven knows : but am 
 I not branded as a murderer and a fugitive from the 
 laws ? What hope is there now, after so many years 
 have elapsed, that I shall be able to untie the gordian 
 knot of circumstances which have been fastened 
 around me, when I failed to do so before, aided as I 
 was by a character well established, and by the prayers 
 and co-operations of those who had known me from 
 my childhood up ? I stand upon a fearful brink, and it 
 requires but a breath to send me toppling into the yawn 
 ing gulf below." 
 
 " Never mind it, massa," responded the voice of the 
 honest negro; "never mind it; let em lock he up; 
 jail in Edgarton only log house make de axe laugh." 
 
 " Faithful Mungo," said the master of the attached 
 domestic, "it was by your ready hand that I was 
 before delivered from impending death ; and circum 
 stances fully authorize the fear that your kindly assist 
 ance, in a similar way, may once more be required. 
 But should I be apprehended, of what avail would it be 
 to rescue me ? since, without money, and without the 
 means of commanding any facilities, I must surely be 
 r-etake.n., only to be more strongly incarcerated. Oh 
 
THE SQUATTER, 3i 
 
 Eleanor/ continued he, " but for these dear children. 
 I could find it in my heart to wish that we might lie 
 down in that long, long sleep, in which all trouble is 
 forgotten. What is life? A sleep full of troubling 
 dreams and terrible visions; a night of clouds and 
 storms, on which scarce a star emits a fitful gleam, 
 before it is obscured again beneath the black and driv 
 ing racks which for ever deform the heavens. For 
 seven long years, have I not toiled with incessant labour? 
 and for what ? A miserable pittance, just enough to 
 sustain life, as if such a life as I lead were worth sus 
 taining. I have trembled when I opened my wretched 
 hut to the stranger, lest he should recognise in me a 
 convicted murderer. When I have gone abroad, I 
 have not dared to look at my fellow-men eye to eye. 
 lest stamped upon my brow, they should read, murderer. 
 During the broad light of day I have started at a shad* 
 ow, and quailed at the rustling of a leaf; and when 
 night has spread her welcome veil, I have lain down to 
 dream of accusations, prisons, and the gallows. Night 
 follows day, and day succeeds to night ; and still, like 
 Ihe patient camel, I toil along beneath my burden, over 
 a barren and flinty desert." 
 
 Eleanor leaned her head upon the shoulder of her 
 .husband, and he felt her warm tears trickling on his 
 bosom. 
 
 " Forgive me, dearest," resumed he, " that I thus 
 repine. It is selfish in me thus to grieve ; for you have 
 been an uncomplaining partner in all my sufferings,, 
 and a full partaker of my ignominy. If life is a desert, 
 there is yet one fountain that gushes amidst its burning 
 sands ; there is yet one bright gleam of light breaks 
 through the clouds w r hich surround me ; one sweef 
 form that mingles in my dreams ; one sweet smile that 
 soothes my waking anguish. I have something yet to 
 live for." 
 
 These melancholy outpourings of poor WilsonV 
 
38 TALES AND SKETCHES . 
 
 excited mind were now interrupted by the elder of 
 the boys, who rushed into the apartment, exclaiming, 
 
 " Father ! father ! the prairie is all on fire !" 
 
 Urged by a natural impulse, the inmates of the cot 
 tage moved towards the door. The scene which pre 
 sented itself was one of the utmost grandeur. It has 
 been already observed that the wind blew in fresh 
 gusts along the wide prairie, causing the decayed grass 
 and herbage of the previous autumn to undulate like 
 the billows of the ocean. Those only who have wit 
 nessed the devastating fires which, either in the fall or 
 spring season of the year, usually spread from one end 
 to the other of the immense prairies of the western 
 states, can form any idea of the awful beauty of the 
 scene. The flames had already extended themselves 
 entirely across the wide savanna, and were approach 
 ing with the rapidity and fierceness of a body of in 
 furiated cavalry. In some places, facilitated by the 
 clryness of the soil, they would shoot along with the 
 velocity of lightning, sending their crackling and forked 
 volumes high in the air ; and in others, where the grass 
 had been beaten down, or the dampness of the earth 
 for a moment retarded their progress, they would pause 
 for an instant, like a warrior in the midst of a hot pur 
 suit stooping from his charge to inflict a death-blow on 
 some cowering enemy. Then, as if the purpose of 
 delay had been accomplished, they would s\veep along 
 again with desolating fury, roaring and crackling, like 
 the triumphant exultation of an innumerable host, 
 maddened with victoiy, and drunk with slaughter. 
 
 Dense and pitchy volumes of smoke already filled 
 the air, completely obscuring the clear azure of the 
 morning sky. The sun looked, through these ascend 
 ing and revolving clouds of vapour, fiery and red, and 
 the air quivered, like the earth before a volcano, with 
 the intense heat which spread through it. 
 
 " Great God !" exclaimed William, whose eyes and 
 
THE SQUATTER. 39 
 
 dioughts had been chained by the terrible magnificence 
 of the scene, but who now imagined that he saw, 
 amidst the red and flickering mass, a small, black, mov 
 ing object " Gread God !" exclaimed he, " yonder is 
 a traveller, spurring his steed with furious haste, in the 
 vain hope to escape the fiery element. He will be 
 burned to death." 
 
 " I see him ! I see him !" cried Eleanor in agony, 
 whose eye had followed the direction of her husband s : 
 he is mounted on a goodly steed, but his strength 
 neems well nigh exhausted." 
 
 " And now the fires have reached the high and dry 
 spot by yonder point of woods ! His fate is certain," 
 cried her husband, rushing forth. 
 
 " Tis Squire Blandley !" exclaimed one of the 
 boys : " I know him by his black horse tis Squire 
 Blandley !" 
 
 Susan, who, till she learned that a traveller s life 
 was endangered, had gazed upon the flames as an or 
 dinary occurrence, with a mind too much occupied by 
 other events to permit her fully enjoying the grandeur 
 of the spectacle, now rushed forth, when this announce 
 ment reached her ears, her heart bursting with the 
 fearful interest which it excited. She cast a hurried, 
 glance along the broad front of the devouring flames, 
 which, having reached the summit of the acclivity, were 
 at this time raging with incredible fury, and sending 
 revolving masses of flickering fire to the clouds. Her 
 orbs seemed almost starting from her head as they 
 glanced from one end of the advancing wall of fire to 
 the other ; at length they encountered an object ; the 
 person was too much enveloped in smoke to be recog 
 nised even by the quick eye of love ; but she knew, 
 or fancied that she knew, the prancing of the steed 
 she staggered towards the door ; but her limbs tottered 
 beneath her, her senses reeled, and she sunk fainting 
 into the arms of her sister, 
 
10 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 Mungo s soul was too much absorbed in what wa* 
 passing in the prairie, to admit of his being moved by 
 this occurrence. The elder boy had followed his 
 father beyond the enclosure, and was now running in 
 his footsteps towards the traveller, whose horse seemed 
 near to dropping from the combined effects of terror 
 and fatigue. 
 
 " Dey ll both be lost," cried he, while large drops of 
 sweat stood upon his ebony face. " M assa," roared he. 
 in a voice meant to be very loud, but scarcely articu 
 late from the excess of his emotion " Massa, what 
 for you be damn fool V 9 forgetting respect in the ex 
 tremity of the occasion " Come back ! you too Massa 
 Charles ! dere !" continued he, as a shoot of flame 
 ascended high through the air, with a loud crackling 
 noise like a volley of musketry fired in quick succes 
 sion " Dere, I toP you so ; why you no come back . 
 Pray come back, Massa." 
 
 But the voice of Mungo, hoarse with agony, either 
 did not reach the ears for which it was intended, or 
 otherwise was disregarded. By this time, the traveller 
 and the Squatter had approached within about a hun 
 dred yards of each other, and the fire was roaring and 
 raging behind the former, at a much less distance than 
 (hat, and was advancing with a rapidity that seemed to 
 preclude all hope. Poor Mungo, in the anguish of his 
 mind, bit his thick lips till the blood flowed profusely, 
 and swung his long arms about like a mad man. But 
 all at once he ceased, and rushed into the cabin. A 
 thought seemed to have struck him : in less than an 
 instant he darted out of the door again, with a huge 
 brand of fire in his hand, and running into the woods 
 with a velocity greater than one would have believed 
 possible, he was quickly lost to sight. 
 
 In the meanwhile the fire continued to rage with 
 unabated fury, sometimes, as it reached a place which 
 had been marked, during the preceding summer,, with 
 
THE SQUATTER, 41 
 
 greater fertility than the rest, rising in the air as high 
 as the mast of a tall admiral ; and at others, when the 
 wind blew with a stronger gust, sweeping a wide range 
 with a degree of speed that defies description. The 
 Squatter, followed by his son, of whose neighbourhood 
 he was not aware, continued to rush forward towards 
 the traveller, and had nearly reached him, when the 
 horse on which the latter was mounted reeled and fell, 
 throwing his rider with violence to the earth. What 
 was now to be done ? There was no time for reflec 
 tion. Stunned by his fall, the unfortunate stranger 
 lay as motionless as death. The sturdy Squatter, him 
 self now nearly exhausted by agitation and fatigue, 
 stooped to raise him. Grasping him with the full effort 
 of his remaining strength, he lifted the inanimate tra 
 veller from the earth, and, throwing him across his 
 shoulder, turned to retrace his steps. At this moment 
 he beheld his son. A cold chill thrilled his heart. 
 
 " Turn back !" he cried in frenzy, as he staggered 
 along beneath his burden " turn back ! turn back I" 
 
 Tne boy, unheeding this monition, continued to ad 
 vance ; and the foot of the father, his strength unnerved 
 by the terrible conflict of his feelings, and his step 
 baffled by the inequalities of the soil, became entangled 
 in the long grass. He made a desperate effort to re 
 lease himself; and, failing in the attempt, staggered, 
 and fell to the ground. 
 
 At this moment, during a temporary pause of the 
 wind, a dense mass of black and pitchy smoke rushed 
 forward in advance of the flames, and completely hid 
 the prostrate forms from sight. The state of Eleanor, 
 whose eyes were riveted with frantic energy on the 
 spot where her husband had disappeared, may be bet 
 ter imagined than described. She did not shrieks-she 
 did not faint ; but stood leaning, in marble fixedness 
 against the door, unable to move or breathe, awaiting 
 in awful suspense for the volume of smoke to roll away, 
 D 2 
 
( TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 The flames continued to drive on, their roar and crack 
 ling sounding on her ear with an increased and terribk 
 loudness. In vain, as her trembling boy, with instinc 
 tive fear, clung to her garments, did her eye endeavour 
 to penetrate the lured mass, which now seemed, to 
 her agitated apprehension, to have reached the spot 
 where the devoted Squatter fell. Again the wind 
 lulled, and a fresh burst of vapour rolled along the 
 ground. At this crisis, a loud shout reached her through 
 the suffocating canopy, sounding on her heart like the 
 death-shriek of her partner. As if in confirmation of 
 the agonizing apprehension, the flames now shot up in 
 several places, nearer to her, by many yards, as her eye- 
 loo surely knew, than the spot where he fell. Nature 
 could no longer endure the struggle of conflicting emo- 
 lions ; and she sunk, without an audible exclamation, 
 pale and breathless on the earth. 
 
 But the event had been other than it seemed front 
 ihe point of view which the anxious wife had occu 
 pied. Mungo, with the sagacity of aroused affection, 
 had rushed directly into the forest with the flaming 
 brand, with which we lately saw him leave the cabin, 
 and running along in the bed of the shallow stream ,. 
 and through ravines, where the moisture of the ground 
 prevented the fire from penetrating, he at length 
 emerged again into the prairie, from the point of woods 
 before spoken of, a few feet in front of the rapidly 
 advancing flames, His quick eye discerned his master 
 just as he foil. Hastening towards him, and snatching 
 up the boy in his progress, he assisted him to recover 
 liis feet. Without speaking a word, he then immedi 
 ately applied his brand, in many different places, to the 
 grass before them, which was quickly enveloped in one 
 wide sheet of fire. The flames behind came roaring 
 on ; but those before spread with equal velocity. Lift 
 ing the still insensible stranger on his shoulder, Mungo 
 now led the boy, and treading on the part of the soil. 
 
THE SQUATTER. 40 
 
 felt bare and blackened by the. flames, they closely fol 
 lowed the retreating fire, soon leaving behind them o 
 wide strip of naked earth to protect them from thai 
 which was advancing. As the latter reached the place 
 where Mungo s conflagration began, and gradually, as 
 the last vestige of herbage was consumed, sunk down 
 and smouldered away, the honest negro sent up the 
 shout of exultation, which had been differently con 
 strued by the agonized Eleanor. 
 
 The little plantation of the Squatter was protected 
 from the devouring element by a precaution which set 
 tlers in our prairie countries usually take. A strip of 
 grass surrounding the fences had been previously de 
 stroyed, when the flames reached which, they could 
 proceed no further in that direction ; but the main body 
 continued its devastating progress along the prairie, 
 till it was at last only seen as a distant glimmering light 
 on the extreme verge of the horizon. 
 
 On the arrival, of Wilson at his cottage, the stranger 
 Avas placed on a couch, and consigned to the charge of 
 Mungo, while the Squatter himself bent over his insen 
 sible wife, and busied himself in restoring her suspended 
 animation. When she at length opened her eyes, and 
 became aware that her husband and child had not 
 perished in the flames, but were standing well and un 
 harmed before her, the delightful consciousness was 
 near proving too much for her exhausted strength, 
 agitated as she had been during the few past hours with 
 such various and trying emotions,. At first she talked 
 wildly and incoherently ; but the feverish flutter of her 
 feelings at length subsided into a joyful calm, and she 
 poured out to heaven the thankfulness of her heart in 
 unworded prayers ; while the tears in the dark eyes of 
 Susan, now also recovered, told more emphatically 
 than words could have done, the big and unspeakable 
 emotions of her bosom, 
 
i I TALES AND SKETCHES 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Vou must forsake this room, and go with us. 
 
 You shall close prisoner rest, 
 
 Till that the nature of your fault bo known 
 To the Venetian state. Come, bring him away. 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 THE joy which animated every breast, on account of 
 ihis UnJOOked-fbr deliverance, was destined to he of 
 short continuance. This eventful day was yet to be 
 marked with other trials. About noon two horsemen 
 were seen riding along the prairie in the direction of 
 the Squatter s lowly abode, in one of whom the quick 
 eyes of apprehension soon recognised the lawyer, 
 \\h i,-:e threatened visit Wilson had so much reason to 
 dread. They approached the cabin, and, dismounting 
 from their horses, entered the apartment. 
 
 u I low d do, how d do," said the lawyer, whose cus 
 tomary salutation underwent no alteration, whatever 
 was his business. "You didn t expect to see me so 
 soon, I guess r 
 
 " And pray, sir, what may be your business with me?" 
 demanded the Squatter, in answer to tin; other s inter 
 rogative. 
 
 - I air and softly, Mr. Wilson, (as you are pleased to 
 all VOimelf,) fair and softly go liir in a day." 
 
 "Mr. IJuekhorn," said the Squatter again, turning I., 
 the companion of the lawyer, who was no other than 
 the backwoodsman the reader iias seen him closeted 
 \\ith on the previous evening " Mr. Huckhorn, ma;> 
 I ask of you the reason of your visit; for I h;i\.-< , 
 to believe that 1 am not. indebted to Mr. l aeias s friend 
 -ihip f"i: his appearance here this morning." 
 
THE SQUATTER. 
 
 <* Why, you see, Mr. Wilson, it s rather an awk 
 ward business that we come on, and one I am man 
 sorry I have taken any part in." 
 " Explain, sir." 
 
 Somehow or other, Mr. Facias has taken up a no 
 tion that your name is not Wilson, and that you are- 
 that is, that you was I mean to say that perhap?. 
 sir. YOU had better walk this way/ 
 
 The face of the Squatter was very pale ; but by nc 
 other outward sign did he exhibit any emotion, 
 stood erect in the middle of the apartment, drawn 
 proudly up, his lips slightly compressed, and his eye 
 resting with a steady expression, "more in sorrow 
 than in anger," on the countenance of Buckhorn. 
 He was about assenting to the proposition of the I 
 nest backwoodsman, when Facias, edging up to him. 
 and trying to assume a bold demeanour, while, at the 
 same time, the huskiness of his voice and the irrepres 
 sible trepidation of his manner, evinced that he 
 not feel as bold as he wished to appeal , nrterropte 
 his purpose. . . 
 
 "Our business," said the lawyer, may be soon told. 
 I arrest you in virtue of this authority," (exhibiting a 
 paper which he held in his hand) "on suspicion of be 
 ing William Woodville, convicted of the murder < 
 John Thornton." 
 
 The startling effect of this annunciation, although 
 it had been anticipated, may be readily imagined 
 Eleanor sprang to the side of her husband, and looked 
 into the face of his accuser, " with that mute elc 
 nuence which passeth speech." She spoke not a word : 
 she wept not a tear ; she did not implore his mercy . 
 but there were many unutterable things told in the 
 .ilent agony of that single glance. Her children 
 c-lunff to her garments, from behind the screen < 
 which they cast furtive looks up at the strangers, a 
 if at once afraid of them, and yet curious to know 
 
16 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the purport of their visit. The sister of Wilson 
 seemed struggling to suppress her emotions ; but the 
 pallid hue of her countenance, her quivering lips, and 
 the agitation of her whole person, evinced that the 
 effort was too great. Mungo, too, honest and affec 
 tionate Mungo, bore a full share in the agitation of the 
 scene. He first cast his eyes upon a loaded rifle which 
 stood in one corner of the room, as if desirous of re 
 pelling the intruders by force. But if any such inten 
 tion he had, he abandoned it at a sign from his master, 
 whose slightest nod was law ; he could not refrain. 
 howeveY, from shaking his clenched hand at the 
 lawyer, who, his back being towards Mungo, did not 
 perceive this sign of oppugnation. Even the stranger, 
 {who had received a severe contusion from the fall 
 from his horse, but who had at length been restored 
 to sensibility, though still weak and exhausted) seemed 
 to participate in the emotion of the group, as was 
 manifested by a low groan, and some incoherent and 
 feverish mutterings. 
 
 Wilson himself was the only one who exhibited no 
 change. There was no twitching of the muscles, no 
 involuntary trembling, no stiffening himself up, as if 
 preparing himself for a trial. He stood erect, calm, 
 and composed. He had vie\ved the coming of the 
 vStorm with apprehension and fear ; but it had now 
 broke on his head, and he \vas determined to abide 
 the issue with firmness, whatever might betide. After 
 first whispering a few words to Eleanor, to reassure 
 her courage, he turned to his accuser. 
 
 " It is a heavy charge, Mr. Facias, that you have 
 brought against me," said he, " and I trust that you 
 have proceeded on sufficient grounds. May I ask the 
 nature of your proofs ?" 
 
 " They shall be forthcoming in due course of law/ 
 answered the other, in a brisk, pert manner, some- 
 \vhat emboldened by the pacific conduct of tlu; 
 
THE SQUATTER. 4/ 
 
 Squatter. "This warrant for your apprehension is 
 my authority for what I do ; and it has been granted 
 on evidence which you will find it difficult to disprove. " 
 
 " And whither will you that I go with you ?" 
 
 " To Edgarton." 
 
 " I left my nag as I came along," said Buckhorn. 
 " down at Tom Haynes s cabin, to bait while we rode 
 here. You can mount the one that s tied to the fence, 
 and I will walk as far as there. I am in hopes, Mr. 
 Wilson, that this affair will all blow over, and 1 
 wouldn t have engaged in it at all, only as Squire Fa 
 rias was determined on coming, I thought you might 
 fall into worse hands." 
 
 " I thank you for your kindness," replied the Squat 
 ter, taking Buckhorn s offered hand. " It is an awful 
 situation in which I stand ; but, supported by conscious 
 innocence, I dare to meet the worst." 
 
 My readers will excuse me if I do not dwell fur 
 ther on this scene. No pen can do adequate justice 
 to the parting of Wilson from his wife and family ; and 
 I feel that it is much safer to trust to the reader s ima 
 gination, than my own feeble powers of description. 
 
 Before the departure of the lawyer and Buckhom 
 with their prisoner, Mungo manifested by various acts 
 a wish to prevent their purpose ; and when they at 
 length rode off, the tears streamed down the face ot 
 the devoted negro, and his voice was scarcely audible 
 from emotion, as he returned the farewell salute of his 
 master. The wounded stranger also exhibited much 
 agitation, and once or twice he made feeble efforts to 
 address Mr. Facias. His weakness, however, seemed 
 to subdue him ; and when they left the apartment, he 
 sunk back exhausted on the pillow. Mungo was 
 directly after despatched to the nearest settlement to 
 borrow a horse, (for the one which has been spoken 
 of as having belonged to the Squatter on his arrival 
 in the country had long since been dead ;) and, on his? 
 
46 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 return, set about preparing their humble vehicle to re 
 move the family to Edgarton, that they might be pre 
 sent at the examination of Wilson. But a short time 
 went by before the afflicted group issued from their 
 cabin, and set out upon their journey, the wounded 
 stranger, and the two children, having been intrusted 
 to the charge of a neighbouring matron, who, with a 
 hospitality characteristic of our western inhabitants, 
 had readily acquiesced in a request to that effect. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 If imputation and strong circumstance, 
 Which lead directly to the door of truth, 
 Will give you satisfaction, you may have it. 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 JL\ relatingthis story, I have so far complied with 
 the spirit of the Horatian precept, that I have plunged 
 into the middle of affairs ; and perhaps the reader will 
 now be willing to learn something of the previous his- 
 tory of him w r hom^we left in such fearful circum 
 stances. In doing this, I must necessarily be brief, for 
 my narration has already extended to a much greater 
 length than was anticipated. 
 
 It was in a beautiful village, not far from the town 
 where, as I have told my readers, I am at present en 
 gaged in the honourable and useful profession of 
 teacher, that William Woodville was born and edu 
 cated. His father died while he was yet in infancy, 
 and his mother shortly after followed her partner to 
 the grave. The orphan boy was taken into the family 
 of his paternal uncle, by whom he was educated with 
 sedulous care, and whose fatherly solicitude his open- 
 
THE SQUATTER. 49 
 
 ing faculties promised richly to repay. His uncle had 
 a son, of nearly the -same age with William, but of a 
 widely different disposition. The one was all open 
 ness and sincerity ; the other was cunning, artful, and 
 morose : the one was naturally intelligent, and applied 
 himself with unremitted attention to his studies, to re 
 pay, as far as he might, the almost paterpal care which 
 he received ; while the other was slow of comprehen 
 sion, and inveterately idle in his habits. 
 
 The clergyman of the village in which they resided, 
 (poor man ! I remember him well, and often have we 
 had our game of backgammon together) had one only 
 daughter, the fair Eleanor. I will not pause now to 
 tell the reader any minute particulars concerning this 
 beautiful girl, nor relate any of the interesting anec 
 dotes with which my intimacy with her father led me 
 to be acquainted. Let it suffice to say, that she was 
 as much superior to the rest of the village maidens in 
 mental endowments, as in personal comeliness and in 
 the latter respect no one pretended to vie with her. 
 Yet, possessed in an abundant degree of all those qua 
 lities which render females such objects of admiration 
 and love, she and she alone appeared to be per 
 fectly unconscious of her charms. Such meek, unaf 
 fected loveliness, such intelligence, such vivacity in 
 nocent vivacity such readiness of wit, (harmless wit, 
 never exerted to wound the feelings of any one) and 
 such continual good humour as poor Eleanor possessed, 
 seldom indeed fall to the lot of a single individual. It 
 would seem as if in her composition, as in the Rhpdian s 
 master-piece of mimic art, every admirable quality that 
 we meet with singly in other persons, had been happily 
 mingled by nature with a liberal hand. 
 
 From being her schoolmates, William and John, as 
 they grew up, became the suitors of Eleanor, and 
 openly avowed their attachment ; though I have always 
 thought that the latter was as much incited by a spirit 
 
50 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 of rivalry, as by any real affection. The preference of 
 Eleanor for William was manifest enough to those who 
 understand the operations of the human heart ; though, 
 of course, she meant not that it should be shown : but 
 love will peep out, and betray the secret of the breast 
 where he has taken up his abode, either in a glance of 
 the eye, or a smile on the lip, or in a softly modulated 
 sigh. At length, when suitable declarations had been 
 made, the blushing girl acknowledged her attachment 
 to the one cousin, and in the kindest and most delicate 
 manner dismissed the suit of the other. William was 
 delighted, and John was exasperated ; and here was the 
 beginning of trouble. The latter soon found occasion 
 to fasten a quarrel on his foster-brother, and the foolish 
 boys were only prevented, by the interference of pa 
 rental authority, from settling their difference " in an 
 honourable manner," as the sprigs of fashionable life 
 misname duelling. The uncle s affection from this 
 time grew lukewarm towards William, and John found 
 good means to widen the breach. 
 
 Partly from the circumstance of his rejected suit, 
 partly from the abundant pecuniary resources with 
 which his doting parent who was very rich supplied 
 him, and more than either, I suspect, from the prompt 
 ings of his natural disposition, John soon got to be very 
 dissipated, took a share in many disreputable affairs, 
 and finally went to sea. When he at length returned 
 to his native village, his father had been for some time 
 dead, and he now became the sole inheritor of his 
 large property. But the stillness and tranquillity of a 
 country life, since his wandering propensities had been 
 stimulated by an excursion to foreign parts, were less 
 than ever suited to his taste ; and quickly disposing of 
 his property, he resolved to invest the proceeds in 
 some moneyed institution, where, without any care of 
 his own, it might yield him a regular income. 
 
 It was on the evening of the day when the land 
 
THE SQUATTER. 51 
 
 speculator, who had purchased his estate for less than 
 half its worth, had paid him the sum agreed upon, that 
 John, considerably inebriated, was seen entering the 
 house of William Woodville. William, in conse 
 quence of the hostility which his uncle, during the latter 
 part of his life, entertained towards him, had been left 
 by him without any resources but the excellent edu 
 cation that best of all resources which he had re 
 ceived ; yet not dispirited by this circumstance, but, 
 on the contrary, only invigorated, he set out with ar 
 dour in the profession of the law, for which his pre 
 vious studies had prepared him. At the time to which 
 I have now brought my narrative, he had been united 
 to the lovely Eleanor for about a month, arid they were 
 enjoying, in the little and romantic-looking cottage 
 which they had chosen for their abode, the full fruition 
 of hymeneal bliss. There was nothing remarkable in 
 the scenery where their house was located, and nothing 
 particularly beautiful in the neat little dwelling itself j 
 yet it invariably attracted the attention of the passing 
 traveller, and often won from the dusty cit, as he jour 
 neyed by it, an involuntary wish that he might with 
 draw himself from the turmoil of the metropolis, and 
 bury himself in the tranquillizing obscurity of rural re 
 tirement. 
 
 I have frequently marked how utterly vain it is for 
 even the most graphic pen to give an adequate deli 
 neation of the beauties of nature. The commonest 
 scenes, the hills, the slopes, the verdant meads, and 
 the thick and rustling foliage, everywhere to be met 
 with beyond the din and bustle of our large cities, have 
 charms which cannot be transferred to language. The 
 poet and the novelist cannot paint in the colouring of 
 words "in the landscape of a lay" the gorgeous 
 clouds of sunset, the clear, warm heaven at noon, the 
 limpid stream as it gurgles and ripples over its pebbly 
 channel in a thousand gay meanders, singing and fro- 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 licking along, as if it were endued with consciousness, 
 and was sporting away the sunny hours, like a happy 
 child. A single rustle of the green trees, as they 
 spread their cool shade over the weary traveller, and 
 quiver with the passing breeze, like a young maiden at 
 the whisper of her lover, has music in its small tink 
 ling sound, which poetry, with all its high Teachings, 
 cannot describe. 
 
 As I have said, there was nothing particularly beau 
 tiful in the abode of William Woodville ; yet I have 
 no hope to convey to the reader an accurate idea of its 
 traits of loveliness. The house was a small, modest 
 mansion, situated on the very summit of a gentle 
 acclivity, which rose gradually from the road. Its 
 exterior, or at least such parts of it as peeped through 
 the honey-suckles and other running vines which, at 
 some seasons of the year, almost covered it, were as 
 white as " the snow-flake ere it leaves the cloud." At 
 one end of the edifice a grove of gnarled and over 
 arching oaks " spread wide their everlasting arms ;" 
 while, at the other, the eminence, descending with a 
 more abrupt declivity, and thickly covered all the 
 way with a young growth of pine trees, was laved at 
 the bottom by a brawling stream, which dashed over 
 the obstructions that impeded its progress with the 
 noisy wrath of an impetuous conqueror. But its velo 
 city, after it had passed the roughness of this ravine, 
 soon subsided, and by the time that it had reached 
 the lowlands, on the opposite side of the road, it spread 
 itself out into a broad sheet, as silent and motionless 
 as must be the most torrent-like conqueror at last. 
 Around the borders of the little lake thus formed was 
 here and there a willow-tree, whose pensile branches 
 drooped over the glassy surface of the water, as if, 
 like the fabled youth of old, enamoured with their own 
 reflection. Beyond, at some distance, the billows of 
 the Sound danced and sparkled in the sunbeams; 
 
THE SQUATTER. 53 
 
 while the steamboats and the white sails of the sloops 
 and other vessels which were ever gliding along its sur 
 face, gave much additional loveliness to the prospect. 
 
 It was at thp twilight hour of a delicious day that 
 poor John Thornton was seen walking along, with an 
 unsteady gait, towards William s secluded residence. 
 Since his return from sea he had several times ob 
 truded himself into the society of Eleanor, previous to 
 her marriage, and had borne himself with such unbe 
 coming behaviour, that at length her parent was 
 obliged to exclude him from his house. This circum 
 stance had occasioned much talk in the little village, 
 (as indeed, in a country town, what circumstance of a 
 private nature does not ?) % and some of those parasites, 
 every where to be fouiftf, who courted the company 
 of John because he had plenty of money, instigated 
 him to revenge the insult. At last, incited by the loud 
 vauntings of his associates, w r ho were free to say what 
 they would have done, (by the way, I have always 
 noticed that those who are first to boast how they 
 would have acted in the situation of some other ag 
 grieved person, are by no means the readiest to avenge 
 their own injuries) incited by these, I say, and inflamed 
 with that deplorable cause of incalculable evil, drink, 
 John took a solemn oath, that if his cousin William 
 married Eleanor, he would make him deeply regret his 
 successful rivaliy. The marriage, as the reader has 
 been informed, did take place, however ; and the 
 threat of John, after having been talked of for a few 
 days, had almost passed from memory as the vain 
 blustering of an intoxicated bully. 
 
 William, who, previous to his union, had received 
 some intimation of his cousin s hostile intentions, now 
 resolved, as he saw him approaching, to receive him 
 with such kindness as might serve to disarm his wrath, 
 and bring back the softening recollection of their 
 schoolboy clays and early companionship into his mind. 
 E-2 
 
54 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 But the moroseness and untractable inveteracy of his 
 relative frustrated the design. 
 
 I will not dwell on the particulars of this interview, 
 as they afterward came to light during the minute 
 investigations of a legal tribunal. Let it suffice to say, 
 that the conduct of John was of the most abusive and 
 irritating nature, until he finally went so far as to cast 
 an insult upon Eleanor, which the patience of man 
 could not brook. At this unhappy climax of his 
 cousin s folly, William s colour mounted to his very 
 temples, and springing towards the delinquent, he 
 seized him by the neck, and ordered him to leave his 
 house. A struggle ensued,; but William s form was 
 athletic by nature, and inducted by exercise, and^he 
 easily succeeded in thrus/ v > his antagonist to the 
 door. The latter, unperceived, had taken a knife from 
 his pocket, and just as William, by a great effort of 
 strength, raised him from the floor, and was in the act 
 of throwing him beyond the threshold, he received 
 from the infuriated man a stab in his side. But he 
 accomplished his . bject ; and his feelings were too 
 highly wrought for him to be immediately sensible of 
 the wound. Ashamed of having suffered himself to 
 be so excited by the desperado, he* now left the apart 
 ment by another door, with the intention (at least it 
 was so stated on the trial which ensued) of calming 
 his agitation during a solitary walk. He had not been 
 long gone when the report of a musket broke the still 
 ness of the night, and its loud reverberations w r ere 
 repeated from rock to rock, till at length the souncj 
 died away, like the far-off mutterings of thunder. 
 
 The report started Eleanor, the ruffled state of 
 whose mind rendered her easily susceptible of fear. 
 An indefinite presentiment of some dreadful evil passed, 
 like a cloud, over her soul, and caused her to tremble 
 in every limb. She had started from her chair, and 
 just reached the door by which her husband left the 
 
THE SQUATTER. 55 
 
 apartment, when it was thrown suddenly open, and the 
 object of her anxiety, smeared with blood, and pale as 
 a statue, stood before her. 
 
 " He is murdered !" cried he, as he sunk into a chair, 
 and covered his face with his crimson hands. 
 
 " Murdered !" ejaculated Eleanor, her throbbing 
 heart telling her at once who was the victim, and her 
 eye, with an apprehensive glance, seeking that of her 
 husband. 
 
 " Yes, Eleanor. I was walking with a rapid step 
 through the grove, in the path which we have so often 
 trodden together, when the report of a musket aroused 
 me from my unpleasant meditations. The unusual 
 occurrence, and at sucii an unusual time, impressed 
 me with strange forebodings. I rushed to the spot 
 whence the sound proceeded, and there, stretched out 
 in the broad light of the moon, and in the last agonies 
 of dissolution, I beheld the unhappy Thornton. He 
 recognised me as I approached him, and in a voice 
 which yet sounds in my ear, faintly cried Wood- 
 ville, I forgive you I have deserved this at your 
 hands. I tore my neckcloth from my throat, and 
 endeavoured to staunch his blood ; but while I was yet 
 busy in the effort, he breathed a scarcely audible 
 groan, and stiffening out before me, with his eyes 
 fixed on mine, left me bending there over an uncon 
 scious corse." 
 
 " Gracious heaven !" ejaculated Eleanor, " was there 
 no trace left by which the perpetrator of the horrid 
 deed may be discovered ?" 
 
 " None. When I perceived that the wretched man 
 had breathed his last, I rose and looked intently 
 around on the moonlight prospect ; but all nature si jpi 
 in tranquillity, as motionless as the body before ,ne. 
 Not a moving object was to be seen. While I was aus 
 gazing and listening, the rustling of a footstep in the 
 woods drew my attention ; and immediately plunging 
 
56 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 in, in the direction of the sound, I thought to discover 
 the miscreant. But it proved to be David, like myself, 
 attracted to the spot by the report of the gun. He 
 was terrified when I told him of the murder that had 
 been committed, and proposed that we should instantly 
 leave the spot, lest we should be seen there and suspi 
 cion should light on us. Although I fear not such 
 an event, for I trust my character is above suspicion, 
 yet the very natural suggestion of his timid mind had 
 the affect to induce me to return to the body, and 
 repossess myself of my neckcloth ; lest, being found 
 there, stained with the victim s blood, it should lead 
 to unpleasant surmises and inquiries. Here, Eleanor, 
 put it out of sight the blood upon it makes me sick. 
 But an hour since, that blood was flowing warmly 
 through the veins of a relative ; he sat here in this very 
 chair ; and for a drunken license of his tongue, I thrusl 
 him out of my door I precipitated him on death." 
 
 " What is that, Eleanor ?" continued William, after 
 a pause, as his eye fell on something that glistened 
 upon the carpet. 
 
 She stooped to pick it up. 
 
 " As I live," resumed he, seizing it from her hand, 
 * ; tis Thornton s pocket-book. How came it here ?" 
 
 " It must have fallen from him during your strug 
 gle," said Eleanor, who perceived that her husband * 
 mind was strongly agitated by the occurrences of the 
 evening. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said he again ; " put it away. We will 
 give it, on the earliest opportunity, to his legal repre 
 sentative." And after so speaking, he fell into a reve 
 rie, from which he was not aroused before the silver 
 voice of Eleanor had twice summoned him to bed. 
 
THE SQUATTER. 5? 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 logo. Put for the handkerchief, 
 
 Othello. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it. 
 Th -u saidst -O, it comes o er my memory 
 As aoth tke raven o er the infected house, 
 Bodk<r to all he had the handkerchief. 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 
 DAVID, the oerson spoken of in the last chapter as 
 having been drawn by the report of the musket to the 
 spot where the murder of the unfortunate Thornton 
 took place, was Et gardener, who for several weeks had 
 been in the employment of Woodville. Previous to 
 the latter returning to his house, he had given orders to 
 this man to arouse M ungu from his slumbers, and as 
 sist him in conveying the body to the neighbouring 
 village. This disagreeable office was undertaken with 
 much trepidation by the rustic, whose untutored mind 
 seemed to shrink with superstitious fear from contact 
 with the bloody ccrse. The orders of his master, 
 however, were not to be disobeyed; and, accordingly 
 he and the honest Mungo, who, awakened from a deep 
 sleep, had listened with horror to the incoherent story, 
 as it fell from the quivering lips of Dav?d raised the 
 body to their shoulders. As they trudged along the 
 road, neither of them, for some time, interrupted the 
 silence of the night with a single observation ; but at 
 length, after several attempts to clear his throat, 
 David, in a low and tremulous voice, addressed his 
 companion. 
 
 " Mungo," said he, " did you hear the quarrel." 
 "What quarrel?" anxiously inquired the black, 
 
58 TALES AttD SKETCHES, 
 
 whose mind had been engaged in conjecturing the per 
 petrator of the deed. 
 
 In answer to this, David related the circumstance of 
 Thornton s visit with as much of the conversation that 
 ensued as reached his ears in the kitchen, and the sub 
 sequent scuffle which took place. " Very soon after 
 this," continued he, " I heard the report of the musket, 
 and running towards the place, I saw the dead body 
 stretched out upon the ground, and Mr. Woodville 
 himself stooping over it." 
 
 The speaker here paused, as if expecting some an 
 swering observation from Mungo, but the latter was too 
 much engrossed by the thoughts which this intelligence 
 excited to make any reply. After proceeding a little 
 farther in silence, David again spoke, but still in a low 
 and trembling voice. 
 
 " Mungo," he said, " who do you think did this ?" 
 
 " Tink," said Mungo, " why some of dem ere rough- 
 alley rascals that have been hanging around him ever 
 since he come from sea." But there was something in 
 Mungo s heart that whispered a contradiction to this 
 supposition ; though he would not for the world have 
 breathed his half formed suspicion even to the winds, 
 
 " He boasted much, Mungo," again said the faltering 
 David, in a half whisper, " of a large some of money 
 that he had in his pocket. I hope it may be about 
 him yet." 
 
 " And if it aint," answered Mungo, with something 
 like vivacity, as a thought passed through his mind, 
 " why it only proves the more sartain that some of dem 
 ere high-flyers he kept company with did it ; for you 
 
 see " and here he made a pause, but directly after 
 
 resumed, " If it was in a quarrel he was killed, he 
 wouldn t be robbed." 
 
 " Do you think it was in a quarrel ?" asked his com 
 panion, quickly. 
 
 " I don t know what to tink," answered Mungo, in u 
 
THE SQUATTER. 59 
 
 sullen tone, and he continued to walk on in silence. Soon 
 after this they reached the village, when proceeding 
 directly to the tavern, they deposited their burden on a 
 large table in the bar-room. 
 
 My readers can readily imagine the consternation 
 which this occurrence produced in the little commu 
 nity of the village. The news spread rapidly from 
 house to house, and many minutes had not elapsed 
 before a great part of the inhabitants were assembled 
 together at the tavern, to view the corse of the man 
 whom they had recently seen staggering forth with 
 hatred in his heart and curses on his tongue. Though, 
 while living, he was generally despised, yet there were 
 many who now, that he had come to such a timeless 
 end, remembered only the best traits in his character, 
 and some were ready to extol him for virtues which he 
 never possessed. The imperfect narrative of David, 
 wrung from him word by word, and the still more ob 
 scure story of Mungo, who, from a cause which the 
 reader will appreciate, was afraid to speak on the sub 
 ject, were calculated to aggravate, rather than diminish, 
 the suspicions of the assemblage, and various were the 
 conjectures and surmises to which they gave rise. On 
 examining the pockets of the deceased, it was disco 
 vered that they had been rifled of his pocket-book, and 
 all remembered that the unfortunate victim had that 
 day received a large sum of money. For a while no 
 one dared to express his suspicions except by doubtful 
 inuendoes. But as the company grew more and more 
 excited, their reserve gradually gave way, and 
 they at length began to ask questions and make obser 
 vations, which plainly indicated which way their con 
 jectures tended. One of the busiest individuals in the 
 group wasa small, thin man, of sandy complexion, red 
 hair, and small, quick, hazle eyes, who moved about the 
 room from one group of individuals to another, con 
 veying, by whispers, shrugs, and nods, the suspicions 
 
60 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 which he dared not openly avow. He was a lawyer 
 who had recently established himself in the village, in 
 opposition to Woodville, whom he secrotly hated on 
 account of his superior poj >ularity. 
 
 " I believe," said he, speaking in an under voice to 
 one of the dissipated roisterers, who, for some time past, 
 had been Thornton s constant and only companions 
 " I believe that Mr. Woodville was cut off by his uncle 
 without a shilling." 
 
 " Yes," answered the red-faced swaggerer, to whom 
 the remark was addressed ; " but if a certain pocket- 
 book has fallen into a certain person s hands, he ll be 
 rich enough yet, and no thanks to old Thornton." 
 
 " Didn t David say something about a quarrel be 
 tween his master, arid your late friend ?" again asked 
 the lawyer, in an insinuating tone. 
 
 " He beat him, and turned him out of his house, and 
 then taking down his gun, followed after him. When 
 David heard the report, he ran out to see what was the 
 matter, and found his master searching poor Jack s 
 pockets. I tell you what, Mr. Quirk, this business 
 ought to be seen into." 
 
 " It ought, indeed !" said the lawyer, with an ominous 
 
 shrug. " I can t believe that Woodville is a ; but 
 
 as you say, it ought to be looked into." And so saying, 
 he turned away to another group. 
 
 It would be tedious to dwell on the progress of sus 
 picions in the minds of the inhabitants of Woodville s 
 native village ; and therefore we will only say, that 
 from vague and indistinct apprehensions that Thornton 
 might have come to his death in the course of a quarrel 
 with that exemplary young man, they at last began to 
 fear, and many to believe, that the latter had been 
 wrought upon, by the desire of possessing himself of 
 the large sum of money which the deceased was known 
 to have had about him, to commit the dreadful crime of 
 mtTrdcr. A warrant for his apprehension was imme- 
 
THE SQUATTER* 6J 
 
 iliately taken out, and before the day dawned, a party 
 reached his house for the purpose of arresting the sup 
 posed offender against the laws. The surprise of 
 Woodville, when he was awakened by Mungo, whose 
 anxiety led him to hover about the village, until he 
 learned the nature of the proceedings that were to be 
 instituted, may be readily imagined. 
 
 " Wake, massa !" cried the faithful domestic. " Wake 
 up quick ! the constable coming to Vest you, massa. 
 For God s sake get up." 
 
 Woodville started to his feet ; but even had he been 
 disposed to avoid his accusers, he could not have done 
 so ; for so great had been the expedition of lawyer 
 Quirk in furnishing the necessary papers, that the offi 
 cers, with a crew of village rabble in their train, were 
 thundering at the door, before Mungo had succeeded 
 in arousing his master from the deep sleep into which 
 he had at last fallen after the agitation of the previous 
 evening. He however manifested no disposition to 
 avoid the investigation ; but on the contrary seemed 
 anxious to afford every facility. He drew from the 
 drawer where it had been deposited the pocket-book 
 of the deceased, and the countenance of the officer fell 
 as he placed it in his hands. The bloody cravat Was 
 also found in the course of the search, and these two 
 articles of evidence seemed at once to establish the 
 guilt of the prisoner. On the strength of these and 
 several other corroborating circumstances, such as 
 the well known rivalry of the cousins, their former 
 quarrel, the visit of the deceased on the previous day 
 with the avowed purpose of hostility- Woodville, not 
 withstanding the excellence of his character, was fully 
 committed for trial. 
 
 F 
 
02 TALES AND SKETCHES- 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Duke. Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow, 
 Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! O, injurious love ! 
 
 That respites me a life, whose very comfort 
 
 Is still a dying horror. 
 
 MEASURE FOE MEASUBL. 
 
 THE appointed day at length arrived, and the court 
 was thronged beyond all former precedent. The in 
 vestigation was long and minute ; and many items of 
 evidence transpired which seemed to place the guilt of 
 Woodville beyond the possibility of doubt. The hos 
 tility which had for a long time existed between him 
 and his cousin was known to all ; the disappointment 
 of our hero at being entirely omitted in the will of his 
 uncle had been frequently expressed, and was there 
 fore susceptible of easy proof; and the visit of the 
 deceased, the scuffle that ensued, and the wound which 
 he received in his side, were also all proved on the one 
 side, and admitted on the other. 
 
 But the most important evidence was that of the 
 gardener whom we have already several times had 
 occasion to mention. Since he had been taken into 
 custody as a witness in the important cause which was 
 now under trial, he had suffered much from sickness : 
 and when he mounted the stand he trembled like an 
 aspen leaf, from the effects of his debility. His face 
 was also ashy pale, and his voice so low and husky, 
 that it was with difficulty he could be understood. 
 His statement, however, was clear and connected, and 
 (he ingenious cross examination of the lawyer who con 
 ducted the defence, failed to invalidate it in any parti 
 cular. Indeed, the greater part of his testimony thrv 
 
THE SQUATTER. 00 
 
 prisoner himself admitted to be true. For some time 
 previous to the murder of Thornton, he had been em 
 ployed in the family of the accused, and had been 
 treated with such kindness as had rendered him much 
 attached to his master. On the evening of the dread 
 ful occurrence, he was sitting in the kitchen and over 
 heard much of the quarrel which took place in the 
 adjoining room. In the course of the altercation the 
 deceased boasted much of the large sums of money 
 which he had about him, and several times reproached 
 his cousin with his poverty. When the quarrel finally 
 terminated by the expulsion of the intruder, he had 
 left the house with the purpose of visiting the stable, 
 and shaking down some hay for the horses, when if 
 was his intention, he stated, to return and go to bed, 
 He had accomplished the first part of his object, and 
 was closing the stable door, when the report of a 
 musket at a little distance startled him, and drew him 
 towards the spot. As ho approached cautiously through 
 the thick grove of trees which occupied the space be 
 tween the stable and the scene of the murder, he be~ 
 held, in the light of the moon, which was shining brightly 
 down from an unclouded sky, the deceased stretched 
 out upon the ground, and writhing in the agony of 
 death. His master was kneeling beside him, apparently 
 endeavouring to hold him down. With a stealthy step 
 he had by this time drawn very near the spot, and dis 
 tinctly heard the dying man exclaim, in a faint voice, 
 "Woodville, I forgive you I have deserved this at 
 your hands !" Terrified at the occurrence, he was 
 hastily retreating, when his master rushed into the 
 thicket and seized him by the throat. Fearful that his 
 life might also be sacrificed if he confessed any know 
 ledge of the murder, he told his master that he had 
 just reached the spot, drawn thither by the report of 
 fire-arms. On saying this, his master exclaimed, thai 
 villain had murdered Thornton, and returning 
 
64 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 to the body, repossessed himself of a handkerchief, 
 with which he said he had been endeavouring to staunch 
 the blood of the wretched victim. He also stated that 
 on his return to the house he had examined the fowl 
 ing-piece, which he found suspended in its usual place 
 over the kitchen fire, and was much surprised to per 
 ceive that it had been recently discharged. He had 
 fired it off himself, in the course of the afternoon, at a 
 hawk, and after carefully reloading it, had returned it 
 to its place. (The fact of its having been discharged 
 was also attested by other witnesses.) 
 
 This is the substance of the evidence which was 
 laid before the court by David Riley, the name of the 
 gardener ; and it was listened to from first to last with 
 breathless attention. I remember the day as well as 
 if it were yesterday ; and indeed the scene was one of 
 such intense interest that no one of the numerous 
 assemblage that was present can ever forget it. Every 
 body respected, and many loved William Woodville ; 
 and deep was the regret which every one experienced 
 at the awful strength of the circumstances adduced 
 against him. Whatever ingenuity, sharpened by affec 
 tion, could suggest, was resorted to by his counsel 
 and, as the reader already knows, was resorted to in 
 vain. The progress of the investigation was a num 
 ber of times interrupted by the sobs of poor Mungo, 
 who could not repress his audible grief, as circumstance 
 after circumstance was adduced against his master. 
 He however maintained to the last his entire belief in 
 his innocence. During the whole trial, Eleanor sat a 
 breathless auditor of the proceedings, and whatever 
 may have been her feelings and they were no doubl 
 poignant enough exhibited no outward evidence of 
 agitation. She was very pale, indeed ; and the most 
 careless eye could see that her face had lost much of 
 its beautiful roundness as well as bloom. But she- 
 spoke not, she sighed not, and not a tear suffused hcv 
 
THE SQUATTER. a 
 
 and eloquent eyes, which seemed almost bursting 
 from her head with the intensity of her gaze. At 
 length it came to the summing up ; and here again: 
 ingenuity and eloquence but all in vain were ex 
 erted in behalf of the prisoner. There was not a drv 
 eye in the whole court ; and the voice of the judge, 
 when he charged the jury, was hoarse with emotion-. 
 They retired. Eleanor still continued to gaze, motion 
 less and mute as a statue. She did not dare to trust 
 
 herself to look at her husband ; and he 1 never sa\\ 
 
 mortal man behave more nobly. Calm, erect, and 
 composed, one would not have judged that he was be 
 fore a criminal tribunal on a question of life and deathv 
 His countenance was expressive of sadness, but the 
 most curious eye could read nothing indicative of fear 
 or guilt. He knew that he stood upon the crumbling 
 edge of an awful precipice ; but he seemed like one who, 
 upborne by conscious innocence, was determined to 
 meet his destiny in such a manner as should command 
 the respect of even those who believed him guilty. 
 
 Not many minutes of dreadful suspense elapsed 
 (though I well remember it seemed an hour to me 
 what must it have seemed to poor Eleanor ?) before 
 the jury returned into the room. There was consider 
 able bustling and crowding to the bar as they entered, 
 and then, for the first time, I perceived a slight change 
 in the countenance of Eleanor. Her face grew paler 
 than it was before, and the blood totally forsook her 
 lips, which slightly quivered with some irrepressible 
 emotion. It subsided, with the noise, into that deep 
 and motionless interest which seemed to chain all her 
 faculties, and her eye rested on the judge with a fixed 
 ness of expression, so piercing, so intense, that it seemed 
 as if her whole soul were in that gaze. A slight shud 
 der passed over the judge as his trembling fingers 
 tumbled at the paper which the foreman of the jury 
 handed to him, and he seemed to be making a 
 F 2 
 
GO TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 great internal effort to regain his composure and nerve 
 himself for his trying duty. At length the unfolded 
 paper lay open before him, and he began to read, but 
 in a voice so slow and so carefully modulated, that it 
 was evident to all what a struggle his feelings were 
 undergoing. " Wejind the prisoner, William Wood* 
 ville, guilty " The words had scarcely left his lips., 
 when a shriek rang through the apartment, so piercing, 
 so shrill, that it seems sounding in my ears this very 
 minute. All eyes and many of them streaming with 
 tears were turned in the direction of the sound, 
 which had burst from Eleanor s anguished heart. As 
 the judge began to read the verdict, she rose gradually 
 from her seat, as if attracted by the power of a charmer 
 slowly and gradually she rose, while the veins in her 
 high pale forehead swelled up like whip-cords and 
 when the word " guilty" struck on her ear, the emo 
 tions of her breast, subdued and kept down till nature 
 could endure no more, burst out in that piercing cry, 
 as she uttered which, she tottered towards the bench ; 
 but her strength faited her before she reached it, and 
 she sunk down in temporary death upon the floor. 
 
 I have several times undertaken to shorten my stoiy ; 
 yet I continue to dwell on its incidents with a prolixity 
 which must be very tiresome to my readers, and which 
 they can only excuse on the score of my being an old 
 man, whose world is now the world of memory. As 
 I was an eyewitness of the occurrence which I relate. 
 1 can scarcely avoid being particular ; but I feel I am 
 not doing justice to my young readers, who cannot be 
 expected to have that interest for William and Eleanor 
 that I had, and, of course, cannot relish my circum 
 stantiality. I will therefore pass hastily over interme* 
 diate events, and come with all possible despatch to the 
 conclusion of my narrative. I might, however, not 
 withstanding my loving regard for the reader, if it were 
 not that this retrospective portion of my story ha? 
 
THE SQUATTER. , 6T 
 
 already extended to too great a length I might, I say. 
 relate a few other circumstances connected with this 
 trial, which, if they proved but a tenth part as interest 
 ing in my narration, as they did to every body in that 
 part of the country when they happened, would amply 
 repay the time that the perusal would occupy. But as 
 these are not essential to a developement of my story, 
 I shall omit them ; and for the same reason I shall not 
 attempt to describe the anguish of the venerable old 
 father of Eleanor, and how he bent over her insensible 
 form, crying out, " my child ! my child ! Father of 
 Mercies, give my old heart strength to bear this heavy 
 hour !" I will not portray the broken-hearted efforts of 
 William to maintain his outward composure, as he 
 raised his lovely and unconscious wiie from the floor, 
 and endeavoured to call her back to this w r retched 
 life. Nor will I seek to paint the affliction of poor 
 Mungo, who, with a hoarse voice and streaming eyes, 
 addressed the judge, imploring mercy for "his dear 
 massa," and offering to go to prison in his stead. These 
 circumstances I leave to the reader s imagination. 
 
 After Eleanor had been conveyed from court, and 
 composure was in some degree restored, the judge pro 
 ceeded to pronounce sentence of death upon William, 
 who listened to his fate with a modest firmness that 
 made him more than ever an object of interest. He 
 was then removed to prison, and as he was about en 
 tering its door, a crowd of the inhabitants, young and 
 old, some that had known him from his infancy, and 
 some that had been his playmates at school, pressed 
 forward to grasp him once more by the hand, showing 
 by this mute act for few of them were able to accom 
 pany it with words their undiminished regard ; al 
 though they believed that in a moment of ungovernable 
 passion, excited by an insult which no man could have 
 foorne, he had imbrued his hands in a fellow s blood,. 
 As for the robbery, William s own account of the- 
 
CIS TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 manner in which he became possessed of the pocket- 
 book was generally believed. 
 
 The prison of the village was a wooden edifice ; but 
 the apartment in which William Woodville was con 
 fined was strongly secured with iron bolts, and the 
 single window that opened into it was guarded with 
 huge iron bars. It had been anticipated, and I may 
 say hoped, by many of the inhabitants that he would 
 be* enabled, previous to the day appointed for execu 
 tion, to make his escape ; and there were not many 
 persons in that part of the country who w r ould not have 
 been willing to facilitate such an occurrence. One of 
 Ihe few, however, who were anxious that the sentence 
 of the law should not be frustrated, \vas the jailer. He 
 was a coarse, vulgar man, who had been a participant 
 in many of tfie wild adventures of Thornton, and a sharer 
 in his midnight carousals ; and he now looked upon the 
 prisoner in his custody with an eye of personal enmity, 
 for having deprived him of a source from which he had 
 contrived to draw a large accession to his proper in- 
 come. This feeling was kept alive by the artful insin 
 uations of Quirk, who lifted Woodville more than ever 
 on account of the general sympathy manifested for 
 him ; and the consequence was, that our unfortunate 
 hero was, guarded with a degree of vigilance that 
 seemed to preclude all hopes of his being enabled te 
 elude his fate. 
 
 From the time that the door of his masters cell was 
 iirst closed on him, until a few days previous to that when 
 he was to yield his life to the violated laws of his coun 
 try, Mungo had been a constant visiter at the grate, 
 supplying the prisoner, at the promptings of an affec 
 tion which was increased, not lessened, by the awful 
 circumstances in which he stood, every comfort thai 
 his contracted situation admitted. Eleanor had wrung 
 an unwilling assent from the jailer to visit her husband 
 in his narrow abode, and, for several weeks, scarcely 
 
THE SQUATTER. 69 
 
 quitted him for a moment. But, agitated beyond his 
 strength by the circumstances in which his darling 
 daughter, and almost equally beloved son, were placed, 
 a fever had at length fastened on her parent, which 
 soon increased to such an alarming degree as to re 
 quire the constant presence of his child at his bedside. 
 Every attention that kindness or affection could sug 
 gest was rendered to the good old man, who was reve 
 renced and loved by all his flock, and with whose suf 
 ferings under the peculiarly heavy dispensation that had 
 fallen on him, every heart sincerely sympathized. But 
 skill and kindness were alike ineffectual, and on the 
 evening but one preceding the fatal day, he breathed 
 his last ; thus inflicting another heavy blow on poor 
 Eleanor s lacerated heart. The funeral took place on 
 the following afternoon, and the sod was no sooner 
 laid over his bosom, than the afflicted child again sought 
 the cell where her almost idolized partner was wearing 
 away his few and numbered hours. We will there leave 
 them together in the holy communion of wedded hearts, 
 and ask the reader to accompany us in another 
 direction. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Sentinel. He dies to-morrow. 
 Rolla. Ha ! then I am come in lime. 
 
 PIZZARO.. 
 
 IT was at a point of land four or five miles from the 
 village, that about an hour after sunset, when twilight 
 had wrapped all things in a mantle of dusky gray, a 
 boat with three persons in it might have been seen 
 pulling silently into the mouth of the little inlet which 
 ran far into the land, in a secluded spot, where there 
 
* TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 were but few habitations. On the opposite side of the 
 Sound the lighthouse shed a dim gleam through the? 
 hazy atmosphere, and about midway of the broad 
 sheet of water the white sails of a number of vessels 
 were indistinctly seen, as they bounded merrily on their 
 course before a fresh and favouring breeze. When 
 the boat reached a certain situation, which seemed to 
 be pointed out to the rowers by the person w r ho sat in 
 the stern-sheets, they altered their course and stood in 
 for the shore. As soon as the keel grated on the sandy 
 bottom, the same person sprang to land; and after say 
 ing a few words to the boatmen, in a low and cautious 
 tone, began rapidly to ascend the bank that skirted the 
 inlet, and was immediately lost to sight in the thick 
 shade of the oaks and chesnut trees that grew upon its 
 summit. 
 
 Two or three hours passed away. The inhabitants of 
 the village had many of them retired to rest ; but a few 
 were still standing about in groups, conversing on the 
 the awful event w r hich was to take place on the mor 
 row. Among them, the thin, shrivelled little law 
 yer, with a quick, restless step, was to be seen, gliding 
 from one knot of persons to another, and ever and 
 anon casting a suspicious look on the prison, as if he 
 was afraid that its inmate would yet escape. The clock 
 of the village church had struct- j hour of ten, and 
 the number of loiterers was rap^y diminishing, when 
 the same individual whom we lately saw leave the boat 
 emerged from the woods, and approaching the jail, in 
 such a direction as that an intervening house screened 
 him from observation, stole cautiously into the deep 
 shadow which it threw upon the ground, and slunk 
 closely down under the projection of the porch, as if 
 awaiting to effect some secret object. He had not 
 been lying there in his crouching position many min 
 utes, when a cry of fire resounded through the village, 
 and a broad burst of light threw a flickering gleam on 
 object in the neighbourhood. 
 
THE SQUATTER, 71 
 
 
 
 " Lawyer Quirk s new house is on fire F roared 
 twenty voices, and the clattering of feet resounded 
 through the street, as the inhabitants, drawn off by this 
 w object of attention, rushed to the scene of the con 
 flagration. 
 
 It was indeed true. The pettifogger, anticipating a 
 great increase of business now that his rival was re 
 moved, had been for some time past engaged in 
 erecting a building, of a size and structure commen 
 surate, as he thought, with his growing importance. 
 When the cry of fire struck on his ears, he turned 
 quickly around, and to his utter consternation beheld 
 the fabric, in the erection of which he had lavished all 
 the resources he could command, wrapped in one 
 bright sheet of flames. With eager haste he rushed 
 towards the spot, calling, as he passed close by the 
 jailer, (who was sitting before the prison door w r ith his 
 bunch of keys in his hand,) to follow, and render what 
 assistance he could. 
 
 " For God s sake, Grasp," roared he, " come along, 
 and help to put out the fire !" 
 
 The surly and stolid keeper rose from his seat, and 
 moved slowly forward, being naturally of such an indo 
 lent and lethargic habit that even this occurrence 
 could hardly arouse him into activity. 
 
 " Quick, quick ! or we shall be too late," cried the 
 lawyer, in a hoarse voice. " Heaven and earth !" again 
 ejaculated he, " the fire has burst through the roof!" 
 
 Urged into a greater speed by the sight of the rapidly 
 increasing flames, which now towered in a high and 
 revolving column through the air, Grasp trotted along 
 towards the conflagration, leaving the prisoner, over 
 whom he had so long watched with an untiring eye, to 
 tally unguarded, except by the bolts and bars of his cell. 
 
 For a while, the opening and shutting of doors, 
 and the rattling of feet through the village street, ren- 
 cfered it unsafe for the stranger to leave his conceal- 
 
Y TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ment ; but these sounds soon subsided, and in a short 
 time nothing was heard but the roar of the flames, and 
 the distant cries of the populace who were striving 
 with ineffectual labour to extinguish it. When tl 
 footsteps of the tardiest villager had ceased to strike 
 on his ear, the crouching figure rose from his recum 
 bent posture, and gliding into the moonlight, passed 
 quickly around the end of the prison remotest from the 
 fire, and darted through the open door of the jail. In 
 a moment more he was at the low strong door of the 
 cell in which Woodville was confined. His hand 
 trembled as he drew a large bunch of keys from his 
 pocket, and began to try them, one by one, in the lock, 
 After a number of unsuccessful attempts, one of them 
 was at length found, which by a great effort of strength 
 he succeeded in thrusting into the key-hole. But he in 
 vain applied his strength to turn it the wards did not 
 fit ; and after tugging and sweating in agony of mind 
 for several minutes, he found that to draw it out again 
 was equally in vain. His forcible attempts had in 
 jured some part of the internal construction of the 
 lock, and to turn the key or extricate it was utterly 
 impossible. The eyes of the poor fellow rolled around 
 with an expression of the utmost anguish, and large 
 drops of perspiration rolled down his brow. At this 
 moment the moon broke from a dark cloud that passed 
 over it, and shining into the hall of the prison, the light 
 fell on an axe that stood leaning against the wall in a. 
 corner. 
 
 " Tank God !" cried Mungo, (for it was no other than 
 he), " Tank God !" cried he, as this object met his 
 view, " I 11 clear him yet. Massa," said he, whispering 
 in a hoarse voice through the door, " hab courage. 
 Massa ! Mungo ? 11 stave de door open." 
 
 Drawing back the axe with the manner and in the 
 attitude of a practised woodsman, his blows fell fast 
 and heavy on the unyielding barrier, which au swererl 
 
THE SQUATTER. 73 
 
 with such a sound as made the honest negro fear lest 
 it should reach the ears of the distant jailer. But 
 there was no alternative, and he renewed his efforts. 
 At length the bolts by which the lock was fastened to 
 the wood began to give way. 
 
 " Courage, courage, massa !" cried Mungo, whose 
 hopes began to revive, and whose strength seemed to 
 increase at every blow. At last, exerting a powerful 
 effort, he struck the edge of the axe, with the preci 
 sion of one who well understood the instrument he was 
 using, directly between the lock and the wood : sparks 
 of fire snapped out from the collision, and the severed 
 iron fell heavily to the floor. In an instant, Mungo 
 threw open the door, and, his ebony countenance 
 fairly glistening with joy, sprang into the cell, and 
 grasped his master stoutly by the hand. 
 
 Come, massa, come," he cried ; " dere is no time 
 to be los ." 
 
 The astonishment of Woodville, and the agitation 
 of Eleanor, scarcely permitted them to speak; and 
 Mungo too well knew the value of time, in their pre 
 sent fearful predicament, to allow them an opportunity 
 for parley. The voices of some of the returning vil 
 lagers reached his ears, quickened as they were by 
 affectionate apprehension for his master ; and therefore, 
 not waiting to give any explanation, he seized the 
 trembling Eleanor in his arms, and bidding our hero 
 follow him, rushed hastily out of the prison, and darted 
 along the little by-path towards the woods from which 
 we lately saw him issue. Soon reaching the deep sha 
 dow which the lofty branches of the trees cast over 
 the earth, they were instantly lost to sight. 
 
 " I wonder," said one of the boatmen, who had re 
 mained waiting in the cove which we before de 
 scribed, " I wonder if that snow-ball is ever coming 
 back." 
 
 " I don t understand these doings, at all," answered 
 G 
 
74 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 his companion. " There s been the Nancy, with a* 
 fair a breeze as ever filled a topsail, standing off and 
 on these four hours, waiting for that cursed piece of 
 Indian ink. The whole business is too high die for 
 me but we must bey orders, if we break owners, I 
 
 spose " 
 
 "Hark !" interrupted the other, " I hear the rattling 
 of wheels." 
 
 The sound of a carriage rapidly approaching now 
 broke the silence of the night, and in a moment after, 
 a wagon drawn by two horses, driven along with such 
 vapidity that it seemed to the sailors, who, of course, 
 could be expected to know very little of horseman 
 ship, that they must inevitably be dashed against the 
 trees, came rattling towards the boat. But Mungo 
 well knew the fiery horses he was guiding, and with 
 out suffering them to slacken their speed, threaded the 
 mazes of the stately forest with a certainty of eye arid 
 dexterity of hand, that would have done credit to a 
 charioteer at the Olympic games. But a few minutes 
 went by, before the foaming steeds were drawn 
 up on the edge of the bank, and the inmates of the 
 wagon descended to the boat. " Shove off!" said 
 Mungo, as he sprang down the declivity, and leaped 
 into the bows of the boat, after having released the 
 horses from the wagon, and stripped the harness from 
 their backs. 
 
 The sailors, glad that their disagreeable detention 
 was at length terminated, obeyed the order with ala 
 crity. Letting fall their oars, they gave way with lusty 
 arms, and in a few moments were alongside a brig 
 that had been all the evening backing and filling oppo 
 site to the inlet we have mentioned. The captain 
 stood at the gangway to receive the expected passen 
 gers, and as soon as they were on board, gave the ne- 
 cessary orders, and put his vessel off before the wind. 
 
THE SQUATTER. 75 
 
 ll would be slighting the reader s discernment to 
 suppose he does not comprehend, without any expla 
 nation, the movements of Mungo. During the three 
 days that he had not paid his accustomed visits at the 
 grate of the prison, he had been absent in the neigh 
 bouring city, disposing of his master s moveable effects. 
 The plan which he had formed for the deliverance of 
 the prisoner, he communicated to no one, not even to 
 Woodville determined not to excite hopes, which it 
 might not be in his power to realize. After obtaining 
 a considerable sum of money from the sale of various 
 ornaments and other portable articles belonging to 
 William and Eleanor, and which he had laid hold of 
 with an unscrupulous hand, he next proceeded to bar 
 gain for their passage to New-Orleans in the vessel 
 that we have seen them reach. In the management 
 of this negotiation he exhibited so much adroitness, 
 that the captain never knew, to the end of his life, 
 which was terminated by the yellow fever shortly after 
 he reached his destination, who were- the passengers 
 whom he had thus curiously received on board. Pre 
 vious to their reaching the vessel, our hero was given 
 to understand the character that he would have to as 
 sume, by Mungo s addressing him as " Massa Wilson/* 
 a name which, as the reader is aware, he continued 
 afterward to be known by. The young sister of Wil- 
 }iam, of whom we have made but slight mention, as 
 she \vas but a little girl at this time, was also included 
 in the plan of flight ; and Mungo had taken care to 
 place in the wagon several trunks and boxes, contain 
 ing the most valuable part of poor Eleanor s ward 
 robe. 
 
 On the events of their voyage to New-Orleans, and 
 the subsequent hardships and privations which they 
 encountered until they reached the village of Edgar- 
 iorj. I must not dwell. With the history of poor 
 
76 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Woodville, or, as we have heretofore called him, Wil 
 son, after that period, the reader is already acquainted. 
 We now pause, to resume in another chapter the 
 broken thread of our narrative. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 For seven long years I ve borne this load of guilt- 
 This gnawing consciousness of dreadful crime. 
 I now tear off th mask, and stand before you 
 A self-acknowledged wretch. My lord, release 
 Yon guiltless man. Twas I that struck the blow. 
 
 OLD PLAY, 
 
 FROM this long retrospective narrative, I now re- 
 furn to the scene and time of the former part of my 
 story. 
 
 It was near evening when Lawyer Facias and Buck- 
 horn reached the village with their prisoner. Notwith 
 standing the secresy he had endeavoured to preserve, 
 the object of his ride had become generally known to 
 the inhabitants of Edgarton, and many of them had 
 assembled, towards the close of the afternoon, around 
 the door of the post-office, the upper part of which 
 was occupied by the magistrate before whom the ex 
 amination was expected to take place. The clattering 
 of horses feet at length announced the approach of 
 the murderer, as the crowd was already disposed to 
 consider Woodville, and every one pretended to see. 
 as our hero dismounted and followed the attendants 
 into the apartment of the magistrate, evident signs of 
 guilt in his countenance. They had scarcely reached 
 the room, into which the whole group also rushed, im 
 pelled by the irrepressible curiosity which men always 
 
THE SQUATTER. 7 
 
 feel on such occasions, before the rattling of a wagon 
 was heard as it came furiously driving down the road, 
 and presently after the crowd gave way, to admit the 
 entrance of Eleanor and Susan. The agitated wife 
 seemed hardly able to reach the chair which Buckhorn 
 placed for her, but William sprang to her side, and in 
 a low, calm voice endeavoured to sooth the perturba 
 tion of her feelings. The emotions of her agonized 
 bosom were of too wild and disordered a kind to be 
 easily allayed; she made a strong but ineffectual 
 effort to regain composure, and, as she dropped ex 
 hausted into the seat, there was not a heart in the 
 assemblage that did not sincerely sympathize with her 
 affliction. 
 
 As soon as order was established in the apartment, 
 the examination commenced. The industiy of Facias 
 had enabled him to gather many circumstances of 
 proof that the prisoner was no other than the convicted 
 murderer, Wbodville ; but as the reader is acquainted 
 with these, it would be entirely useless to repeat them. 
 It is sufficient to say, that they carried conviction to 
 every mind, the more especially as they were not con 
 tradicted by the accused, who plainly saw that his 
 dreadful secret was laid bare, and that denial would be 
 of no avail. Indeed, before the lawyer had finished 
 the enumeration of the circumstances by which he 
 sought to establish his charge, William interrupted the 
 proceedings, by acknowledging that he was no other 
 than the unhappy man, who had been convicted seven 
 years before of the murder of Thornton. He con 
 cluded, however, with the most solemn protestations 
 of his entire innocence of the crime, and expressed his 
 belief that Heaven would yet interpose to save him from 
 an ignominious death. 
 
 Farther investigation being rendered unnecessary 
 by this voluntary confession, the magistrate proceeded 
 IQ sign the commitment, which was handed to the a~ 
 
18 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 tending constables, with orders to convey the prisoner 
 io the jail. So deeply impressed were the minds oi 
 all with the guilt of poor Woodville, that his firm and 
 composed manner, instead of operating in his favour, 
 was set down to the score of hardened iniquity, and 
 his solemn declaration of his innocence was looked 
 upon merely as a trick to move them to compassion. 
 The constables stepped eagerly forward to discharge 
 Jheir office, and seizing William by the collar, rudely 
 dragged liim towards the door. His wife had rushed 
 into his arms, and now as they were about to separate 
 .her from him, implored the magistrate, in an agony of 
 tears, to have compassion on her husband. 
 
 " He is guiltless," she cried ; " Heaven knows he is* 
 guiltless! Mercy, mercy, mercy!" she frantically ex 
 claimed, as the officers, regardless of her entreaties, 
 again endeavoured to tear her from her partner. 
 
 The magistrate was a compassionate man, and his 
 heart bled for her ; but his hard duty compelled him 
 io turn a deaf ear to her supplications, and in a mild 
 voice he told her that it was not in his power to avert 
 ihe sentence of the law. The crowd paused when the 
 magistrate commenced speaking, and listened to his 
 words with respectful silence. 
 
 " He tells you truth," whispered William, in a lo\\ 
 and soothing tone, "he tells you truth, my dear 
 Eleanor; but let your trust be in the Power thai 
 has hitherto shielded me from an undeserved sentence, 
 and will yet stretch forth His arm to rescue the guilt 
 less." 
 
 At this moment a great bustle took place in the room, 
 in consequence of the attention of several persons who 
 stood near a window being attracted by the singular 
 appearance of a stranger, who was galloping down the 
 road on a horse, that showed by its dripping sides anct 
 foaming mouth the fiery speed into which he had bee 
 b his rider. 
 
THE SQUATTER, 79 
 
 Yonder, as I live," whispered one, " comes crazy 
 Dave. What can bring him here in such hot haste?" " 
 
 " And see !" said another, " he has neither hat, coat, 
 nor shoes on, and his black and uncombed hair stream? 
 t)ut behind him, as if it was ashamed to cover such o 
 crazy pate." 
 
 By this time the object of these remarks had 
 reached the post-office, when springing from hi? 
 horse, which he did not pause to secure, he began ra 
 pidly to ascend the steps which led to the apartment 
 of the magistrate. The crowd rushed towards the 
 door to see this demented man, as he was generally 
 considered. 
 
 " Stand back ! stand back !" cried he, in a deep, wild 
 voice, as he shoved away those who obstructed his 
 passage. 
 
 " Order ! order in the court !" exclaimed the magis 
 trate, knocking on his table. 
 
 The haggard looking stranger had now succeeded ii 
 forcing his way into the midst of the apartment, and 
 rolling his eyes round, they presently rested with an 
 almost unearthly gleam on the countenance of Wood- 
 ville, in whose mind some vague memory seemed to 
 awaken as he perused the sallow arid care-worn face 
 of the individual before him, 
 
 " Ha !" cried the latter, " I am not yet too late !" Then 
 turning to the judge, he continued, " Release that man 
 he is innocent !" 
 
 The strangeness of this annunciation excited the 
 attention of every one in the apartment, though they 
 all believed that the speaker was acting from the 
 dictates of a crazed imagination ; and one of them, in 
 a low tone, expressed this opinion. The word reached 
 .the ears of the supposed lunatic, who immediately re 
 torted. 
 
 " No no ! I am not crazy. Would to God I 
 were ! My brain s on fire f but I am not crazy, Tie 
 
80 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 here, tis here," continued he, violently striking hi* 
 breast " that the disorder lies. Once more I say. 
 release the prisoner he is innocent I am the mur 
 derer." 
 
 " By the lord Harry, massa," said Mungo, springing 
 from the crowd, and looking intently into the face of 
 the self-accused stranger " by the lord Harry, massa, 
 it s David." 
 
 " Yes, tis David," responded the other, in a deep 
 and hollow voice. " You this morning saved my 
 wretched life from the prairie fire and well for you 
 you did. Twas I that killed Thornton I am the 
 murderer !" 
 
 Eleanor dropped on her knees, and raised her 
 clasped hands to heaven. The crowd thronged around 
 crazy Dave, as the unhappy man had been generally 
 termed, and for some minutes the bustle was so great 
 that he could not continue. 
 
 " Hear me !" he at length cried, in a frantic manner, 
 " hear me, while I have strength to speak. I killed 
 Thornton. I followed him out when he left the house, 
 taking the musket in my hand, which, so help me He a* 
 ven, I did not mean to use. He was much intoxicated, 
 and I thought to possess myself of his money without 
 the necessity of a struggle. Stepping behind him, I 
 seized him round the waist, and endeavoured to throw 
 him to the ground ; but with greater strength than J 
 anticipated, he writhed out of my grasp, and raising his 
 arm aloft, I perceived that he held an open knife in his 
 hand. 4 ran from him towards the woods, at once to 
 avoid the blow and prevent myself from being recog 
 nised ; but my foot slipped, and I fell, and before 1 
 could recover myself he had almost reached me. 
 Scarcely knowing what I did, I levelled the musket at 
 him, and bade him stand off. But he continued to ap 
 proach, and I fired. The shot took fatal aim, and the 
 >v T rctdied victim reeled and tumbled to the earth. 
 
THE SQUATTER. 81 
 
 Alarmed lest the loud report should bring some one 
 to the spot, I hurried into the woods, the shelter of 
 which I had scarcely gained, when I heard approach 
 ing footsteps. It was my employer. He rushed di 
 rectly to the body, and the dying man, sobered by the 
 death-wound he had received, recognised him, and 
 attributed the deed to him. I now thought to steal 
 away, lest I should be caught skulking there, and be at 
 once charged with the murder, but the rustling of the 
 leaves betrayed me, and Mr. Woodville darting into 
 the w 7 oods, seized me by the collar. The rest you 
 know. When I perceived that suspicion did not rest 
 on me, and I was left alone with the body, the desire 
 of possessing myself of the money again returned, but 
 it was already gone." 
 
 The narrative of the guilty man was listened to with 
 breathless attention, and was accurately taken down 
 by the magistrate, together with his replies to many 
 questions, which were put for the purpose of having 
 every circumstance elucidated. The joy of Woodville, 
 whose innocence was thus made clearly manifest, 
 may be readily imagined. Eleanor sank upon his bo 
 som, and sobbed as if her heart were bursting with its 
 transport ; and poor Susan laughed and wept alter 
 nately, till Mr. Blandley, who by this time had heard 
 of the occurrence and reached the court-room, was 
 fearful that her reason would be totally unseated. As 
 for poor Mungo, he danced and hopped about the 
 room, shaking hands with every person in it (except 
 Mr. Facias, who, to do him justice, also appeared glad 
 that his prisoner s character was so happily cleared up) 
 in a delirium of joy w r hich it w r ould be vain to attempt- 
 to describe. 
 
 " I t ought it wasn t for nothin that Pompey growled 
 so when crazy Dave was brought into the house, till 1 
 had to tie him up to keep him from jumpin on the 
 bed." said he : and then he would laugh and roar and 
 
8:2 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 show his white teeth, while the big tears rolled down 
 from his glistening eyes, and his sympathetic nose 
 streamed in fellowship. 
 
 It was about a year after this occurrence, in the af 
 ternoon of a pleasant summer day, that an open car 
 riage, driven by a tidy-looking black man, and con 
 taining a gentleman and lady, and two blooming boys, 
 was seen slowly ascending the hill, on the summit of 
 which stands the little village I have before described 
 as the native place of William Woodville. The gen 
 tleman was a tall, fine-looking man, in the prime of 
 life, and the lady by his side possessed that kind of 
 beauty which disposes the beholder to love as well as 
 admire. When they reached the top of the eminence, 
 the carriage drew up for a moment, while the inmates 
 turned their eyes on a pile of blackened ruins, a little 
 to the right of the road, which still bore enough of 
 their original shape, though sadly defaced by the de 
 vouring element, to indicate that they were the remains 
 of a stately edifice destroyed by a conflagration. The 
 gentleman s brow assumed a pensive shade, as he 
 gazed upon the ruined building, and the thoughts that 
 were passing in his mind gave themselves utterance in 
 words. 
 
 " How fortunate how very fortunate it was," said 
 he, " that the fire broke out at the very moment when 
 you were contriving my deliverance, Mungo. Had 
 it not been for that lucky accident, your affectionate 
 efforts would have proved but of little avail, I think ; 
 
 and I should now be ," and he shuddered at the 
 
 thought of the fate from which he had made so narrow 
 on escape. 
 
 The negro made no reply, but his white teeth showed 
 
 
THE SQUATTER. 83 
 
 that he was chuckling over the recollection that the 
 sight of the ruins had awakened. 
 
 The carriage soon after drove on, and passing ra* 
 pidly through the village, at length turned up through 
 an avenue to a little white building which occupied 
 the brow of an eminence about half a mile beyond. 
 The appearance of every thing around this modest; 
 mansion betokened the utmost neatness. The clus 
 tering and fragrant honeysuckles almost covered the 
 front, and a grove of stately oak trees bowed their 
 sheltering branches over its roof. A stream on one 
 side danced and murmured along towards the distant 
 sound, and in the rear, the view was agreeably per 
 plexed by the verdant and mazy vistas of a neighbour 
 ing wood. 
 
 The party alighted from the carriage on reaching 
 lliis beautiful abode, and after pausing for a moment 
 to look around on the delightful scenery of the land 
 scape, \vhich from some unspoken memory or associa 
 tion, brought tears into the eyes of the female, they 
 entered the house. The negro again mounted the box 
 to drive the carriage towards the stable, and his ebony 
 face glistened with a singularly comic expression as he 
 repeated something to himself. Had any one been 
 sufficiently near, he might have heard the honest black 
 whispering, between the pauses of his merriment 
 ;< lucky accident lucky accident ! ha, ha. ha !" 
 
A BURIAL AT SEA. 
 
 The ship heaves to, and the funeral rite 
 
 O er the gallant form is said, 
 And the rough man s cheek with tears is bright. 
 
 As he lowers the gentle dead. 
 
 * * * # *- 
 
 The ship again o er the wide blue surge 
 
 Like a winged arrow flies, 
 And the moan of the sea is the only dirge, 
 
 Where the lonely sleeper lies. 
 
 GOODRICH, 
 
 I SHALL never forget the day we buried poor Ge 
 rard. It was a clear, pleasant morning, between four 
 and five bells of the forenoon watch. The wind, 
 which was about a seven knot breeze, was a little 
 abaft the beam, and in the southern latitude where we 
 were cruising, blew with a welcome freshness on our 
 cheeks. Our studding-sails were set, on both sides, 
 lower and aloft, and they gleamed, in the light of the 
 sun, with dazzling brightness. It had been calm all 
 the day before, while life was slowly exhaling from 
 Gerard s pale lips, and there was consequently but lit* 
 tie sea rolling, more than the usual ground swell. Our 
 gallant frigate cut swiftly through the blue water, 
 leaving far behind her a sparkling track of foam in her 
 wake ; not unlike, thought I, as I leaned, in a musing 
 mood, over the taffarel, the light which for a little 
 while will linger on the ocean of time, marking the 
 
A BURIAL AT SEA. 
 
 short and brilliant career of him whom we are about 
 to consign to the deep. 
 
 If ever a man combined the qualities of a thorough 
 sailer with those of a thorough gentleman, it was 
 Frederick Gerard. He was not one of your fair 
 weather officers. His was one of those intelligent, 
 cool, collected minds, which no difficulty can appal, 
 and no emergency, however sudden, take by sur 
 prise. I remember, as if it were last night, with what 
 admirable presence of mind he worked our ship out 
 of a most dangerous situation, when she was struck 
 aback, with all sails set, by a tremendous squall, in the 
 British Channel, with a reef of rocks just under our 
 counter, and scarcely sea-room enough to wear the 
 commodore s gig. The oldest forecastle sailer on 
 board turned as pale as death, and old Jack Stewart, 
 who had been at sea, man and boy, for forty odd 
 years, gave up all for lost. 
 
 Not so Fred Gerard, who fortunately happened to 
 have the deck. With an undaunted heart, he leaped 
 upon the lookout block, and, perceiving in an instant 
 the only chance of salvation, he issued his orders ac 
 cordingly, in such a clear, distinct, and firm voice, that 
 the very sound restored confidence to the crew. The 
 least confusion of thought, or the least hesitation to 
 act, and we should all have perished. But Fred Ge 
 rard was not the man to be confused, or to hesitate in 
 any situation. He would see more at a single glance 
 than most persons could discover by minute inspec 
 tion ; and his actions succeeded the operations of his 
 reasoning powers so rapidly, that he seemed rather to 
 be propelled by intuition than reflection. When poor 
 old Simmons, the quarter gunner, fell overboard, we 
 were running down from Algiers to Gibraltar, before 
 a strong Levanter ; and any one who has ever been 
 in the Mediterranean knows what kind of a wind that 
 is to lay to in. Simmons had been ordered out on thp 
 
 H 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 side, to black the bends, that we might not look too 
 rusty when we should come to anchor in the bay of 
 Gibraltar. He was a clumsy old fellow, and had fool 
 ishly taken hold of some nine thread ratline stuff, that 
 was rove in the gangway, to keep the young reefers 
 from falling overboard ; but his weight tore off the 
 thin piece of board to which it was attached, and down 
 he fell into the waves. 
 
 The cry of " a man overboard ! a man overboard !"* 
 was immediately passed fore and aft, and great was 
 the consternation of all hands, as, looking over the bul 
 warks, they could but just discern the poor old sailer s 
 gray head, already far astern, and the sea rolling be 
 tween, half mast high. It was a lucky thing for Sim 
 mons that Fred Gerard had the morning watch that 
 day ; and it would have done his old heart good, nearly 
 suffocated as he must have been, could he have seen 
 with what promptness his preserver backed the yards, 
 hove the vessel to, cleared away the stern boat, and, 
 giving the trumpet to another lieutenant, whom the 
 cry had brought on deck, jumped, himself, the first 
 man, into the jolly boat, and pulled an oar most lustily 
 to his rescue. 
 
 But I am wandering from my subject. I meant to 
 speak of the burial of Gerard, and the cause which led 
 to his death ; not of his nautical skill and noble prompt 
 ness of daring in a proper cause. 
 
 Till a short time before his death, there was not, in 
 all the squadron, a gayer hearted and happier fellow 
 than Fred Gerard. He was a tall, well built man ; 
 and his countenance had received, from his exposure in 
 different parts of the world, a dark tinge, that rather 
 added to, than diminished, his beauty. A sabre cut 
 over the left eye, which had been given him in a per 
 sonal rencontre with a celebrated West India pirate, 
 whom he had singly met and subdued, imparted a 
 more military air to his expression, without impairing 
 
A BURIAL AT SEA, 87 
 
 the effect of his regular and classic features. Just 
 before he left home on his last cruize 
 
 " Ah ! little thought he twas his last !" 
 
 he had married a beautiful girl, to whom he had been 
 long and fervently attached. It was a stolen match, 
 and I, and our chaplain, who united them, were the 
 only ones, on his part, privy to it. How beautifully 
 her delicate white complexion contrasted with his, as 
 they joined hands before our nautical parson, who, by 
 the way, was -more skilled in the mystery of lobscouse 
 and sea-pie, than in the ceremonies appertaining to 
 his clerical character. However, the sacred rite was 
 pronounced, the inaudible whisper of assent passed 
 her trembling lips, and the lovely Jane Dayton became 
 the bride of Fred. He looked, alongside of the timid 
 and blushing creature, like a lofty and stately frigate 
 convoying a Baltimore clipper ; and he would have 
 been full as prompt and efficient in resenting an injury 
 or insult offered to her, as any of our frigates have 
 ever been in supporting the dignity of the American 
 flag. 
 
 Just before we left Gibraltar to run down the coast 
 of Africa, on our homeward bound passage, a vessel 
 arrived, bringing letters to most of the officers of the 
 squadron. Fred, among others, received a packet, 
 which, as was always his custom, he retired to his 
 state-room to peruse. In two or three hours after, 
 when supper was prepared in the wardroom, the stew 
 ard knocked at his door to call him, and, not receiv 
 ing any answer, opened it when there poor Fred was 
 seen, lying stretched on the floor, which was crimson 
 with his blood. In his hand, tightly grasped, was the 
 letter he had been perusing, and a glance at this in> 
 mediately explained all. His Jane was dead ! She 
 had expired in giving birth to a child ; and the shock 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 of the intelligence had proved more than Fred could 
 bear. He had endeavoured to suppress his agony, so 
 as to give no audible intimation of it, and in the strug 
 gle of his feelings a bloodvessel had become ruptured, 
 and he had sunk fainting on the deck. Medical as 
 sistance was, of course, immediately administered; 
 and it had the effect to produce a partial restoration. 
 Fred s body recovered but his mind never did. He 
 was no more the gay, cheerful fellow he had been ; a 
 heavy despondency settled on his spirits, which soon 
 took the form of a hasty consumption ; and in just two 
 months and three days after he received the intelli 
 gence of his wife s death, he breathed his last. 
 
 The word had been passed, when the men were 
 turned to, at one bell in the forenoon watch, for all 
 hands to prepare themselves for muster, or, in other 
 phrase, for the ship s crew to dress themselves in their 
 best apparel ; and when the quartermaster struck five 
 bells, that is, at half past ten o clock, an order was sent 
 tip from the cabin, for the boatswain to call all hands 
 to bury the dead. Scarcely had the deep sepulchral 
 voices of himself and mates reverberated through the 
 ship, before every soul on board was on the main deck, 
 gathered together in a compact group, just forward of 
 the mainmast, anxious to show all the respect in their 
 power to their deceased officer. Th j cheeks of many 
 a rugged tar that day were wet with drops of real sor 
 row for the fate of poor Fred, who was always the 
 Favourite of the crew, in whatever ship he sailed. 
 The body, wrapped up in a tarred hammock, and en 
 closed in a coffin, which the carpenter had hastily con 
 structed, and over which an American ensign wa.s 
 thrown, was passed up the main hatchway, and placed 
 on the bulwark, ready to launch it into the deep. The 
 solemn words of the Episcopal burial service were 
 read in a slow, impressive manner, by the chaplain, 
 arid at the sentence, beginning, " We commit his bod\ 
 
A BURIAL AT SEA. J 
 
 to the deep/ the board on which the coffin rested Was 
 inclined towards the sea the coffin slid from it a 
 splash was heard a deep silence succeeded and all 
 that was left on earth of Frederick Gerard, sunk, un 
 seen, unheard, down deep into the bosom of the ocean. 
 Poor fellow, 
 
 No tomb shall e er plead to remembrance for thee, 
 
 Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; ? 
 But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, 
 And winds, in the mi dnight of winter, thy dirge I" 
 
 H * 
 
THE STANTOff GHOST; 
 
 OR. 
 
 MISTAKE OF THE PRESS. 
 
 TIIE little village of Stanton is one of the most de 
 lightfully situated places in the world. It occupies 
 the brow of a green eminence, which overlooks the 
 broad avid crystal surface of a beautiful stream, just 
 .in that part where the nature of its channel, and the 
 formation of the opposite bank, cause it to dilate to 
 fhree times its usual breadth, thus giving all the charm 
 and softness of distance to the scenery on the oppo 
 site shore. The country, on the inland side of ihe 
 village, descends, by a romantic and wooded declivity, 
 to a green, secluded valley, where winds a noisy 
 rivulet on its way to join the river, with which it min 
 gles a mile or two below. This pellucid and impetuous 
 little current has its rise in the mountains that skirt the- 
 distance : and through the verdant depths where lies 
 its course it babbles and gurgles along over the rocks 
 which interrupt its passage, its natural melody falling 
 on the ear with a happy sound, and awakening sweet 
 emotions in the heart, like the tiny shout and laugh of 
 innocent children, playing in the sun. Through the 
 (hick foliage of the trees which shade the valley, 
 glimpses of light occasionally fall on the obstreperous 
 brook, illumining its turbulent bosom, like the few an<3 
 
STANTON GHOST. 91 
 
 far-between gleams of joy which here and there irra 
 diate the stormy current of life. 
 
 The appearance of the village itself is as neat and 
 picturesque, as the surrounding scenery is romantic. 
 One broad, clean road (or street, as the inhabitants 
 ambitiously call it) runs through the midst, on the very 
 summit of the ridge, terminating at the promontory, 
 formed by the junction of the rivulet and the larger 
 stream. At this place, a little stone landing is erected, 
 where the lading of a single small sloop is weekly 
 taken in. and her return cargo discharged. The ar 
 rival and departure of this handsome vessel, known by 
 the name of the Stanton Packet, are matters of con 
 siderable moment to the inhabitants ; as by her all their 
 commercial intercourse with the distant metropolis is 
 carried on. About half a dozen houses and stores oc 
 cupy the most eligible sites in the immediate vicinity ot 
 the landing ; though the road passes over an interval 
 of more than three-quarters of a mile, before the vil 
 lage can be fairly said to commence. There are not 
 more than fifty houses in all ; but, with very few ex 
 ceptions, these are handsomely constructed, and taste 
 fully disposed; and their white exteriors and green 
 shutters peeping through the poplar, sycamore, locust., 
 and other trees, by which they are generally sur 
 rounded ; the neat little hanging gardens, enclosed in 
 white palings, and reaching a short way down the de 
 clivity towards the river; and the air of comfort, 
 plenty and tidiness which pervades the whole, render 
 it by far the most pleasant looking village in all that 
 part of the countiy. 
 
 The character and manners of the inhabitants 
 might, by a meditative mind, be nearly guessed at from 
 the appearance of their abodes. The neat little 
 church, the glittering spire of which rises up to view 
 from amidst the green and flexile branches of the 
 willows, that shade the surrounding graveyard, tells 
 that they are a religious and sober people, At the 
 
92 TALES AMD SKETCHES. 
 
 other end of the town stands the Courthouse, the path 
 leading to which is grass-grown, and confirms the 
 testimony of the church. The little schoolhouse, a 
 hundred or two yards from this, filled, during the day, 
 with well dressed, round-faced, smiling children, who, 
 in the summer season, may be seen through the open 
 doors and windows, bears its evidence to the intelli 
 gence of the villagers ; and, in short, the stores, the 
 single tavern of the place, called the Traveller s Rest, 
 which indeed seems to be solely appropriated to the 
 object that its name implies ; and some nameless thing 
 or other, which an observant eye may mark in every 
 house, and in the demeanour of almost every indivi 
 dual, all unite in creating a very favourable opinion of 
 the community of Stanton. 
 
 At the upper end of the village, in a somewhat se 
 cluded situation, one house in particular attracts the 
 attention of those who pass along the stream, by the 
 superior neatness of eveiy thing about it, and the taste 
 and beauty of its garden, which reaches quite down to 
 the pebbly edge of the water. There are a number 
 of dwellings, but a little way below, which present 
 larger and more ostentatious pretensions than this, to 
 the admiration of the spectators ; but an indescribable 
 something about the widow Warren s unobtrusive little 
 abode, causes the eye of the traveller to rest on it, as 
 he passes by, with an untiring gaze : and even after 
 he has reached the projecting point, a considerable 
 further up the river, on turning which he must lose 
 sight of the village, his head will often revert to catch 
 another glance of the cot, which fancy invariably pic 
 tures as the favourite residence of peace and virtue , 
 And so it is. 
 
 At the time when the circumstance, which will form 
 the principal incident of my narrative, took place, the 
 excellent and lamented partner of Mrs. Warren had 
 been dead several years j and though his memory was 
 
STANTON GHOST. 93 
 
 still fresh in her heart, yet the Christian efforts of thai 
 exemplary woman had not been exerted in vain, and 
 tranquillity and happiness had again resumed their 
 place in her bosom. Mr. Warren had been for many 
 years the respected and beloved pastor of the little 
 community where his widow still resided, and like the 
 good vicar, so beautifully described in Goldsmith s 
 Deserted Village, his divine precepts received a for 
 cible illustration from his example. 
 
 " He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way." 
 
 To console the widowhood, and engage the atten 
 tion of his bereaved partner, a son, the sole remaining 
 pledge of their love, was left ; and the cultivation of 
 his youthful mind, the early expansion of which well 
 repaid the affectionate mother s care, afforded a source 
 of sweet employment, that gave double efficacy to 
 the balmy influence of time. As he grew up to man 
 hood, the beauty of Charles Warren s person, the 
 amiable qualities of his disposition, the intelligence of 
 his active mind, and the filial care and tenderness 
 which he constantly evinced towards his parent, made 
 him a general favourite, not only in the village, but 
 through the neighbouring country, for many miles 
 round. There was one person, in particular, a certain 
 blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked little damsel, with whom we 
 must make the reader acquainted, that entertained a 
 most exalted sense of his virtues; and rumoiuv 
 always meddling with the affairs of others, declared 
 that Charles discovered so much of a congenial na 
 ture in her mind, manners, and sentiments, that it was 
 currently believed they would soon mingle into one. 
 
 Nor was this supposition unfounded in fact. Ca 
 tharine Maitland and Charles really entertained for 
 each other an ardent and reciprocal attachment. 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 which formed on the strong and enduring basis of 
 mutual esteem, was likely to be as permanent as it 
 >vas warm and sincere. She had lost her mother in 
 tfancy; and her doting father, too much engrossed 
 e mazy labyrinths of commercial speculation to 
 bestow that attention on his only child, which her 
 ;e and sex made necessary, had intrusted her educa 
 tion to Mrs. Warren, to whom he was related, and 
 who, he knew, was well fitted, alike by nature and 
 iuca ion to perform the task. The beauty, vivacity 
 and playfulness of the little orphan, her dodlity in rl- 
 eiving instruction, and the warmth of infantile and 
 engaging affection with which she returned every evi 
 dence of love, soon made her very dear to her widow 
 ed foster-mother; while the alacrity which Charles 
 bout five years older than Catharine, evinced in the 
 exercise of every kind of boyish gallantry towards his 
 pretty and interesting playmate, also told the favour- 
 ble impression that the gay and happy little creature s 
 Imposition had made on him. As they grew up, this 
 early attachment gradually expanded and strength 
 ened ; and when Catharine s father, who a short thnc 
 efore the commencement of our narrative, had re- 
 red from business, and purchased a commodious 
 dwelling in the town of Stanton, took his daughter 
 ome under his own protection, their feelings for each 
 other had assumed the unequivocal and avowed cha 
 racter of love. 
 
 About this time, the death of a near relative of Mrs 
 Warren, in England, made it desirable that Charles 
 should visit that country, to represent his mother, who 
 was a principal heir, in the distribution of the estate 
 and accordingly, accompanied by her, and by Mr 
 Maitland and his daughter, who also joined in the ex- 
 cumon, he set out for New-York, with the purpose of 
 taking passage in one of the commodious Liverpool 
 L need not describe the various feelings 
 
STANTOX GHOST. 
 
 of the party on the occasion of their adieus being 
 spoken ; because eveiy reader who has been obliged 
 to absent himself, for any considerable time, from the 
 society of beloved ones, will understand, better than 
 I can explain them. From the first of their acquaint 
 ance, until the present time, a day had never passed 
 without bringing Catharine and Charles into the so 
 ciety of each other ; and now that he was about to 
 embark on the pathless ocean, the terrors and dan- 
 gers of which were augmented by her fear, it is not to 
 be wondered at that her innocent and artless heart 
 throbbed with unwonted agitation, and that her blue- 
 eyes became suffused with tears, as he whispered in 
 her ear a renewed assurance of everlasting fidelity. 
 His anxious mother s bosom, too, heaved with deep, 
 but subdued emotion; which was in some measure 
 softened, and the timid forebodings of parental love 
 rendered less gloomy, by the devotional exercises of 
 her pious mind, that supplicated in uri worded appeals 
 to the fountain of strength, for strength to bear the 
 trying hour with becoming firmness. Urged swiftly 
 along by a prosperous breeze, the vessel in which 
 Charles had taken passage was soon lost to sight ; and 
 the little group, that till then had remained standing 
 on the pier, waiving their handkerchiefs in token of 
 adieu, returned in silence to their abode, each occu 
 pied with uncommunicated thoughts and feelings. A 
 few days after, they left the amusements and gayeties 
 of the city, for which their minds had now but little 
 relish, and returned to the more congenial seclusion oi 
 Stanton. 
 
 By every opportunity, letters were regularly re 
 ceived from the absent son and lover, filled with the 
 most cheering intelligence ; and four months from the 
 time of his departure had but just expired, when the 
 welcome news was communicated that his business 
 -had been successfully accomplished, and that, by the 
 
96 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 next packet, which was on the eve of sailing, he 
 should return. These tidings gave general satisfaction 
 throughout the village ; but the delight it occasioned to 
 the mother and her foster-daughter must be imagined, 
 for it cannot be described. Caesar, a coloured servant 
 who had been born and brought up in the family of 
 Mrs. Warren, until he looked upon himself as one of 
 its legitimate members, and had adopted the name, 
 expressed his satisfaction by the most extravagant 
 gestures and attitudes, and drew his ebony cheeks 
 back to a grotesque and joyful grin, till every tooth 
 was brought into visible and mirth-inspiring contrast 
 with the surrounding blackness of his countenance, 
 Wolf, the house dog, too, seemed to understand the 
 meaning of the unusual commotion, and gave many 
 ranine evidences that he fully participated in the gene 
 ral feeling ; and he and Caesar, to whom nature had 
 taught a similar mode of giving vent to their felicity, 
 rolled and tumbled about the grass, with all the fami 
 liarity which unity of sentiment is apt to create, The 
 road between Mrs. Warren s house and the post-office 
 was now more frequently trod than ever ; and every 
 day, when the hour drew near for the arrival of the 
 mail, would Catharine seek the abode of her foster- 
 mother, and there await with palpitating heart, the 
 issue of the hour. 
 
 On one of these occasions they were sitting in the 
 little back parlour, the windows of which overlook 
 the stream I have several times mentioned. It was 
 near sunset, on a delicious summer afternoon. The 
 scenery on the opposite side of the stream looked 
 unusually lovely in the hazy indistinctness of receding 
 day; and the summit of the high hills, which terminate 
 the prospect, seemed all on fire, in the red and golden 
 light which the sinking luminary had spread above the 
 western horizon. A scarce felt breeze here and there 
 kissed the surface of the quiet water, breaking, for a 
 
STANTON GHOST. J* 
 
 few moments, its glassy smoothness into innumerable 
 ripples, which would soon subside again, like the tran 
 sitory smile from the face of a sleeping child. In two 
 or three places, the sunlight streamed through the 
 intervals between the distant mountains, lighting up to 
 a dazzling whiteness the loose-hanging sails of the 
 little boats that glided slowly along the unruffled tide., 
 and burnishing the windows of the villagers houses, 
 till they glowed with an intenser radiance than that oi 
 fire. The well nursed flowers of the garden filled the 
 air with their delicious odours, as if in gratitude for 
 the daily attention they received ; and the birds poured 
 out their song of farewell to the setting day, in a shrill 
 and merry note, as if they knew that it would rise with 
 renovated effulgence on the morrow. 
 
 At length the welcome sound of the mail-drivers 
 horn came reverberating along the valley, awakening 
 all its echoes, and arousing into instant activity, as it 
 reached their ears, the two anxious females who had 
 been eagerly expecting this summons. Without wait 
 ing to be called, Caesar, who partook in a large degree oi 
 the solicitude of his mistress and of his young missy, 
 as he still termed Catharine, made his appearance, 
 walking rapidly up from the bottom of the garden ; and 
 without even pausing to light his pipe, which on any 
 other occasion he certainly would have done, he set out. 
 immediately for the post-office, to ascertain whether 
 there were any news concerning Charles, or the vessel 
 in which he had embarked. 
 
 The schoolmaster, too, also arrested in his evening 
 walk by the same twanging melody, now turned his 
 steps towards the widow Warren s cottage, as was 
 his wont regularly on two evenings of the week ; viz. 
 those on which the newspaper from the distant city 
 was received. This gray disciple of Dionysius, like 
 him, had descended from a station of military splen 
 dour and command, to the humbler and more peaceful 
 
98 
 
 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 government of children. In the war of the Revolu 
 tion he had occupied the important office of corporal ; 
 yet, when peace settled on the land, he bade adieu, 
 without a sigh, to the trappings of his power ; and 
 the little boys and girls, over whom he soon after 
 assumed control, very seldom had reason to remember, 
 by any exercise of rigour, that he had received his 
 education in the iron school of war. The larger part 
 of his life had glided tranquilly away in the secluded 
 community of Stanton ; and many of those whose 
 lisping tongues had first learned from him to repeat 
 the A, B, C, and were thence gradually led on 
 through the path of letters until they arrived at the 
 abstruse branches of spelling, reading, writing, and 
 arithmetic, had since grown up to be men and women, 
 and now supplied with their offspring, the places on the 
 same form which themselves had long since vacated. 
 
 This hardy veteran, who still walked with the firm 
 tread and erect gait of a soldier, though now nearly 
 seventy years of age, and whose ruddy cheeks and 
 smiling countenance betokened health and good hu 
 mour, was always a welcome visiter at the widow 
 Warren s. Beneath a slight covering of awkward 
 and amusing pedantry, there lay a large fund of good 
 sense ; and the natural benevolence of his character 
 was oftentimes brought into ludicrous contrast with 
 the affected military sternness which [^ tried to assume, 
 when conversing with the effeminate men and women, 
 as he termed them, of modern days. His entrance 
 on the present occasion was greeted with the usual 
 salutation ; and the fair Catharine instantly arose and 
 placed a chair for him in a convenient situation for 
 reading the newspaper, when it should arrive. With 
 anecdotes of his little charges, and of the children in 
 old times, before the Revolutionary war broke out, 
 strangely intermingled, the good old man endeavoured 
 to beguile the lagging minutes until Coesar should 
 
STANTON GHOST. 99 
 
 return ; but, in the present instance, his efforts were 
 unavailing, for an unaccountable anxiety and trepi 
 dation seemed to agitate the bosoms, both of Mrs. 
 Warren and her foster-child ; and after a few efforts 
 to maintain the conversation, the whole party lapsed 
 into silence. 
 
 How long, in the tremor of their suspense, the ab 
 sence of Caesar may have seemed, we know not ; but 
 by an accurate admeasurement of time it was cer 
 tainly not more than half an hour before he again 
 appeared in sight, puffing and blowing as he came 
 running at full speed over the hill, animated to this 
 unusual celerity by feelings somewhat akin to those 
 which throbbed in the bosoms of Catharine and her 
 foster-parent. There were no letters for Mrs. War 
 ren ; but Caesar had heard the lawyer s clerk read the 
 superscription of a packet, which was addressed to 
 an English gentleman who resided in Stanton, and 
 thus learned that it had been received by the vessel in 
 which his beloved master Charles was expected. The 
 announcement of this thrilling information was not cal 
 culated to abate the trepidation of the two most 
 interested persons of the group ; and unable, from 
 their agitation, to read, without betraying more emo 
 tion than they wished, the newspaper was handed to 
 the venerable schoolmaster, with a request that he 
 would peruse the ship news aloud. 
 
 With his usual, and, on this occasion, most harass 
 ing deliberation, the good-natured pedagogue, after 
 finding the place and adjusting his iron-rimmed spec 
 tacles on his nose, began in a loud, clear voice, as 
 follows : 
 
 " Arrived, last night, ship Saluda, Jennings, Charles 
 ton, with merchandise" 
 
 " Not that not that !" cried Mrs. Warren and 
 Catharine, in the same breath ; " look for the Pacific, 
 from Liverpool." 
 
100 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The old man resumed, in a sort of humming tone, 
 as he glanced over the names of the different vessels 
 
 " Ship Azelia, Thatcher, New-Orleans La Fayette. 
 Fanning, Savannah Lavinia Bayard hem, brig 
 Caroline schooner Three- Sisters hem, sloop Hero," 
 and running over the arrivals in this way, he was 
 about to declare that the Pacific was not announced, 
 when a postscript met his eye. "What have we 
 here ?" he began, " Half past two o clock. We stop 
 the press to announce that the fast-sailing and elegant 
 packet ship Pacific, Captain Crocker, from Liverpool, 
 has just arrived, bringing dates from London &c. 
 &c. &c. Cotton hem ! * Sales this week ah ! 
 here it is. * The following is a list of the passengers : 
 Hon. T. Walton, lady and servant ; Gracy Puffen- 
 dorf Count We llenburgh Charles Warren, Esquire" 
 (reading in a louder and more distinct voice, while the 
 mother and Catharine started with unconcealable de 
 light) " Charles Warren, Esquire," (repeated he) " was 
 t.aken sick on the fourth day out, and after a short but 
 severe illness" (the two trembling listeners leaned for 
 ward with intense and aching attention) "after a short 
 and severe illness expired!" 
 
 The word fell like thunder on the ears of the 
 fearers. " Gracious heaven ! support me !" ejacu 
 lated the heart-struck parent, as she tottered back and 
 sunk into a chair ; while Catharine, unable to articu 
 late a word, uttered a piercing shriek, and fell lifeless 
 to the floor. Caesar, whose shining face became sud 
 denly of a dull and ashy hue, for a moment rolled his 
 <^yes wildly about, and then, as if the full import of the 
 tidings burst all at once upon his understanding, rushed, 
 out of the house, and throwing himself on the grass, 
 gave vent to a flood of tears. Poor Wolf, too, with 
 the same sagacity he had evinced when happy infor 
 mation was received, now seemed to comprehend the 
 fause of sorrow, and by his whining and wistful looks 
 
STANTON Qnysr. Wl 
 
 into the faces of the distressed assemblage, manifested, 
 as strongly as language could have done, that he 
 shared the general emotion. As for the old school 
 master, he sat motionless in his elbow chair, petrified 
 by the tidings and the effect they had produced, and 
 internally censuring his blundering tongue, for having 
 so abruptly communicated the woful intelligence. 
 
 The group, on which sorrow had fallen like an ava 
 lanche, had not yet recovered from the first stunning 
 effect of the unexpected blow, when the good pastor 
 of the village entered the apartment. He had been 
 Charles s preceptor in his classical studies, and sincerely 
 loved him (as indeed who did not ?) on account of the 
 many amiable and exalted traits of his character ; and 
 his visit, at the present time, was dictated by a wish to 
 hear if the expected vessel had yet returned his boy, 
 as he fondly called him, to his native land. That some 
 great calamity had occurred, the expression of every 
 countenance, the suppressed sobbings of Mrs. Warren 
 intermixed with scarce audible prayer, the death-like 
 stillness and paleness of Catharine, the stultified and 
 marble stare of the pedagogue, and the unrestrained 
 grief of Caesar, all too plainly denoted. The tender 
 and thoughtful clergyman felt that he had indeed en 
 tered the house of mourning ; and rightly judging that 
 the schoolmaster must be the least implicated in the 
 affliction, he approached him with a noiseless tread, 
 and in a low voice inquired the cause of their distress. 
 But his intellect, like the juggling priests of old, seemed 
 to have forsaken its post, and with an unaltered coun 
 tenance he remained staring at vacuity, as immoveable 
 and unresponsive as a deserted oracle. One word 
 from Caesar, however, to whom the pastor, foiled in 
 his first application, next turned for information, ex 
 plained at once the sad occasion of wo. * Oh massa 
 Charles, massa Charles," sobbed the disconsolate negro, 
 * dear massa Charles be dead, and bury em at sea." 
 I 2 
 
i> 02 TASJB& AND SKETCHES, 
 
 Mr. Jones (the name of the clergyman) had taken 
 ap from the floor, when he approached the aged 
 teacher, the newspaper, which the latter, in the con 
 sternation of the moment, let fall from his hand, and 
 the significant gesture of poor Caesar now directed his 
 attention to that, as containing a relation of the unhappy 
 circumstance. Though the sad account which he there 
 perused created unfeigned sorrow in his own breast ; 
 yet it did not render him forgetful of the duties of his 
 sacred office ; and with a tact and tenderness which 
 only the most delicately organized minds can use, he 
 addressed the mourners in such terms, and on such 
 topics, and with such mildness and yet earnestness of 
 persuasion, as had a salutary influence in softening their 
 violent bursts of anguish. Before he left him that 
 evening, he had succeeded in arming their hearts with 
 a meek resolution to bear, by divine aid, with all be 
 coming firmness, the heavy dispensation that had over 
 whelmed them. It would be useless to dwell on the 
 emotions of that eventful evening : suffice it to say, that 
 after Mrs. Warren and her foster-child, now more dear 
 to the afflicted parent than ever, separated for the 
 night, they both, in the stillness of their closets, poured 
 out their souls in long and voiceless supplication to their 
 heavenly Father, for strength to bear the heavy visitings 
 of his hand ; and they both arose with that renewal of 
 heart, and confidence in divine succour, wiiich are the 
 never-failing results of prayer, exercised by a sincere 
 and contrite spirit. When they met in the morning, 
 the pallid and composed countenances of both bore 
 witness at once to their grief and to their pious resig 
 nation ; and with a firmness scarcely to have been ex 
 pected, the exemplary mother received the visits of 
 condolence from such of the neighbours as called to 
 sympathize with them in their affliction. 
 
 It has often been observed, by those who have stu 
 died the philosophy of the human heart, and experience 
 
STANTON GHOST. 103 
 
 we believe fully corroborates the remark, that it is far 
 more difficult to bear sudden joy with equanimity, than 
 sudden calamity ; and it was the fate of Mrs. Warren 
 and the beautiful Catharine to be tried, in the course oi 
 that day, by a shock of happiness as unlocked for, as 
 had been the awful tidings of the previous evening. 
 Slowly, sadly, and silently, wore the lingering hours 
 away. The sun arose that morning with all the bril 
 liancy that his unclouded setting had promised; the 
 birds, as they plumed their little wings for flight, poured 
 out as rich a flood of melody as had created admiration 
 in the hearer s bosom yestereven ; the foliage of the 
 trees glittered, as if hung with diamonds, wherever the 
 slant rays of the luminary fell on their dewy leaves ; 
 and the high parts of the distant scenery, dimly seen 
 through the thin mist which rose up from the river, 
 gave a harmonious and softened outline to the living- 
 picture, and seemed like little fairy islands in an ethereal 
 sea. But the beauties of nature had now no charm 
 for Mrs. Warren and Catharine ; and though they sat; 
 at a window, apparently gazing on the prospect before 
 them, yet not a single feature of the landscape did they 
 see. Their minds, far otherwise employed, looked not 
 through their eyes, but were deeply engaged in com 
 munion with him who sitteth in the heavens, 
 
 ;t Who wounds us for his mercy sake, 
 Who wounds to heal." 
 
 " The day drags through, though clouds keep out 
 the sun." So says Lord Byron ; and so did this tardy 
 day, the longest and dreariest that Catharine had ever 
 experienced, although no clouds kept out the sun, but ? 
 on the contrary, it shone with unusual splendour, at 
 length pass away. The rosy light left by the sunken 
 orb at last grew pale in the west ; the birds folded 
 their wings to rest ; the stars, one after the other, ap- 
 
104 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 peared in the beautiful azure of a still summer evening ; 
 and the katydid shook her cymbal wings, till every tree 
 and every thicket seemed alive with the obstreperous 
 little insect. Mrs. Warren and Catharine, her constant 
 companion since the distressing intelligence, had just 
 removed from the scarce-tasted evening meal, and 
 were sitting at an open window " chewing the cud of 
 sweet and bitter fancy," when they were both startled 
 by the rapid and unceremonious entrance of Caesar, 
 whose distended eyes, quivering lips, pale cheeks (pale 
 considering his usual complexion), and chattering teeth, 
 announced that he had seen some fearful sight. 
 
 " What s the matter with you, Caesar ?" demanded 
 his mistress. 
 
 " Oh misses !" responded the agitated black, who, 
 adjured by a human voice, recovered his suspended 
 faculty of speech " Oh misses !" cried he, " I b seen 
 his ghost ! I b seen his ghost !" 
 
 "What nonsense is this about ghosts?" rejoined 
 Mrs. Warren. " Are you not ashamed, Caesar, after 
 all I have said to you, to give way to such unreal ter 
 rors r 
 
 " Ah, misses ! this was rail ghost," said the poor 
 black, shaking violently at the recollection. " It was 
 zactly like em, fore he went away." 
 
 " Caesar, you are deranged !" answered Mrs. War 
 ren, with a faltering voice ; and she was about to add 
 some other remark, when perceiving that the eyes of 
 the faithful black were fixed in terror on some object 
 in the apartment, she turned round a form dressed in 
 white stood there it was Charles himself ! and, with 
 a faint shriek, she fell, in a paroxysm of sudden and 
 dangerous joy, into his extended arms. Catharine, 
 across whose intelligent and unsuperstitious mind a 
 gleam of the truth had flashed with the quickness of 
 lightning, when Caesar affirmed that he had seen the 
 ghost of her beloved Charles, was less, but still in an 
 
STANTON GHOST. 105 
 
 alarming degree affected by his unlooked-for appear 
 ance, as from the dead. She sprang to him ; she clung 
 upon him, she wept and laughed by turns ; while the 
 wondering Charles his insensible mother in his arms, 
 and Catharine, his affianced bride, apparently demented, 
 hanging on his neck knew not what to make of this 
 extraordinary scene. 
 
 But we will not unnecessarily detain the reader. 
 The mystery was soon explained ; and every heart in 
 the village was made happy by the narrative. The re 
 ported death of Charles was A MISTAKE OF THE PRESS ; 
 the printer, in what is technically called making up the 
 form, that is, in placing the articles which have been 
 put in type in such order and connexion, that when 
 they come to be printed, they will appear in their 
 proper continuity and sequence, had accidently omitted 
 two entire lines, as will be seen by the following para 
 graph, which is the report of passengers in full, as it 
 should have been stated : 
 
 " Hon. T. Walton, lady, and servant ; James Gra- 
 cey, Esq.; Henry T. Pufifendorf, Esq.; Count Wellen- 
 burgh ; Mr. Josiah Cleaveland ; Charles Warren, Esq, 
 We regret to state that one of the passengers, a son 
 of the late celebrated General Frederick Killingworth t 
 was taken sick on the fourth day out, and after a short 
 and severe illness, expired. He was buried, at sea." 
 
 By this mistake, the announcement of the death be 
 came connected with the name of Charles, and gave 
 rise to the deep and agonized affliction, which we have 
 feebly attempted to portray. As soon as the error 
 was discovered, it had been corrected in the paper, and 
 the few copies previously struck off were sent to dis 
 tant country subscribers, a slight omission in ship news 
 not being deemed of any importance to readers so far 
 removed from the commercial metropolis. But since 
 the absence of Charles, that department of the city 
 papers had possessed the greatest attraction for Mrs, 
 
106 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 Warren and Catharine, and a small oversight of the 
 printer had nearly cost them their lives. 
 
 To account for the supposed ghost in the graveyard, 
 it is only necessary to mention that Charles had ar 
 rived in a gig, with a friend from New- York ; and that 
 with the usual impatience of those who are returning, 
 after a long absence, to 
 
 * the shrine, where throng 
 
 The earthly idols of the good s man s heart," 
 
 he alighted from the vehicle, as he drew near the vil 
 lage, to take advantage of a short by-path, to his mo 
 ther s residence, while his friend proceeded along the 
 public road to the Traveller s Rest, the tavern already 
 mentioned. The path which Charles was pursuing 
 makes a circuitous turn round the large enclosure of 
 the church ; but our impatient traveller, to render the 
 short cut still shorter, vaulted lightly over the fence, 
 and crossed the graveyard at such an angle as brought 
 him again to the path at the opposite corner. On ac 
 count of the heat of the weather, he was dressed in 
 light summer garments, and the whiteness of these had 
 aided the delusion of the terrified Caesar, who hap 
 pened to be passing that way. 
 
 It was about three years after this event, that, my 
 business leading me into that vicinity, I passed a few 
 happy days in the delightful village of Stanton, and 
 became acquainted with Charles Warren and his happy 
 and beautiful partner. They were married shortly 
 after his return from abroad ; and now, in the beautiful 
 little cot where Charles was born, in the society of 
 their excellent mother, and frequently visited by the 
 parent of Catharine, they enjoy as much happiness as 
 often falls to the share of mortals. It was rumoured 
 that Mr. Maitland and the widow Warren were about 
 to join their hands in wedlock ; but this we do not 
 
STANTON GHOST. 107 
 
 believe, arwe have heard nothing since to that effect, 
 Caesar begins to grow gray ; but he is as merry as a 
 skylark ; and Wolf, towards whom I formed quite an 
 attachment, is the very prince of housedogs. One 
 sweet little pledge of love has already blessed the 
 union of Charles and Catharine ; and the grandmother 
 says it is the best and most intelligent child in the world. 
 But grandmothers are not always the best judges in 
 such case?. 
 
THE STEEL CLASP, 
 
 Will you believe the world ? 
 
 I thought you knew it better than to take 
 An accusation for a sentence. 
 
 WERNER. 
 
 IP any of my readers have ever crossed the Alle- 
 ghany mountains, on the old road running between Bal 
 timore and Wheeling, which was used, previous to the 
 completion of the present excellent turnpike, they may 
 have noticed, in a small and romantic glen, a few miles 
 after passing Laurel Ridge, an uncommonly rude and 
 uninviting log hut, standing just in the edge of the deep 
 forest by which the valley is shaded. Near its door, 
 a sign-post, to which a small fragment of a sign is still 
 attached, and on the opposite side of the road a horse- 
 shed, as large as the cabin itself, mark it as once having 
 been occupied as a tavern. It was in this cabin, a 
 number of years ago, on a tempestuous evening, in the 
 midst of a severe winter, that a group of three persons 
 was gathered round a blazing fire, busily engaged in 
 narrations of witchcraft, when their conversation was 
 suddenly interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. 
 The oldest person of the group was a female of between 
 fifty and sixty years of age, the extreme coarseness of 
 whose apparel denoted her to be a domestic; the 
 youngest was the daughter of the landlord, a pretty- 
 girl of about fourteen; and the other a young man 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 109 
 
 called hostler, but whose duties were as multifarious as 
 ihose of Caleb Quotem himself. The road on which 
 the inn was situated was but little frequented at that 
 season of the year, and it was very unusual for travel 
 lers to be abroad at so late an hour ; it was, therefore, 
 by no means strange that a loud summons, in the midst 
 of a violent storm, occasioned much surprise to the 
 circle at the fireside, especially when the nature of the 
 tales to which they had been listening is taken into con 
 sideration. 
 
 " The Lord bless us !" said the old and withered ser 
 vant, who had been hitherto busily twirling her spin 
 ning-wheel in a corner of the huge fire-place " The 
 Lord bless us ! what can that be ? Steal softly to the 
 door, Jock, my boy, and find what sort of visiters are 
 wandering about in such a night ; no good ones, I 
 fear. Hist !" (and the revolutions of her wheel were 
 suspended that she might more distinctly hear,) " hist ! 
 why sure I heard a groan." 
 
 Betty was not mistaken ; and if the sound seemed 
 at all equivocal before, it was now repeated so loudly 
 as to be audible to every ear. The knocking w r as im 
 mediately after resumed, accompanied by the voice of 
 a man, craving earnestly for admittance. 
 
 " For the love of mercy," cried the applicant with- 
 out, " open your door, good people, if you would not 
 have my master, who has been robbed, and nearly 
 murdered, to perish on your threshold, in the storm." 
 
 This appeal to his humanity at one dispelled the idle 
 fears of the hostler, and restored him to manhood, 
 The hand that had been almost palsied by dread oi 
 supernatural evils, became instantly renerved at the 
 call of real distress, though accompanied perhaps by 
 real danger. Throwing open the door quickly, he 
 rushed out into the storm, to assist those that had be 
 sought hrs aid, whomsoever they might be, provided 
 K 
 
110 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 they but came in a tangible shape, " sensible to feeling 
 as to sight." He soon returned, leading into the apart 
 ment a man in military undress, supported between 
 himself and the servant whose knocking had caused 
 their alarm. The face and apparel of the officer were 
 stained with blood, which, contrasted with the palid 
 hue of his cheeks, gave him a ghastly appearance. 
 The servant requested that a surgeon might be sent 
 for ; and that, in the mean time, such dressings and 
 cordials might be administered to his master, as would 
 be likely to counteract the effect of loss of blood and 
 long exposure to the storm. His requests were readily 
 complied with. Jock was despatched to a neighbour 
 ing town for a surgeon, and the old woman prepared a 
 wash for the wounded man s head, which, if it had no 
 excellent medicinal operation, certainly reduced very 
 much the apparent danger of his situation. She sup 
 plied him, also, with a sudorific tea, concocted from 
 several efficacious simples of her own gathering, which 
 produced a slight perspiration, and was soon followed 
 by gentle slumber. Indeed, so great a change did the 
 care and skill of the old lady bring about, that, before 
 Jock returned to inform them that the surgeon, being 
 himself an invalid, durst not venture out in so tempest 
 uous a night, they all agreed that there was but little 
 occasion for his presence. 
 
 In the course of the evening, when the household, 
 with the addition of the landlord, who had been en 
 gaged in the stables on the first arrival of his guests, 
 were again collected round the kitchen fire, a num 
 ber of questions were asked of the servant of the 
 wounded officer, in relation to the robbery of his 
 master. 
 
 " Psha !" interrupted the master of the house, he has 
 been robbed, and that s enough to know about it, 
 ? Tisn t the first time such a thing s happened this side 
 of the mountains. I hope the young fellow ll get weJJ 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. " 1 11 
 
 i hough, -with all my heart. Where did you say it hap- 
 pened ?" 
 
 " I am totally ignorant of this part of the country, 
 returned James, (the name of the servant) "and am con 
 sequently unable to inform you. I think we must have 
 travelled at least fifteen miles since the occurrence ; 
 but I was obliged to advance very slowly, on account 
 of the condition of my master, and the night setting in 
 very dark and stormy, it is as likely that I proceeded 
 in a wrong, as in a right direction. But you can 
 doubtless inform me. How far are we from Judge 
 Roebuck s?" 
 
 "Judge Roebuck s!" eagerly asked the landlord. 
 "Is your master s name Captain Belton, the step-son 
 of the Judge?" 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " Merciful Providence !" ejaculated the landlord, 
 dropping into a chair, " the son of my benefactor ! 
 Villain ! oh, precious villain ! " 
 
 "Yes, a precious scoundrel, truly," resumed the ser 
 vant: "but he has sadly missed his aim this time. 
 Captain Belton will live, as I hope and believe^ to see 
 the rascal hanged yet. He thinks he has made a fine 
 haul, and he has, to be sure, pocketed a considerable 
 sum ; but he has pocketed with it that which will de 
 stroy him." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" inquired the landlord. 
 
 " Why, sir, there are such things as pickpockets and 
 thieves in all countries ; and having had occasion to 
 cross Hounslow-Heath a few times before I crossed 
 the Atlantic, I have learned to make use of precau 
 tions when setting out upon a journey. When I drew 
 the money from the bank, which the Captain wanted 
 for his jaunt, I took the pains to make a list of all the 
 notes, with the signatures and numbers ; and as sure 
 as the knave attempts to pass a single one of them, it 
 
J 12 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 will afford a clue by which, before long, he will cer 
 tainly be traced out." 
 
 " The devil you did !" ejaculated the landlord ; then 
 added, after a pause, " it was no doubt a wise precau 
 tion and I I hope it may prove successful." 
 
 The landlord here left the kitchen ; and Jock ven 
 tured to ask the English servant how it happened that 
 lie and his master, being two to one, had not been able 
 to overcome the ruffian that attacked them. 
 
 " Oh, you re in the wrong of the story altogether, I 
 assure you," answered James. " If I had been with 
 the Captain at the moment, we should have returned 
 a very different account of the killed and wounded. 
 There never was a braver man than that same Captain 
 Belton ; but, somehow or other, the two greatest acci 
 dents which have befallen him for ten years, both took 
 their opportunities when I wasn t with him. I had oc 
 casion to make a trip to old England last summer, to 
 settle a little estate ; and while I was gone, what must 
 Captain Belton do but get wounded in an affair of ho 
 nour. The ill health which was the consequence, in 
 duced him to procure a leave of absence from his sta 
 tion, that he might visit his father, who lives some 
 where in this neighbourhood. I was obliged to stop 
 in the last village we passed through, in order to have 
 a^ shoe replaced, that my horse had cast ; while the 
 Captain, anxious to reach his home to-night, and think 
 ing that I would soon overtake him, kept jogging on 
 his way. It was just sunset when I reached an emi 
 nence which commanded a considerable stretch of 
 road, and looking ahead to see if I could discern my 
 master, you may judge my surprise when, at some dis 
 tance before me, I heheld him lying on the earth, and 
 a ruffianly-looking fellow stooping over him, rifling hi,< 
 pockets. I immediately clapped spurs to my horse ; but 
 the robber perceiving me, remounted his, and disap 
 peared, at full speed, through a by-path that crossed 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 113 
 
 the road. I would have given chase to the villain, but 
 the situation of the Captain forbade it ; and moreover, 
 as the storm was just then commencing, I was fearful 
 that my master might perish before I could reach a 
 place of shelter. Through my ignorance of the coun 
 try and the darkness of the night together, I suppose 1 
 have lost the way ; for they told me, at the smith s, 
 where my horse was shod, that we were but ten miles 
 from Judge Roebuck s." 
 
 " You struck into the wrong road aSout five miles 
 back," said the host, who now re-entered the apartment 
 to inform his guest that supper was spread for him in 
 another room. " My house is on the old road, which 
 is not much travelled in winter. You must have 
 turned your horses heads this way, without knowing 
 it, where the old road crosses the turnpike. You 
 passed within less than half a mile of Judge Roebuck s. 
 However, we ll make you as comfortable as we can 
 here, and perhaps the captain will be able to be moved 
 to his father s in the morning. This way, sir." 
 
 Entering the room where supper was spread, tho, 
 landlord carefully closed and locked the door : then 
 with his finger on his lip, in sign of caution, approached 
 James, who, it must be confessed, was somewhat startled 
 at the movement, and said, in a low and confidential tone, 
 ** the circumstances which you have mentioned this 
 evening, have raised my suspicions as to who the rob 
 ber is ; and I m almost ashamed to tell you, that I ve 
 fixed upon a man who boards in my own house. Do 
 you think you would know the person, if you saw him 
 again ?" 
 
 " I could not," replied James ; " I was not sufficiently 
 near to him ; neither do I believe that the Captain 
 would be able to, as he seemed to me to be muffled up 
 and disguised. I suspect he did not get his booty with- 
 tmt a considerable struggle : and this piece of chain and 
 rlasp, torn off the ruffian s coat, most likely in the 
 
1.14 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 scuffle, may perhaps furnish an additional clue to his 
 detection. 
 
 The landlord turned to the light to examine the 
 clasp, which was of steel, and such as are at this day 
 frequently worn on the collars of cloaks : but then they 
 were not much used, and principally by the military. 
 
 " I have an indistinct recollection of seeing this clasp 
 before on some person s dress," observed he, as he re 
 turned it into the hands of James, " but I would advise 
 you not to mention what proofs you can command too 
 freely, until a propor time comes for disclosing them. 
 The person that I suspect is a stranger to me ; his 
 name is Summerville. He arrived at my house one 
 evening, about three months ago, intending, as he then 
 said, to pursue his journey on the following morning. 
 He was taken unwell, however, during the night, and 
 detained about a week by a slight indisposition, which 
 seems to have altered his plans entirely ; for day after 
 day, and week after week have gone by, without his 
 exhibiting any further wish to resume the saddle. He 
 accounted with me regularly for his board, for some 
 time after his arrival ; but when I presented my bill 
 to him the other day, he replied that it was not in his 
 power to settle my claim at that moment ; but he 
 should come into possession of funds in a day or two, 
 when it should be paid. On his return home this eve 
 ning, he handed me two notes, one of fifty dollars, and 
 the other of ten. I sent the former by Jock, when he 
 went into town for the doctor, directing him to make 
 payment of it to the merchant with whom I deal. The 
 ten dollars I have still in my possession. If you can 
 find the memorandum, which, you say, will enable you 
 to identify your master s property, it will be easy to 
 ascertain whether my suspicion of Mr. Summerville is 
 well or ill founded. I shall be sorry if I injure him ; 
 but gratitude to Judge Roebuck, who has been a bene 
 factor to me, even common justice requires, that J 
 
TllE STEEL CLASP. 115 
 
 should do all I can to bring the robber of his son to 
 punishment." 
 
 " Certainly," returned James, " and I feel much in 
 debted to you for your readiness to assist me in the 
 inquiry. I will but swallow a mouthful of supper, and 
 then immediately search the Captain s bags for the 
 list of notes. If one of the number should agree with 
 that bank-bill your lodger gave you, it will be a strong 
 circumstance against him, and will doubtless soon lead 
 to a full detection." 
 
 " He came home about an hour after sunset," again 
 observed the landlord, "and appeared both fatigued and 
 agitated. He flung me the money as I stood in the 
 bar-room, without saying a word, and went directly to 
 his room, which he has not since left. My hostler saw 
 him give me the bills, and remarked beside, that his 
 horse seemed much jaded." 
 
 " What colour is his horse ?" asked James, quickly, 
 at that moment remembering the appearance of the 
 one he had seen the robber mount. 
 
 " His horse is gray," answered the host, hesitating. 
 
 "By heaven!" ejaculated James, "the very villain 
 himself : stay, sir, I ll go instantly and get the list ; ii 
 yours be found among the nurmSer, there can be no 
 doubt as to his guilt. It was a special Providence," 
 continued James, reverently, "that misled me from the 
 road, that I might find the very lair where the prowler 
 harbours. I have no question, sir," turning to the 
 landlord, " that the robber is beneath your roof." 
 
 While the servant of Captain Belton has gone in 
 pursuit of the means of fixing the guilt of his master s 
 robbery, on the guest of this lonely inn, perhaps the 
 reader may be willing to accompany me to the room oi 
 the unfortunate man himself. 
 
 At a fire which had been recently rekindled, and the 
 flickering blaze of which furnished the only light in the 
 apartment, his expressive black eyes fixed upon the 
 
116 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 coals before him, which yet he did not see, for his mind 
 was employed in far other scenes ; and his pale and 
 melancholy face reclining on his hand, sat Edgar Sum 
 merville. He was wrapped in a large military cloak : 
 while his coat, and other parts of his dress, hanging 
 over a chair near him, and the disturbed condition of 
 the bed, evinced that he had sought repose in it, bu1 
 being unable to sleep, from the agitated state of his 
 mind, he had risen again, to indulge in those recollec 
 tions which he could not suppress. 
 
 " Unkind Emma !" it was thus his musings ran, "you 
 should have known my heart too well, to have believed 
 me capable of a dishonourable act. That it was rash, 
 that it was impious in me, to raise my hand against a. 
 fellow -being s life,.the remorse I have since continually 
 experienced too truly attests. Yet, had I known him 
 to be your brother, the infamous epithet of coward even 
 which alone compelled me to draw my sword, had 
 failed in its effect. But he forgave me ; he, himself, urged 
 me to flight, assuring me, that with his dying breath 
 he would declare he had fallen in honourable combat. 
 Should he not recover, I am a murderer ; and though 
 I have not offended against the code of false honour, 
 yet neither my own conscience, nor the laws of heaven 
 nor of man, will hold him guiltless, who sheds his fel 
 low s blood. 
 
 Edgar Summerville, or rather Edgar Stanley, for 
 the name of Summerville was assumed, for a purpose 
 which the reader has, by this time, perceived, had fre 
 quently met, in the circles which he visited, during the 
 previous winter in New- York, with Emma Roebuck. 
 Her person and attainments were such as attracted his 
 warmest admiration : and he soon discovered that her 
 mind and disposition were congenial with his own. 
 Similarity of taste and sentiments led him often into 
 her society, and union of feeling gradually expanded 
 into love. The spring was far advanced when Emma 
 returned to her father ?, in Pennsvlvania ; but beforo 
 
TIIK STEEL fJLASP. 117 
 
 leaving New-York she had exchanged with Edgar 
 vows of everlasting attachment. It was arranged 
 between them, that on his return from France, whither 
 business of the highest importance obliged him imme 
 diately to go, he should visit the part of the country 
 where she resided, and make application to her father 
 for her hand. It was during a short stay in Philadel 
 phia, after his return from Europe, that he became ac 
 quainted with Captain Belton. Though he had often 
 heard his Emma talk of her brother, yet, as she had 
 uniformly spoken of him as Charles simply, he was not 
 aware that he was a step-brother, and that there ex 
 isted a difference in their names. The quarrel we 
 have alluded to, originated in the quarters of Captain 
 Belton, at a time when he was unfortunately excited 
 by wine ; and the attempt which Edgar Stanley made 
 to sooth him being mistaken for timidity drew forth 
 that appellation, which few have sufficient philosophy 
 to bear. They fought, and at the first fire Captain 
 Belton, severely wounded, fell to the earth. 
 
 Restored to reflection, Captain Belton now acknow 
 ledged to his antagonist the rashness of his conduct, 
 and begging him to preserve himself by flight, pro 
 mised that, whatever might be the event, his reputa 
 tion should suffer no stain. Though distracted at the 
 thought of the folly into which he had been urged, 
 Edgar Stanley had sufficient discretion to adopt this 
 generous advice ; and, repairing immediately to his 
 lodgings, he mounted his horse, and put off at full 
 speed, he knew not, and cared not whither. The cir 
 cumstance of his arrival at the inn, to which the events 
 of our story have hitherto been confined, has already 
 been made known to the reader. It was on his re 
 covery from a severe sickness, which the agitation of 
 his mind brought on, that he accidently learned he was 
 in the neighbourhood of Emma; and although he re 
 solved not to place himself before her until the fate of 
 
118 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Belton should be decided, yet there was a magic in her 
 name that prevented him from leaving the spot. The) 
 did meet, however, and under circumstances which 
 increased their affection ; it was at the bed-side of a 
 distressed widow upon whose sorrowing heart sickness 
 and poverty had laid their heavy hands. 
 
 Love has a language which far outstrips the speed 
 of words ; and not many minutes elapsed before Em 
 ma was made fully acquainted with the situation of her 
 lover, and of the impropriety there would be in his 
 presenting himself before her father, at that time, as a 
 suitor for her hand. They agreed, however, to see 
 each other again, at the house of the poor woman ; and 
 it was at their second meeting, that Emma learned the 
 blasting intelligence that her brother, whom she loved 
 dearly, had fallen beneath Edgar s sword. She had 
 received a letter from him on that day, which, perused 
 previous to the fatal disclosure, caused no alarm : but 
 when she came to know, from the lips of his antagonist, 
 that he had been really and seriously wounded, every 
 word in the brief epistle seemed,to the apprehensive eye 
 of a sister, pregnant with fearful forebodings. It ran thus : 
 
 " My dear Emma I have it in my power only to 
 say, that I am about to visit you. The wounds which 
 my "way of life have led me to incur, though the> 
 might prove fatal in the city, I trust may be healed by 
 the breezy influences of my native mountains. At all 
 events, if I am doomed to fall a victim, it shall be 
 among the scenes of my childhood, and in the presence 
 of my sister. James has returned from England, and 
 will attend me. Till I see you, farewell. 
 
 "CHARLES BELTON." 
 
 Had the alarm of Emma permitted her to reason, 
 she would have perceived, that the letter of her bro 
 ther contained but a playful allusion to one, which she 
 had lately written to him, in which she rallied him 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 
 
 with having fallen in love with the beauties of the city ; 
 knowing, at the same time, that his affections were 
 really engaged to a young lady, not many miles from 
 her father s house, who had been her own companion 
 and friend from childhood. But blinded by apprehen 
 sion for her brother, who she now learned, for the first 
 time, had been in great and real danger, she could not 
 dispel the impression that he was returning to his home 
 to die ; and turning to her lover, with tears gushing 
 from her eyes, and her voice faltering with emotion, 
 she could only articulate, "Cruel Edgar, you have 
 murdered him, you have murdered my brother !" and 
 fell insensible into his arms. On her recovery, she 
 immediately left the house, commanding Edgar not to 
 follow her, as he valued her regard, and never to men 
 tion their meeting. Directly after, the wheels of her 
 carriage were heard descending the hill towards her 
 father s dwelling. Slipping some money into the hands 
 of the indigent widow, and promising to visit her shortly 
 again, our hero pursued his ramble, dejected and com 
 fortless, until night and the approaching storm warned 
 him to seek the shelter of his inn. 
 
 These were the occurrences that passed in review 
 through his mind, while sitting, as we have described 
 liim, in his own department ; and after having mused 
 away the greater part of the night in fruitless regrets 
 for the past, and in devising visionary schemes for the 
 future, he at length returned to his bed, once more to 
 court repose. lie had fallen into an unquiet slumber, 
 when the door was softly opened, and the landlord, 
 accompanied by James, and another person, entered 
 the room. They proceeded to examine the pockets of 
 the sleeper, from one of which, James exultingly drew 
 forth a pocket-book, which he at once recognised to 
 be the property of his master. The landlord himself 
 made another discovery, equally fatal to his dreaming 
 The cloak which had been thrown aside but a 
 
l >0 TALES AXD SKETCHES. 
 
 short time before, exhibited, on one end of its collar, a 
 part of a clasp and chain, corresponding exactly, on 
 comparison, with the fragment which the English ser 
 vant had found on the spot where his master was 
 robbed. But now, as if heaven had interposed, to 
 remove every possible doubt of the wretched man s 
 guilt, the sleeper himself, probably disturbed by the 
 noise of persons in his room, was heard to utter, " mad 
 man fool ! I am a murderer !" 
 
 The landlord started and turned pale at this excla 
 mation, surprised, perhaps, at having his suspicions so 
 umply corroborated : but James, on the contrary, anx 
 ious to have the ruffian, who had so nearly put a period 
 to his master s life, placed, as soon as practicable, in the 
 safe-keeping of prison-walls, at once aroused Edgar 
 Stanley from his bed. 
 
 " Awake !" he cried, " awake ! you have murdered 
 Captain Belton ; and if there is law in the land, you 
 shall dearly answer for it." 
 
 " What do I hear !" exclaimed our hero, starting 
 from his feverish sleep, " is he then dead ?" 
 
 " Come, sir, you must dress, and go along with us," 
 answered James ; " if he is not dead it is no fault of 
 yours, I ll be sworn. You dealt him a blow that you 
 thought would quiet him, no doubt." 
 
 " Answer me, for heaven s sake," again entreated 
 Edgar Stanley, " is Captain Belton dead ? am I a mur 
 derer?" 
 
 " Oh ! as for that," cried the attendant, who had not 
 spoken before, " I ll be bound for it he s not the first 
 man that you ve robbed and murdered." 
 
 " Robbed !" exclaimed our hero, " who dare accuse 
 me?" 
 
 " Accuse you !" said the constable, with a sneer, 
 (for such was the office of the man who accompanied 
 the landlord and James,) x l dare swear there was evi 
 dence enough, or Judge Roebuck wouldn t have 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 
 
 milled you, and sent me after you at this time in the 
 morning." 
 
 " Committed me ! Judge Roebuck ! O heaven 1 
 honour, love, life all are lost !" It was thus that the 
 unfortunate young man vented his feelings ; then turn 
 ing proudly to the officer, " I am your prisoner, sir," 
 said he, " and ready to go with you whithersoever you 
 please." 
 
 But a few minutes more went by before the com 
 pany was mounted, and rapidly trotting down the road 
 towards the neighbouring county town, the constable 
 riding on one side, and James on the other, of the un 
 fortunate Edgar Stanley, while the landlord brought 
 up the rear. The hoofs of their horses were still 
 heard clattering over a little bridge about a quarter oi 
 a mile on their way, when Jock, and the old woman 5 
 who had been summoned from their beds unusually 
 early, by the extraordinary stir in the house, entered 
 the kitchen 
 
 " Who would have thought it ?" sobbed Jack " the 
 kindest-hearted gentleman why, what do you think, 
 aunt Betty, he paid poor widow Johnson s rent himself; 
 and he told the Doctor to visit her often, until she was 
 perfectly well, and he would pay him. And now just 
 to think, that it was all coming out of his ill-gotten 
 wealth ! Well, I ll never trust good looks again, as long 
 as I live." 
 
 " Hush !" responded the old domestic, " there s ito 
 sartainty that he s the thief yet ; and I wont believe it ? 
 till it is proved as clear as preaching. Mark my words. 
 Jock, he ll come off yet, like gold tried in the fire ; for 
 the man that goes about comforting the widow and the 
 orphan, is not the one to be a thief and murderer. Fll 
 go up into his room, and put away his things, at any 
 rate, and make every thing snug and comfortable 
 against he comes back ; for come back he will, and 
 that, too, with flying colours, I ll warrant you." 
 
122 TALES AXD SKETCHES, 
 
 It was on a pleasant winter morning* about a weeli 
 after the occurrences above related, that an unusually 
 large crowd of persons was assembled round the door 
 
 of the jail and court-house of the county town of B ; 
 
 and conspicuous among them, each surrounded by an 
 eager group of listeners, were seen our three acquaint 
 ances of the inn ; viz. the landlord, the old female 
 domestic, and Jock, the hostler. 
 
 " I tell you what, neighbour Ashford," said one of the 
 men, addressing himself to the landlord, " if I d been in 
 your place, I d a-gOne straight to the rascal s bed, at 
 once, and tied him down, neck and heels ; for if he d 
 happened to overhear your plan of going to Judge 
 .Roebuck s, and getting Gripeum to come down with a 
 warrant, he might have made clear tracks, and then 
 you d have been in a pretty box." 
 
 " Why, perhaps it would have been a good plan," 
 said the landlord, " but what we did has answered very 
 well." 
 
 " They say," resumed the one who had just spoken, 
 "that he wouldn t have nothing to say to Lawyer 
 Searchly, and is determined to put in a plea of guilty." 
 
 " He may as well," answered Ashford, " for the 
 proofs are very strong against him. See, isn t that 
 Captain Belton and his sister, that have just stopped 
 their gig at the inn opposite ?" 
 
 " It is Miss Emma, sartain sure," said an old gray- 
 headed and rosy-cheeked farmer, whose half-unbut 
 toned linsey-woolsey coat and waistcoat showed that 
 he heeded not the keen northern air, that had caused 
 younger ones to seek the sunny side of the court-house, 
 * It is Miss Emma, sure enough ; but how pale and thin 
 she looks ! I hope there s no trouble lurking in her 
 kind heart. If any misfortune were to happen to her, 
 I m thinking there would be more tears in others eyes 
 than in her own, and there s not a poor person within 
 ten miles, that wouldn t have real occasion to grieve.- 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 123 
 
 But there s my old friend Betty ; I must go and beg a 
 pinch of her snuff, for old acquaintance sake. Betty, 
 my woman, how d ye do ?" said the farmer, taking her 
 withered hand, " you ve had sad doings down at Ash- 
 ford s." 
 
 " Sad, indeed," answered Betty, " but all will come 
 right yet, I hope, Mr. Donnelly." 
 
 " I hope so too, with all my heart," replied he, " but 
 he s a very young man to be so hardened in iniquity, 
 lie has a mother, poor boy, very likely, whose old 
 heart may break when she hears of his doings :" and 
 a tear stood in the farmer s eye as he said so, for he 
 lumself had had a son, who, for a long time, led a 
 dissipated life, and was finally killed in a tavern brawl. 
 
 " I tell you what, Mr. Donnelly," answered Betty, 
 quickly, " you are wrong, and you are all wrong ; you 
 want to put down the poor young gentleman, because 
 he s alone and unbefriended ; but he s innocent, and 
 let me tell you but no matter" and she suddenly 
 paused " I know what I know, and you will all gQ 
 home wiser than you came, I reckon." 
 
 Here Betty indignantly broke from the crowd, in 
 censed at their obstinately persisting in the belief of 
 Mr. Summerville s guilt, and entering the court house, 
 took a seat in a corner, quietly to await the trial. It 
 was not long before the court assembled, and Judge 
 Roebuck, who was himself the judge of that circuit, 
 took his seat upon the bench. After the usual pre 
 liminary forms were gone through with, the " cause 
 of the people vs. Edgar Summerville," (it being the 
 only criminal case on the docket,) was called for 
 trial. 
 
 The culprit was led into court between two officers ; 
 and, had not a strong impression, in the minds of 
 nearly all, been created against him, by the almost un 
 answerable strength of the circumstances which ru- 
 o)oar had given publicity to, his appearance would cor- 
 
TALES AXD SKETCHES. 
 
 tainly have operated much in his favour. His counts 
 nance, though pale and melancholy, possessed great 
 manly beauty ; he was tall and well formed ; and his 
 person evinced, that not even the gloom of his cell, nor 
 the. horrors of his situation, had prevented his attend 
 ing to those little decencies of dress, a neglect of 
 which, under any circumstances, is always disgusting. 
 
 When the crier had made proclamation that the 
 court was now open, and the stir and bustle, occa 
 sioned by the entering of the crowd, had somewhat 
 subsided, the attorney on behalf of the people com 
 menced reading the indictment. He had scarcely, 
 however, finished three lines of the paper, when a 
 violent exclamation of the prisoner drew the attention 
 of all upon him. Pale as a marble statue, and with 
 eyes nearly starting from their sockets, he stood for a 
 moment intently gazing on some one in the crowd ; 
 f hen springing from the box, and uttering in a piercing 
 tone, " Great Heaven, he lives !" in less than an instant 
 he was locked in the embrace of Captain Belton. 
 
 So singular an event created general surprise ; and 
 die variable multitude, ever ready to change with 
 changing circumstances, was now completely at a 
 stand. 
 
 " Stanley, my friend, look up !" cried Captain Bel- 
 ton, to the insensible form that was reclining on hi* 
 bosom, " look up, I intreat you I am alive and well, 
 and ready to declare to all the world, that you havf; 
 acted with the most perfect honour." 
 
 Slowly raising his head, the prisoner looked with a 
 bewildered gaze on the assembly around him then, 
 as if suddenly recovering his recollection, he addressed 
 himself to the judge. 
 
 " I am arraigned at this tribunal to answer for the 
 murder of Captain Belton, and Captain Belton stands 
 -^live before you. I demand my release." 
 
 The attorney on behalf of the people here interpos 
 
THE &TJEEL 
 
 cd, assuring the judge that the prisoner was altogether 
 mistaken in supposing himself arraigned for murder ; 
 " it is for robbery, may it please your honour, and ii 
 the officers will reconduct him to the box, and keep 
 silence in the court, I will read to him the details of a 
 charge, which, I fear, I shall be able but too fully to 
 establish." 
 
 The officers immediately laid hold of Stanley, and 
 led him unresistingly to the prisoner s box : not, how- 
 over, before Captain Belton found time to whisper in. 
 iiis ear a most perfect assurance of his innocence and 
 honour, whatever might be the evidence against him. 
 
 The trial was then commenced, and continued with 
 out farther interruption. The indictment, setting forth 
 with the usual prolixity of law papers, the time, place,, 
 ;md circumstance of the robbeiy, was read in a clear, 
 audible tone, and the prisoner entered a general plea 
 of not guilty. The first witness called was Captain 
 Belton himself. 
 
 Do you know the prisoner ?" 
 
 a do." 
 
 When did your acquaintance commence?" 
 
 In Philadelphia, about four months ago." 
 
 ; Will you please to relate to the court and jury 
 what you know of him ?" 
 
 "My acquaintance with Mr. Stanley was of less 
 than a month s continuance, when it was broken oft 
 by a quarrel, in which I was the sole aggressor, and 
 which terminated in a duel. Mr. Stanley acted 
 throughout the affair in the most honourable man 
 ner."" 
 
 " You did not see Mr. Summerville, or Mr. Stanley, 
 (for it seems he has names at convenience) from that 
 time until he attacked you on the road, about ten miles 
 from this place ?" asked the lawyer. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, I did not see Mr. Stanley from 
 that time until I entered the court this morning ; for J 
 
 LQ 
 W 
 
f2 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 do not, by any means, believe that he was the persor* 
 who robbed me. As for his variety of names, sir, 1 
 myself advised him to fly, that he might avoid the dis 
 agreeable consequences which would necessarily have 
 ensued, had my wound proved mortal ; and a change 
 of name was a natural resource in such a dilemma." 
 
 " Was there nothing peculiar in the appearance of 
 Jhe robber, that attracted your notice?" 
 
 " He was masked, and wore a large military cloak : 
 of course I could see but little of his person." 
 
 * Was this the cloak you have reference to ?" asked 
 *he attorney, producing the cloak of Stanley. 
 
 " It is either the same, or very like it." 
 
 "Did you not resist the ruffian, and in the struggle 
 fear a clasp from his dress ?" 
 
 " I recollect the circumstance." 
 
 "You perceive, gentlemen of the jury," said the 
 attorney, turning himself round to them with a know 
 ing look, " that part of the clasp has been wrenched 
 from the collar of this cloak. Captain Belton, you 
 may stand aside." 
 
 James Anderson, the servant of Captain Belton, 
 was next called upon the stand. He answered, in a 
 clear and distinct manner, all the questions put to him. 
 giving to the court and jury that information, of which 
 the reader is already possessed. He stated the words 
 which he had heard the prisoner utter in his sleep, on 
 the night after the robbery : and exhibited the notes 
 which he had taken from the pocket of his coat, and 
 which corresponded in number and amount with the 
 list he himself had made previous to leaving Philadel 
 phia, with the exception of two, which were missing. 
 Those two had been paid to the landlord of the inn, ho 
 said, on that evening, and thus afforded a clue, which 
 led to complete detection. As these circumstances 
 were developed, the favourable impression which the 
 testimony had begun to awaken, faded away .: 
 
THE STEEL CLASft 1*27 
 
 and the hearers became more established than ever 
 in the belief of his guilt ; except Betty, who still per 
 sisted in his innocence, and who indeed pretended to 
 see, in that expression of countenance, which all the 
 rest considered as an evidence of the confusion of de 
 tected crime, no more than the natural surprise of one 
 who, knowing himself guiltless, beholds such strong 
 Circumstances arrayed against him. Be that as it may. 
 it is very certain that our hero (we must still call him 
 by that appellation, though proofs thicken around him) 
 iiad certainly been amazed by the disclosures of the 
 witnesses ; and feeling that he should have to grapple 
 with powerful odds, he thought it due to himself to so 
 licit the court s permission to employ counsel, ob 
 serving that this necessary measure would not have 
 been deferred to so late a period, had he not been un 
 der the impression that he was indicted for murder 
 to which charge, thinking Captain Belton dead, he 
 had resolved to plead guilty. So reasonable a requesl 
 was of course readily acceded to ; and Mr. Searchly. 
 in a short, confidential communication with the priso 
 ner, received from him, as the only guide with which 
 he could furnish him, a most solemn assurance of hi 
 entire innocence. 
 
 The landlord was the next witness called. His di^ 
 rect examination was ably conducted, was long, and 
 minute, and resulted in an entire corroboration of what 
 had been before stated by Captain Belton s servant. 
 Mr. Searchly postponed his privilege of cross-exami 
 nation, but requested that the witness might not leave 
 the court. Jock, and the merchant to whom he paid 
 the note of fifty dollars, were next examined as to that 
 fact, and proved the truth of the landlord s assertion. 
 The prosecution here rested the cause, leaving a firm 
 persuasion on almost every mind, of the guilt of the un 
 fortunate prisoner ; and Mr. Searchly himself was hali 
 inclined to give up the cause in despair. 
 
128 TALES AND SKETCHED. 
 
 The landlord was now recalled, and, after a minute 
 cross-examination, not a single discrepance could be 
 discovered in his evidence. The hostler was recalled 
 his testimony, too, was the same as before. The 
 lawyer pulled up his neckcloth, turned over his law- 
 books, and evidently showed, by his fidgetty manner, 
 that he knew not what to do ; when, at length, rolling 
 his eyes round, in the forlorn hope of seeing something 
 that might suggest a question, he w^as about to abandon 
 his client to the mercy of the court and jury, when the 
 figure of Betty, seemingly desirous of being called upon 
 the stand, arrested his attention. She w 7 as imme 
 diately requested to come forward, and after the oath 
 was administered, the following examination took 
 place. 
 
 " Betty, do you know the prisoner V 9 
 
 " Yes, I do, indeed, Mr. Searchly, and a sweet tem 
 pered gentleman he is ; and that s his cloak lying there, 
 too ; but the hairs that are on it never came off a black 
 horse." 
 
 The attention of the lawyer thus called to the gar 
 ment, he looked at it, and found that the lining, about 
 the lower part, was covered with the hair of a gray 
 horse. This leading him to a closer inspection, he 
 drew from its pocket a cotton handkerchief, and after 
 examining its corners, consulted awhile, in a low tone, 
 with the attorney for the prosecution and the juoge t 
 and then resumed his seat. The judge issued an order 
 (o the officers, directing them to permit no witness in 
 the cause to leave the court, on any pretence whatever. 
 The examination was then resumecl. 
 
 ; You tell me that the hairs on this cloak could not 
 have come off a black horse ; is that the colour of the 
 prisoner s horse ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is, Mr. Searchly, you surely have seen in 
 and a noble beast it is." 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 
 
 <; Did Mr. Summerville ride his own horse, on the 
 day when the robbery took place ?" 
 
 " No, bless your soul ; and it was that I wanted to 
 come at. It was a clear cold morning, you may re 
 member, much such a morning as this ; though it came 
 on to storm and blow before nightfall. And Mr 
 Summerville stopped in the kitchen about eleven 
 o clock to get a drink of milk ; and I asked him if he 
 was going out, for I heard Jocky ride his horse round 
 to the door. He told me he was, as he had a little bu 
 siness to attend to in town. I said to him then, sure 
 you ll not ride out this cold day, without your cloak, 
 looking so pale as you do ; and I remember the very 
 words of his answer ; you are very kind, Betty, said 
 he, to think so much about my health ; but I shan t 
 want my cloak to-day, as I have concluded to walk. 
 So Jock, you may put Lightfoot, (that s his horse s 
 name, you know) you may put Lightfoot in the stable 
 again, and here s a shilling for your trouble. " 
 
 "Will your honour please to note that answer V~ 
 asked Mr. Searchly, eagerly, when Betty, had ceased 
 speaking. 
 
 " Well, Betty, did Mr. Summerville go without hi* 
 horse and cloak ; or did you prevail upon him to alter 
 his mind ?" 
 
 "No such thing," replied Betty quickly; "liL* 
 horse was in the stable the whole day, as Jocky 
 knows as well as me, and he ll tell you so if you ask 
 him." 
 
 " Do you know this handkerchief, Betty ?" 
 
 The witness replied that it belonged to Mr. Ashford, 
 She had washed it often. 
 
 " You noticed, gentlemen of the jury," continued 
 the lawyer, "that I took this handkerchief from a 
 pocket of the cloak, and the attorney on behalf of the 
 people will tell you that the garment has been in his 
 possession, as a part of his evidence, since the morn- 
 
130 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ing of the arrest. I have but a few more questions 
 to ask you, my good woman," continued Mr. Searchly, 
 " and one is, was your master at home during the day 
 when the outrage was committed ?" 
 
 " He went out about an hour after Mr. Summer- 
 ville, and did not return till near sundown." 
 
 " Stop there, my good woman," said Mr. Searchly. 
 his hopes for his client beginning to revive ; " let me 
 take down what you have said. There now we ll 
 proceed : did Mr. Ashford prefer walking to riding on 
 that morning, as well as Mr. Summerville ?" 
 
 " He rode old gray, and Jocky said when he came 
 home" here the prosecuting attorney interposed, to 
 prevent the witness giving any hearsay evidence. 
 
 " Only tell us, Betty, what you know of your own 
 knowledge," said Mr. Searchly, in a soothing voice. 
 " I have but one more question to ask you. The clasp 
 of this cloak has been broken off, and was found on 
 the spot where Captain Belton was robbed ; do you 
 know of any one beside Mr. Summerville ever wearing 
 the cloak?" 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 Mr. Searchly here resigned his witness to the attor 
 ney for the prosecution. 
 
 " You tell us, good woman," said the latter, " that 
 Mr. Summerville had not his cloak on when he left 
 the kitchen will you be pleased to inform us where 
 the cloak was usually kept?" 
 
 " He used to hang it up in the bar-room." 
 
 " Would it not have been quite easy for him, after 
 leaving the kitchen, to step into the bar-room, and 
 take his cloak, without your knowing any thing of it ?" 
 
 " He might have done so, but I don t b lieve he did." 
 
 " That is all, good woman, you may leave the 
 stand." 
 
 The hostler was recalled, and confirmed what Betty 
 had said in relation to Mr. Summerville s going out 
 
TIIE STEEL CLASP, 131 
 
 without his horse and cloak, and testified, in addition,, 
 that being in the bar-room at the time, he saw him 
 return without his cloak. 
 
 " Did you not also see him pay some money to Mr. 
 Ashford ?" asked the attorney for the state, in an em 
 phatic manner. 
 
 " I did." 
 
 The. captain s servant whispered a few words in the 
 attorney s ear, who then continued " You remarked 
 to Mr. Ashford, that your boarder s horse looked 
 very much jaded, I believe, on his return home that, 
 evening ?" 
 
 " Not that night, I m sure," answered Jock, " for 
 Mr. Summerville went out and came home that eve 
 ning afoot, and his horse was in the stable the whole 
 day." 
 
 This answer was unexpected, and evidently discon 
 certed the attorney, and seemed much to surprise 
 James, who recollected distinctly, that the landlord 
 himself had given him that information. The lawyer 
 repeated his question, reminding the hostler that he 
 was on oath, and had better recollect himself before 
 answering. But Jock replied, in a firm and confident 
 tone, that he had made no such remark, as Mr. Sum 
 merville had walked out, and walked home. " Be 
 sides," added he, " I had just gone in the house from 
 the stable, when Mr. Summerville returned, where I 
 had been shaking down some hay for his horse, and 
 giving him some fresh corn, and that makes me sar- 
 taift his horse was in the stable." 
 
 A person from the audience now came forward, 
 and requested permission to examine the cloak, which 
 fiad been the subject of so many questions. He was 
 a tailor, who resided in the neighbouring town, and 
 who was attending the session of the court on some 
 business of his own. 
 
 -* r Certainly, Mr. Buckram/ said the attorney for the 
 
132 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 people, " though I fancy the cut or value of the gar 
 ment can have but little bearing on the question." 
 
 " Perhaps not," rejoined the tailor, " but this rent," 
 said he, after looking minutely at its cape and collar, 
 ; * this rent, which I mended with my own hand, may 
 throw more light on the investigation than you ima 
 gine. I request to be sworn." 
 
 At this moment a noise and confusion arose among 
 the crowd, and the officer at the door was heard to 
 exclaim, " Stand back, sir, stand back ! you shall not 
 leave this room it s against the Judge s own orders." 
 
 " But I wish to step out only for a moment," said 
 another voice, in a tone of intercession. 
 
 " You shall not," reiterated the officer " stand 
 back !" 
 
 " Order ! order in the court !" cried the clerk, knock 
 ing on his table, to silence the uproar. 
 
 " Mr. Ashford !" cried the Judge, in a voice which 
 plainly indicated awakened suspicion against him, 
 - You must not leave this apartment, sir ! Officers, 
 look to the door, and let Mr. Ashford escape at your 
 peril ! Mr. Searchly, proceed with the examination 
 of your witnesses." 
 
 Mr. Buckram was accordingly sworn, and testified, 
 that on a day about a week previous, a little before 
 sunset, Mr. Ashford had come to his shop, and re 
 quested him to mend the collar of that very cloak, 
 which was now in possession of the jury. That hav 
 ing been tailor to Mr. Ashford for some time, he sus 
 pected the garment was not his property, and asked 
 him the question. That he replied, it belonged to a 
 guest, from whom he had borrowed it, and on that ac* 
 count he wished me to mend it very neatly; he had torn 
 it, he said, in riding through the woods. " I remarked 
 to him," continued Mr. Buckram, " that a clasp with a 
 piece of the chain had been wrung off, and he an* 
 swered that he knew it and would give five dollars to 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 133 
 
 have it replaced ; but that they had none like it in the 
 store." 
 
 " Did you note any further particulars, sir ?" 
 
 " Only that his horse seemed to have been ridden very 
 hard, it being covered, notwithstanding the coldness of 
 the day, with sweat and foam. I observed to him, 
 i you are a hard rider, Mr. Ashford/ and he replied 
 that he had pushed his beast a little, being anxious to 
 get home before the storm." 
 
 The opinions of the auditory, and we may venture 
 to include in the expression, both the court and jury y 
 were, at the commencement of the trial, extremely 
 unfavourable to the prisoner ; and the testimony, for a 
 long time, had been of such a nature, as more and 
 more to confirm them. But the zealous affection of 
 old aunt Betty, as she was generally called, for our 
 calumniated hero, together with the experience and 
 ingenuity of Mr. Searchly, of whose merits we have 
 been able to give but a faint delineation, had at length 
 opened a clue to the real truth. In the progress of 
 the investigation, the previous convictions of the 
 crowd had been shaken to their base ; and many an 
 eye was now turned, with lowering suspicion, upon 
 the pallid face of Ashford, who, endeavouring to elude 
 observation, had shrunk away into a corner of the 
 room. But a witness at this moment appeared, whose 
 testimony rendered it impossible any longer to har 
 bour a doubt of the innocence of Stanley. 
 
 Emma Roebuck returned to her father s house or. 
 the afternoon of the fatal disclosure, with a heart 
 burdened by sorrow, both on account of the danger, 
 which she believed her brother to be in, and of the 
 barrier, insurmountable, should he die, which his rash 
 ness had interposed between herself and Edgar, 
 But she had been indebted to her highly cultivated 
 and enlightened parents, not only for those little out 
 ward graces of person, which at first attracted the 
 M 
 
134 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 admiration of Stanley, but for those higher and better 
 graces of the mind, whose value is best learned in the 
 hour of affliction. It was these that fixed her Stan 
 ley s love. Kneeling, therefore, as soon as she reached 
 (he privacy of her own chamber, before the throne of 
 Heaven, she breathed out her soul in a fervent suppli 
 cation, that the bitter cup might pass from her, and 
 her brother be restored to health. No human being 
 ever yet rose from such an exercise, no matter how 
 deplorable may have been his situation, without feeling 
 his hopes invigorated and his heart refreshed ; and 
 Emma Roebuck lay down that night in her loveliness? 
 \vith such firm reliance on the Almighty s goodness 
 i!S only the pure in heart can know. The sun was in 
 trie heavens the next morning when she awoke, re 
 freshed by her slumber and the dreams that had visited 
 if ; and hearing a gentle tap at the door, she turned 
 to open it and was enfolded in the arms of her bro 
 ther himself! 
 
 When, at length, the tumultuous waves of joy sub- 
 aided, and their bosoms regained something like com 
 posure, a thousand anxious and tender questions and 
 replies were mutually asked and given, and Emma had 
 rfie delightful satisfaction of hearing, from her brother ;? 
 own lips, an account of his rashness, and a declaration 
 of Stanley s honour. 
 
 She was seated in the parlour of an acquaintance s 
 
 house, in the town of B , on the morning of the 
 
 triul, listening to an account of a horrible murder, 
 which rumour had already laid to the charge of the 
 unfortunate Summerville, when her brother, pale and 
 agitated, rushed into the room. 
 
 " He will be undone !" he exclaimed, " he will be 
 undone ! there is a powerful array of circumstances 
 against him, devised, no doubt, by gome villain to 
 Me en himself; 
 
THE STEEL CLASP, 135 
 
 - l Of whom are you speaking, Charles ? inquired 
 Emma. 
 
 " Of whom ? of Stanley, or Summerville, as he 
 has called himself since that cursed affair." 
 
 " Summerville ! Stanley ! Gracious Providence ! 
 it cannot be that the villain who robbed, and nearly 
 murdered you, is my I mean is is Edgar Stanley ? v 
 
 " No, you say rightly, my dear sister," replied her 
 brother, " it cannot be that he is guilty my acquaint 
 ance with him was of short duration, but long enough 
 to show that he has a soul of honour ; yet a host oi 
 circumstances have been brought to bear against him,, 
 which make me tremble for the result." 
 
 " And there is one circumstance in my power, which 
 shall overwhelm them all," said Emma, upon whose 
 mind the memory of their last interview had flashed { 
 with the velocity of lightning. " Brother, you said it 
 was near the Locust Grove, and about sunset, that you 
 were robbed ?" 
 
 " It was," answered the captain, wondering what his 
 sister s words imported : " it was, and from that grove 
 the ruffian rushed upon me," 
 
 Emma rose from her seat. She was pale, and 
 trembled with emotion ; but she never looked more 
 beautiful, for her eyes beamed with indiscribable lustre, 
 kindled by the consciousness that it was in her power 
 to rescue her lover from an ignominious imprisonment, 
 and perhaps from death. 
 
 " Brother," said she, " give me your arm ; I must 
 go with you to court ask me no questions your 
 friend s life, arid my peace of mind, depend upon my 
 going !" 
 
 Great was the surprise of every individual assem 
 bled in the court-house on that memorable day, when 
 Emma Roebuck, leaning on her brother s arm, entered 
 the hall of justice, and going within the bar, requested 
 f.o be permitted to give her evidence. Her words 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 were few and simple but full of power. She stated, 
 that having been informed of the sickness of a poor 
 widow, who resided in the neighbourhood of her 
 father s, she had visited her two or three times, and 
 that one of these visits occurred on the same day 
 with the robbery of her brother. That the distresses 
 of the poor woman had been relieved, before her 
 arrival, by Mr. Stanley, who was seated, on her 
 entrance at the bed-side acting the part of nurse. It 
 was about four in the afternoon when she arrived at 
 the cabin, and some time after sunset when she left it; 
 during the whole of which time Mr. Stanley did not 
 once leave the room, and was still there when she 
 returned to her father s. 
 
 It is needless to dwell longer on the events of this 
 important trial. The innocence of the prisoner was 
 made so clearly manifest, that the counsel on both side* 
 submitted the cause to the jury, unaccompanied by one 
 vTord of comment ; and a verdict of not guilty, was 
 rendered, without leaving their seats. 
 
 The tavern keeper, Ashford, was fully committed on 
 the same evidence, amidst the execrations of those, 
 whom his artfully contrived plot had deluded ; and the 
 guilty wretch anticipating the decree of justice, put a 
 period to his existence in prison, not, however, before 
 he had made a full confession of his crime. 
 
 It was some months after the events which we have 
 feebly recorded, when the earth had thrown off its 
 robe of snow, and the green grass was springing on 
 the sunny side of every hillock ; and the birds had 
 resumed their stations on the branches of the budding 
 trees, to hail the dawning smile of nature, that on a 
 Sabbath morning two rustic-looking persons, a male 
 and female, were seen riding down the road, that, 
 passing by the house of Judge Roebuck, winds 
 through a romantic valley to a neighbouring village 
 church, They were, shortly after, joined by a third 
 
THE STEEL CLASP. 137 
 
 person, who issued from a by-path, through the woods^ 
 and seemed travelling the same route with them 
 selves. 
 
 " Good morning to ye, good morning, Mrs. Betty,* 
 said the last comer, "I hardly knew you in that fine 
 new dress: I suppose it s what you wore at Miss 
 Emma s wedding. And you, too, Mr. Jock, why 
 you re looking as fine as a wood-pecker, in Squire 
 Stanley s livery. Well, I m glad to see you so hale 
 and hearty, both of you ; and I m glad you ve taken up 
 your home in the Judge s family. A kind-hearted old 
 gentleman he is ; I hope he may live long to enjoy 
 his happiness." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Donnelly, that s the prayer of my heart, 
 iiight and morn," said our old friend, Betty. " A sad 
 time he d a-had of it if poor Mr. Summerville Squire 
 Stanley, I mean I shall never learn his new name 
 if he had been sent to prison ; for twould have broke 
 Miss Emma s heart. Why do you know they were 
 engaged more than a year ago, in New- York ; and it 
 was all of that wicked duel they wasn t married before., 
 I wonder people will fight." 
 
 " It was a lucky thing," remarked Mr. Donnelly. 
 " that Miss Emma happened to go into court twould 
 Jiave gone hard with the poor fel with Squire Stan 
 ley, I mean, if she hadn t." 
 
 " It s, no such thing, Mr. Donnelly, it s no such thing. 
 It was all my doings it was all my doings I said 
 from the first, didn t I Jocky, that he was innocent 
 I told you so yourself, before the court-house, the 
 morning of the trial. It was all owing to the gra} 
 horse s hair that brought it all out ; and who but. 
 Betty s old eyes spied out the gray hair ? But no, I 
 am wrong," said the affectionate and pious old woman-, 
 it was His work, who, if Betty s eyes had been 
 dosed in death, and her heart cold under the clod 
 of the valley, would still have stretched forth his hand 
 M2 
 
138 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 to snatch the guiltless, like a brand from the burn 
 Ing, and have showed the world, that though evil 
 workers may dim their brightness for a while, the in 
 nocent will at last come off, pure and unharmed, from 
 the trial." 
 
 Saying these words, they reached the open door of" 
 the little village church, when, joining another group oi 
 well-dressed rustics, they all entered the place of wor 
 ship, and were immediately lost to sight, 
 
THE LIE OF BENEVOLEXCE, 
 
 WHEN I first knew Amelia Grenville, I thought her 
 the most lovely girl I had ever seen. Her beauty was 
 of that powerful and undefinable kind which every be 
 holder feels, but which no language can describe. In 
 regularity of features many surpassed her ; nor was 
 her shape one of faultless symmetry. Her teeth were 
 as white as snow ; but rather too large to be likened to 
 pearls. Her lips, however, without hyperbole, were 
 as red as rubies, and as tempting as but no matter 
 for illustrations. She was, in short, a most charming 
 girl ; and I will not attempt to describe her, after 
 having just pronounced it impossible. 
 
 It was rather to her mind and disposition, than to her 
 outward person, that Amelia owed her loveliness. Her 
 eye, her large, full blue eye, was always lighted up by 
 an expression of great intelligence ; and her cheelr 
 wore that placid smile, that benignant serenity, which 
 has been aptly termed the sunshine of the heart In 
 truth, Amelia s gayety, like the long summer after 
 noons of an Italian clime, was seldom overcast by a 
 cloud; and if a little shade of pettishness ever dimmed 
 her happy brightness of temper, it was but for a mo 
 ment, when it quickly passed away, and all was calm 
 again. Her feelings flowed in a pure and tranquil 
 current ; and though accident or misfortune occasion 
 ally interposed obstacles to interrupt their passage, yet 
 they were always quickly surmounted, giving rise only 
 to a temporary ripple, that diversified their surface for 
 a little moment, and then vanished entirely away. 
 J remember Amelia s marriage like a thing of ye.s 
 
MO TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lerday. John Sanford was the happy man who led 
 the blushing, beautiful girl to the altar ; and never 
 were two better mated. Jack was a tall, manly looking 
 fellow, ofjabout twenty-one ; Amelia at that time was a 
 little rising seventeen, just mellowing into womanhood. 
 Poor thing, how she blushed as she made her respon 
 ses to the minister, her rosy cheeks contrasting so finely 
 with the snow-white kerchief which concealed her 
 bosom but not its heavings; for it panted and swelled 
 beneath, as striving to escape from the muslin thral.) 
 John Sanford was a Lieutenant in the United States 
 Navy. He and Amelia had been warmly attached 
 from their early years : and as soon as Jack mounted 
 the swab, or, in more intelligible phrase, as soon as he 
 was promoted to a lieutenancy, he claimed her lily 
 hand. The pay of his grade affords but poor encour 
 agement to matrimony ; but Jack looked on their fu 
 ture prospects with the exaggerating eyes of love, and for 
 money he entertained a tjue sailerlike contempt. But 
 /Vmelia was a better economist than he ; and for a few 
 months after their marriage every thing glided along as 
 smoothly and as happily as heart could wish. At last 
 however, a sad change took place in their affairs ; war 
 broke out, and Jack was ordered to sea. I was with 
 him on the evening when he received his orders. We 
 were seated in their little front parlour, at a sociable 
 game of whist. My cousin Sarah and I had taken tea 
 with them, and were spending the remainder of the 
 evening very agreeably. Amelia and I were partner? 
 against Sarah and Jack. We had just commenced on 
 the third game of a long rubber, when a tap at the 
 door announced a visiter ; and Tom Spunyarn, the 
 Gunners .mate, an old laid-up sea-dog from the yard, 
 who was in the practice of doing errands for the Com 
 modore, entered the apartment. 
 
 " Your sarvant, gentlemen," said Tom, as he took o& 
 his tarpaulin, (in the crown of which he carefully de 
 posited the quid of tobacco which he had dislodged 
 
THE LIE OF BENEVOLENCE. 141 
 
 from his cheek on entering the door) " your sarvani, 
 gentlemen here s a letter for Mr. Sanford, from the 
 Commodore." 
 
 I thought I perceived, when Tom was first ushered 
 into the parlour, that Sanford turned a little pale ; but 
 it might have been only fancy. It is certain, however, 
 that his hand trembled as he opened the letter ; and 
 his voice faltered, and was considerably husky, when 
 he announced that he had received orders to join with 
 out delay, the armed vessel which was then lying in 
 the harbour. There was no more gayety that eve 
 ning. Sarah and I, perceiving it was with great diffi 
 culty that Amelia could suppress her agitation, soon 
 took our leave, that we might not oppose any hindrance 
 to the free interchange of their thoughts and feelings. 
 
 The next and last time that I ever saw my friend 
 Jack was about a week after this, on the day that he 
 was to set sail. It was a fine, clear, cool morning ; and 
 as I approached his ship to pay my farewell visit to the 
 brave fellow, they were rolling off for eight o clock. 
 The martial music came sweetly and thrillingly on the 
 ear over the water. When it had ceased, I heard the 
 shrill whistles of the boatswain and his mates, and im 
 mediately after, their deep sepulchral voices as they 
 cried down the fore and main hatchway, " all hands to 
 weigh anchor, hoy !" Any one who has been on board a 
 man-of-war, when about getting under way, will readily 
 understand that it is then no place for a stranger. All 
 is at once bustle, stir, and business. The companion 
 ladders are taken down ; gratings are put over the 
 hatchways ; all the after-guard, main and mizzerH;op- 
 men, and marines, are called aft to the capstan-bars. 
 The gunner and his crew, with nippers and salvagees, 
 are attending to the messenger ; the foretopmen and 
 forecastlemen are busy forward ; and in short, without 
 entering into particulars, the whole ship is in motion* 
 and every officer and man employed, 
 
14 2 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 When I came alongside, the sentry at the gangway 
 ordered me off, stating that they were getting under 
 way and that orders had been issued to admit no stran 
 gers on board. But I sent my name to Jack, and he 
 immediately came to the gangway and received me. 
 How manly and handsome the fellow looked ! He 
 had been ashore early that morning in an official ca 
 pacity, and still remained in full dress, with the excep 
 tion of Ins hat, which he had exchanged for a tarpaulin. 
 He had the trumpet in his hand ; for he was the fifst 
 lieutenant, and, when all hands are called, it is the duty 
 of the first lieutenant to take charge of the deck, lie 
 did not say a single word about Amelia ; but I thought. 
 I could now and then detect his eye glancing over to 
 the village of Brooklyn, as if striving to single out the 
 roof of his own little dwelling, and showing plainly what 
 thoughts were passing in his mind. During all this 
 while, the men were heaving round on the capstan 
 bars, animated by the cheering music of the fifes, and 
 now and then urged by the commands of the younger 
 midshipmen, who were stationed aft, (those human 
 speaking-trumpets) " heave round ! heave with a will ! 
 heave*all together !" and like ejaculations. The shrill 
 music, the creaking of the capstan, the tiny voices of the 
 juvenile reefers (as the midshipmen are called) contrac 
 ting oddly with the occasional harshness of their orders, 
 (heavy words, as the sailors say, from weak stomachs) 
 the clinking music of the palls, the rattling of the chain- 
 cable, as the waisters and tierers lighted it aft with 
 their iron hooks, and the surging of the messenger, all 
 blended together in a strange confusion, which would 
 have been very diverting to me, had I not felt that I 
 was intruding. So I made my visit as brief as possi 
 ble, and giving Jack a real sailer grasp of the hand 
 when I left him, and most sincerely wishing him every 
 good wish, I jumped into the boat, and shoved off. 
 As soon as I left the ship, the carpenters were ordered 
 
THE LEE OF BENEVOLENCE. 143 
 
 to lay out and unrig the accommodation ladder ; and 
 before I reached Brooklyn, I heard Jack s loud clear 
 voice giving the necessary commands ; I saw the men 
 run up the rigging like squirrels, and lay out -on the 
 topsail and top-gallant yards ; I saw them loose sail ; 
 I saw the sails sheeted home and hoisted taught up 
 but why dwell on particulars ? I saw the noble vessel 
 suddenly put out all her canvass, and " walk the waters 
 like a thing of life." 
 
 About two months after this, Amelia, who had been 
 for some time in poor health and low spirits the con 
 sequence of her situation, rendered more precarious 
 by her continual anxiety on account of Sanford was 
 taken alarmingly ill. Every thing that affection or 
 medical skill could suggest to render her more comfort 
 able, was done with a promptness and alacrity that 
 spoke more than volumes in favour of the sweet suf 
 ferer s disposition. But her illness continued to in 
 crease ; and her mind, during the continuance of her 
 lever, would strangely wander though always on one 
 unvarying theme one name was always on her burn 
 ing lips it was Sanford s. Many innocent fibs, a? 
 they were called and thought, were fabricated by her 
 attendants to diminish her dangerous solicitude about 
 her husband ; and at length their assurances that the ves 
 sel had been heard from, by another, which had spoken 
 her at sea, and reported officers and crew all well, had 
 a tendency in some degree to tranquillize her feelings. 
 
 But the truth was, the vessel had never been heard 
 from, until about this very conjuncture ; and then the 
 news that was received was of the most alarming and 
 agonizing kind. She had fallen in with a British ship 
 of superior force, and after a desperate engagement 
 had been taken. Sanford s name stood first among 
 the killed ! Poor fellow ! in the onset of the engage 
 ment, while with a flushed cheek, a dauntless front 
 uml flashing rye. he was issuing his clear and intrepid 
 
144 TALES AKD SKETCHES* 
 
 orders, a musket ball from one of the enemy s tops 
 struck him in the head, and stretched him dead upon 
 ihe deck. 
 
 In all the newspapers a long and circumstantial ac 
 count of this distressing occurrence was related ; and 
 much fear was entertained on the part of the medical at 
 tendant of Amelia, lest it should reach her knowledge, 
 and prove too sudden and severe a shock for her atten 
 uated strength to bear. What was to be done ? The} 
 had already, through misguided benevolence, given her 
 reason to believe that Poor Jack was alive and well ; 
 and, of course, these fatal tidings now r made known, 
 would fall upon her heart with a tenfold weight. It 
 was therefore agreed upon that the delusion, under 
 the influence of which she was beginning to recover, 
 should be continued ; and the domestics were strictly 
 enjoined to say or do nothing that should undeceive 
 her. With the quick and perspicacious eye of love, how 
 ever, Amelia soon saw, or fancied she saw, a restraint in 
 the manners and conversation of those around her, which 
 fed her to believe that something was concealed. She? 
 questioned them, and their hesitating answers aroused 
 the most dreadful forebodings ; in vain did her friends* 
 recovering from the unexpected attack, assure her that 
 her misgivings were unfounded. Her throbbing heart 
 refused to believe them, and her renewed anxiety 
 threatened a dangerous relapse ; it was therefore found 
 necessary to confirm their statements in some manner 
 that should do away her doubts, or her life would fall 
 the sacrifice. In this dilemma, a strange, and seem 
 ingly sufficient expedient was devised. The distressed 
 physician, who was also a near relative of his patient, 
 explained the circumstances of her situation to the 
 editor of one of the city newspapers, and procured hi? 
 consent to the admission of a paragraph, in which the 
 very reverse of the truth, in relation to the unfortu 
 nate engagement, was stated. Bat one copy of thi? 
 
THE LIE OF BENEVOLENCE. 145 
 
 paper was struck off, after the usual number had been 
 previously printed. 
 
 The cheering information thus imparted to Amelia 
 had a very rapid and beneficial effect ; and all thosB 
 who had been parties to the kindly meant duplicity, 
 began to congratulate themselves upon the happy 
 result. But they were soon to learn, by a terrible 
 lesson, that dissimulation is in no case justifiable, and 
 that the commands of Him who has said thou shalt not 
 bear false witness, are not susceptible of modification 
 according to circumstances, but stand eternally and 
 unchangeably the same. 
 
 It was on a still, quiet afternoon. Amelia had so far 
 recovered as to be able to sit up by the fire in an easy 
 chair ; and at the time to which we advert she was 
 alone in the apartment, her attendant having just left 
 it, on some trifling errand. A little girl, the daughter of 
 a neighbour, tapped at the door, and invited by Amelia 
 in a faint, sweet voice, entered the room, bringing from 
 her mother some delicate confections for the patient 
 for all the neighbourhood loved Amelia, and strove by 
 such gratifying acts of kindness to show the estimation 
 in which they held her. A newspaper enveloped the 
 present ; and in taking it off, the eye of Amelia was 
 attracted by some article, which induced her to 
 pause and peruse it. It was the real account of the 
 engagement, and she had not read far, before the fatal 
 truth rushed like lightning into her brain. The sudden 
 shock was too much for nature to endure ; she dropped 
 from her chair in strong convulsions, and when the 
 household, alarmed by the noise, entered the apartment, 
 they beheld this beloved victim of a benevolent lie 
 stretched dead upon the floor ! 
 
 Reader, I will not pause to moralize. There is an 
 obvious inference to be drawn from this narration^ 
 which, I sincerely hope, may not prove to have been 
 written in vain, 
 
THE RIFLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 i Foul deeds will rise, 
 
 Though all the earth o erwhelm them, to men s eyes/ 
 
 RICHARD III. 
 
 THE traveller who passes, during the summer or* 
 autumn months of the year, through the states of our 
 Union that lie west of the Ohio river Indiana and 
 Illinois in particular will often pause in his journey, 
 with feelings of irrepressible admiration, to gaze upon 
 the ten thousand beauties, which nature has spread 
 through those regions with an uncommonly liberal 
 hand. The majestic mountain, upholding the heavens 
 on its cloudy top, does not, to be sure, arrest his aston 
 ished eye ; and the roaring cataract, dashing from a 
 dizzy height, and thundering down into whirling depths 
 below, then rising again in upward showers, forms no 
 part of the character of their quiet scenes. But the 
 wide-spread prairie, level as some waveless lake, from 
 whose fertile soil the grass springs up with a luxuriance 
 unparalleled in any other part of our country, the 
 beautiful green, of whichfls besprinkled with myriads 
 and myriads of flowers, ravishing the sight with their 
 loveliness, and filling the air with their sweets and. 
 again, on either side of these immense savannas, stand 
 ing arrayed " like host to host opposed," the leafy 
 forests, whose silence has not often been broken by the 
 voice of man, and through whose verdant recesses the 
 deer stalk in herds, with the boldness of primeval 
 nature these are some of the scenes that call forth a 
 passing tribute of praise from every beholder. Such 
 is their summer aspect : but when winter " has taken 
 Angrily his waste inheritance," not even the painter ** 
 
TJIE RIFLK. 14*5 
 
 pencil can convey a just conception of the bleakness 
 and desolation of the change. Then those extensive, 
 plains, lately covered with the infinitely diversified 
 charms of nature, become one white unvaried waste 
 of snow : through the vistas of the naked trees nothing 
 meets the glance but snow ; and if from the chilly 
 monotony of earth, the weaned eye looks up to hea 
 ven, thick and heavy clouds, driven along upon the 
 wind, seemed surcharged to bursting with the same 
 frigid element. It was during the latter season that 
 the incidents of the following story took place. 
 
 About the middle of December, some twelve or 
 fifteen years ago, before Illinois w r as admitted a sister 
 state into the Union, on the afternoon of a day that had 
 been uncommonly mild, and during the morning oi 
 which there had occurred a light fall of snow, two 
 persons might have been seen riding along one of the 
 immense prairies, in a northern direction. The elder 
 seemed advanced in years, and was dressed in the usual 
 habiliments of the country. He wore a cap, made ot 
 the skin of the otter, and a hunting-shirt of blue linsey- 
 woolsey covered his body, descending nearly to the 
 knees, and trimmed with red woollen fringe. It was 
 fastened round the waist by a girdle of buckskin, to 
 which was appended a bullet-pouch, made of the same 
 material with the cap. His feet were covered with 
 buckskin moccasins, and leggings of stout cloth were 
 wrapped several times round his legs, fastened, above 
 the knee and at the ancle, with strings of green worsted. 
 The horse he bestrode, was so small that his rider s feet 
 almost draggled on the ground, and he had that arti 
 ficial gait which is denominated racking. The old 
 man s hair fell in long and uncombed locks beneath his 
 cap, and was white with the frosts of many winters ; 
 while the sallowness of his complexion gave proof of 
 a long residence in those uncultivated parts of the 
 roimtry. where the excessive vegetable decay, and the 
 
148 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 stagnation of large bodies of water, produce perennial 
 agues. 
 
 His companion was a young man, dressed according 
 to the prevailing fashion of the cities of the eastern 
 states ; and his rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes 
 evinced that he had not suffered from the effects of 
 climate. He was mounted on a spirited horse, and 
 carried in his hand a heavy looking rifle, the butt of 
 which rested on his toe. 
 
 " Well, Doctor Rivington," said the elder person, " I 
 should no more ha looked to see one of you yankees.. 
 toting about wi you a rail Kentuck rifle, than 1 
 should ha thought I d be riding myself without one. If 
 I didn t see it in your hands, I could almost swear that 
 it s Jim Buckhorn s." 
 
 " You have guessed correctly, Mr. Silversight," 
 replied the young physician ; " I believe you know 
 almost every rifle in this part of the territory." 
 
 " Why, I have handled a power of em in my time. 
 Doctor," said the old man, " and there aint many good 
 ones, atwixt Sangamo and the Mississip , that I don t 
 know the vally 4>n. I reckon now, that same rifle 
 seems to you but a clumsy sort of a shooting-iron ; but 
 it s brought down a smart chance of deer first and 
 last. That lock s a rail Kreamer, and there aint a 
 truer bore except mine, that I left down in the Settle 
 ment, to get a new sight to no, not atwixt this and 
 Major Markham s. It carries jist ninety-four, and 
 mine a leetle over ninety-eight to the pound. Jim has 
 used my bullets often, when we ve been out hunting 
 together." 
 
 " I was unacquainted with the worth of the gun, 
 resumed Charles Rivington; "but stepping into the 
 gun-smith s this morning, I heard him express regret 
 that he had missed a chance of sending it out to Jemmy 
 Buckhorn s ; so, intending to come this way, I offered 
 to take charge of it myself. In this wilderness coiirv 
 
THE RIFLE. 149 
 
 liy we must stand ready to do such little offices of 
 friendship, Mr. Silversight." 
 
 " Twas no doubt kindly meant, Doctor, and Jim will 
 be monstrous glad to git his piece again," said the 
 hunter. " But my wonderment is, and I don t mean 
 no harm by it, how that tinker would trust such a 
 Kreamer as that ere, with a yankee Doctor. Do give 
 it to me ; I can t bide seeing a good rifle in a man s 
 hand that don t know the vally on it." 
 
 Doctor Rivington resigned the weapon with a good 
 humoured smile ; for he had been some time in the 
 country, and partly understood the love which a hunter 
 always feels for a piece, of the character of that he 
 had been carrying : he knew, too, though the old man s 
 manners were rough, that there was nothing like 
 roughness in his heart. Indeed, the very person who 
 was loath to trust his young companion with a gun^ 
 intrinsically worth but a trifle, would nevertheless, as 
 we shall presently see, have unhesitatingly placed in 
 his charge, without witness or receipt, an uncounted or 
 unlimited amount of money. The term yankee, which 
 we have heard him applying, in rather a contemptuous 
 manner, was then, and for years after, used indiscrimi 
 nately in reference to all such as emigrated from the 
 states east of the Alleghany mountains. Handing the 
 rifle across his horse to the old hunter, Charles Riving 
 ton observed : 
 
 "I am glad you have offered to take it, Mr. Silver- 
 sight, for there appears to be a storm coming up, and as 
 I wish to reach Mr. Wentworth s to-night, I can make 
 the distance shorter, by crossing through the woods 
 into the other prairie, before I get to Buckhorn s." 
 
 " Will you be going into town to-morrow, doctor? 
 tfsked Silversight. 
 
 "I shall." 
 
 " Well then, you can do me a good turn. Here," 
 saifl thejjeld man. handing a little leathern bag, tf is 
 N2 
 
130 TALtiS AND 
 
 .fifteen dollars in specie ; and the rest, four hundred and 
 eighty-five in Shawnee-town paper, is wrapped in this 
 bit of rag. I want you to pay it into the land-office, 
 to clear out old Richly s land : I was going to take it in ; 
 but you ll do just as well, and save me a long ride," 
 
 The physician promised to attend to the business ; 
 and they kept on together, conversing on such sub 
 jects as the nature of the scene suggested, until they 
 reached the place where the path branched into two., 
 and diverged in opposite directions. 
 
 " This is my nearest way, I believe V said Charles* 
 
 " It is," answered the old man. " This fresh track, 
 that we noticed awhile ago, lies on my route ; so I ll 
 push my nag a little, soon as I load this rifle, and it may 
 so be, that I ll overtake company. Doctor, look here, 
 and you ll know how an old hunter loads his piece it 
 may stand you in hand some day : I put on a double 
 patch, becase my bullets are a leetle smaller than Jim s,, 
 you mind I told you. There," said he, as he shoved 
 the ball to its place, and carefully poured some prim 
 ing into the pan, "it s done in quick time by them what 
 have slept, year in and year out, with red Indians on 
 every side of T em. Good night to ye, Doctor; you 
 needn t lift the sartificates the Register may as well 
 keep em till old Richly goes in himself." 
 
 So saying, the two travellers parted, each urging his 
 horse to greater speed, as the night threatened shortly 
 to set in dark and stormy. The old hunter, acknow 
 ledging to himself in mental soliloquy, that the Doctor 
 was " a right nice and cute young fellow, considering 
 he was raised amongst yankees," rode briskly along the 
 path. He had proceeded about four or five miles fur 
 ther on his way, when he perceived that the track 
 which he before observed, turned aside, towards a 
 little point of woods, that put out into the prairie. 
 " So, so," said he, " Slaymush has been out among the 
 deer to day ; I was in hopes twas some one going up 
 t Q the head- waters ;" and he kept racking along the. 
 
THE HIFK, 1<51 
 
 Koad, when suddenly the loud report of a musket was 
 heard reverberating through the night, and the old 
 man, writhing and mortally wounded, fell from his 
 horse, which, seared by the occurrence, ran wildly over 
 the prairie. A few minutes afterward, the figure oi 
 a man stole out from the shadow of the trees, and 
 cautiously approached the place, as if fearful lest his 
 victim should not yet be dead; but apparently satisfied 
 in this particular, by his motionless silence, he advanced, 
 and proceeded immediately to examine the pockete of 
 the deceased. 
 
 " Damnation S" muttered he at length, when a fruit 
 less search was finished, " the old curmudgeon hasn t 
 got the money after all ; and I ve put a bullet through 
 his head for nothing. I m sure I heard him say, in 
 Brown s tavern, down in the settlement, that old Richly 
 give it to him to carry. Well, it s his own fault, any 
 how, for telling a bragging lie about it; and the gray- 
 headed scoundrel wont never jeer me again, for using 
 a smooth-bore, before a whole company of Kentuck" 
 squatters it carried true enough to do his business, 
 I m sorry I dropped that damned flask, though ; but 
 this powder-horn will make some amends," grumbled 
 the wretch, as he tore the article he spoke of from the 
 breast, where it had hung for forty years. 
 
 "What the devil have we here !" said he again as iiv 
 stepping from the body, he struck his foot against the- 
 rifle that the murdered man had dropped ; " ho, ho," 
 muttered he, in a chuckling tone, as he discharged it 
 into the air " ho, ho, if worst comes to worst, they ll 
 think his piece went off by accident, and shot him- 
 But there s no danger it will snow before daylight, 
 and cover the trail ; and the prairie-wolves will finish 
 the job." 
 
 Thus muttering, the ruffian remounted the animal he 
 held by the bridle, and trotted across the prairie,, nearly 
 at right angles with the path, along which the irafortu- 
 e hunter had been travelling., 
 
TALES AND SKETCHED 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 IT was in a log-house, larger, and of rather more 
 comfortable construction than was usually seen in that 
 wilderness country, beside a fire that sent a broad and 
 Crackling flame half-way up the capacious chimney, 
 that there was seated, on the evening of this atrocious 
 murder, in addition to its ordinary inmates, the young- 
 physician from whom we lately parted. His great 
 coat, hat, and overalls, were laid aside ; and he was con 
 versing with that agreeable fluency and pleased ex 
 pression of countenance, which denoted that he was 
 happy in the society around him. Opposite, and busily 
 employed in knitting, sat a beautiful girl of eighteen.. 
 From her work, which seemed to engross an unusual 
 portion of her attention, she every now and then- 
 would send a furtive glance to the guest, thus telling, 
 in the silent language of love, the tale she never could 
 have found words to utter. We say she was beautiful? 
 and if a complexion so clear, that 
 
 The eloquent blood spoke through her check, and so distinctly 
 
 wrought, 
 That one might almost say of her, her very body thought ; 
 
 if laughing blue eyes lighted up with intelligence and 
 affection ; if smooth and glossy auburn ringlets ; teeth 
 white as the snow around her father s dwelling ; and a 
 person which, though not tall, was well formed ancf 
 graceful ; if all these traits combined constitute a claim 
 fo the epithet, it certainly belonged to her. She was 
 modestly attired in a dress of no costly material ; and 
 the little feet that peeped from underneath it, were 
 *Jofhed m white stockings of her own fabrication, and 
 
THE RIFLE, 153 
 
 in shoes of too coarse a texture ever to have been pur 
 chased from the shelves of a fashionable city mechanic. 
 Yet that same form had been arrayed in richer ap 
 parel, and had been followed by glances of warmer 
 admiration, than perhaps ever fell to the share of those, 
 who are ready to condemn her on account of her 
 simple garb. 
 
 Catharine Wentworth was the daughter (at the 
 time of our story, the only one,) of a gentleman \vho 
 had formerly been a wealthy merchant in the city oi 
 New- York ; but whom misfortune in business had 
 suddenly befallen, and stripped of all his possessions. 
 While surrounded by affluence, he had been considered 
 remarkably meek and affable ; but he became proud 
 and unsociable in adversity ; and not caring to remain 
 among scenes that continually brought to mind the sad 
 change in his condition, he emigrated, with his whole 
 family, to the wilds of Illinois. He was actuated in 
 part, no doubt, by a higher and better motive. At. 
 that time he \vas the father of another daughter 
 Louisa, older than Catharine, who was fast falling a. 
 victim to that disease, which comes over the human 
 form, like autumn over the earth, imparting to it addi 
 tional graces, but too truly whispering that the winter 
 of death is nigh. The medical attendant of the family, 
 perhaps to favour the design which he knew Mr. Went 
 worth entertained, intimated that a change of climate- 
 was their only hope. If it were right in us to detain 
 the reader, and we possessed the power of exhibiting 
 in the melancholy sweetness of reality, the progress oi 
 that interesting female to the grave, till at length she 
 lay do\vn in her attenuated loveliness to awaken in 
 heaven all who have hearts would moisten the reliv 
 tion with a tear. But we will not we cannot : 
 
 Beneath the prairie turf she lies. 
 
 And sweetest wild-flowers dress the sod ; 
 
 Her stainless soul has sought the ski 
 To thvell for ever with its God, 
 
154 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 How strangely does the human mind accommodate 
 itself to almost any situation: the man who had spent 
 his life, hitherto, in a sumptuous mansion, surrounded 
 by all those elegancies and means of enjoyment which, 
 in a large city, are always to be procured by fortune, 
 now experienced, in an humble log cabin, divided into 
 but four apartments, and those of the roughest kind, n 
 degree of happiness that he had never known before. 
 And well he might be happy ; for he was rich not in 
 money but in a better, a more enduring kind of 
 wealth. His wife, two hardy and active sons, and the 
 remaining daughter, Catharine, were all around him. 
 smiling in contentment, and ruddy with health. We 
 can only estimate our condition in this life, by compa 
 rison with that of others ; and his plantation was as 
 large and as well cultivated, his crops as abundant, his 
 stock as good, as any of the settlers on that prairie. 
 He had still a better source of consolation : Louisa s 
 death, the quiet of the countiy, and the natural wish 
 of every active mind to create to itself modes of em 
 ployment, had led him more frequently to read and 
 search the sacred Scriptures, than he had found leisure 
 to do before ; and this was attended, as it always is, 
 with the happiest result a knowledge and love of 
 him, "whom to know is life eternal." But I am 
 digressing. 
 
 The family of Mr. Wentworth, with the addition of 
 Charles Rivington, (whom* indeed, we might almost 
 speak of as one of its members ; for, on the coming 
 New- Year s day, he was to receive the hand of " their 
 saucy Kate," as the happy parents fondly termed her,) 
 were gathered round the fire-side, conversing cheer 
 fully on every topic that presented itself, when a light 
 tap was heard at the door, and Mr. Rumley, the 
 deputy-sheriff of the county, entered the apartment. 
 He apologized for his intrusion, by saying that having 
 had business to attend to at a cabin further up the 
 
THE RIFLE, 155 
 
 prairie, which detained him longer than he expected, 
 he should not be able, on account of the darkness of 
 the night, to return to town until the following morn 
 ing ; he therefore hoped that he might be accommo 
 dated with a bed. His request was of course readily 
 complied with. 
 
 He was a tall, dark person, dressed much in the 
 manner of the unfortunate hunter, except that his leg 
 gings were of buckskin. He had lost an eye, when a 
 young man, in a scuffle with an Indian, two of whom 
 sprang suddenly upon him from an ambush ; and this, 
 together with a deep scar on his forehead, received in 
 u tavern-brawl at New-Orleans, two or three years be 
 fore, and the wrinkles which age, or more likely his 
 manner of life had ploughed, gave to his countenance 
 a sinister and disagreeable expression. At the pre 
 sent time, the haggard appearance of his face was in 
 creased, either from having been a long while exposed 
 to the cold, or from some latent sickness working on 
 him ; for his lip quivered and w r as of a bloodless hue. 
 and he was remarkably pale. Charles Rivington. 
 who often met him in his rides, was the first to notice 
 the change from his usual appearance. 
 
 " You look pale and fatigued, Mr. Rumley ; I hope 
 you are not unwell." 
 
 " No, sir that is my yes, I do feel a little sick- 
 ish ; and should be glad to go to bed, if it s convenient/" 
 answered Mr. Rumley. 
 
 "Perhaps there is something that we can do for 
 you, sir ?" said the maternal Mrs. Wentworth. 
 
 " No ma am, I thank ye. I reckon a good night s 
 sleep will be best for me : it s what cures all my ail- 
 ings." And in compliance with his wish, the guest 
 was shown to his apartment. 
 
 One by one, the different members of this peaceful 
 family sought their pillows, till soon Charles Riving 
 ton and the blushing Catharine were left sole occupants 
 
156 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 of the room. But though alone they were not lonely : 
 he had many an interesting tale to whisper into the 
 maiden s ear, (for it was almost a week since they had 
 met !) and she, though something of a chatterbox, 
 when none but her mother and brothers were present, 
 on this occasion betrayed a wonderful aptitude for 
 listening. The hours glided rapidly away ; and the 
 gray morning was already advancing, when the happy 
 young man, imprinting a good-night kiss upon her 
 cheek, left her to those sweet dreams, which slumber 
 bestows only upon the young and innocent^ 
 
 CHAPTER III, 
 
 It was late in the afternoon of the following day 
 that Charles Rivington, being returned to the town 
 where he resided, was seated in his office, employed 
 in counting a roll of notes, a pile of dollars lying, at 
 the same time, on the table before him, when three 
 men abruptly entered the apartment. 
 
 " You are our prisoner !" cried the foremost of the 
 party. " By heaven ! Jim, look there ; there s the 
 very money itself. I can swear to that pouch." And 
 here he rudely seized our hero by the collar. 
 
 ** Stand back, sir, and lay hold of me at your peril/ 
 returned Charles Rivington, sternly ; as, shaking the 
 man from him, he gave him a blow that sent him to 
 the other side of the office. " What is it that you. 
 have to say ? and if I am to be made prisoner, pro* 
 duce your warrant." 
 
 " You may as well submit quietly, Doctor Rivingr 
 ton," said another of the party, w r ho was a constable. 
 " You perhaps can explain every thing : but you 
 
THE RIFLE. ^ 
 
 <rome with us, before Squire Lawton. This is my 
 authority, (showing a paper,) and it is only necessary 
 to say that suspicion rests on you, as the murderer ot 
 old Silversight, who was found shot through the head, 
 on the road, this morning." 
 
 " Is it possible ! poor old man, has he really been 
 killed ! When I parted from him last night, he was 
 not only well, but seemed in excellent spirits," said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " He parted from him last night ! mark that Buck- 
 horn," said the one who had just received a severe 
 repulse from our hero, and whose name was Carlock. 
 4< He left him in excellent spirits ; mark what the vil 
 lain says." 
 
 " There need be no jeering about it," replied Buck- 
 horn. " Doctor Rivington, you tended me in my bad 
 fever last spring, and agin when I had the chills in the 
 fall, and you stuck by me truer than any friend I ve 
 had since my old mother died, except this ere rifle. 
 I m monstrous sorry I found it where I did. It may 
 be so, that you ve got a clear conscience yet ; but 
 whether or no, though old Silversight and me has 
 hunted together many and many s the day, you shall 
 have fair play anyhow, damn me if you sha nt. That 
 ere money looks bad ; if it had been a fair fight, we 
 mought a-hush d it up, somehow or nother." 
 
 Our hero, while Buckhorn was speaking, had time to 
 reflect that if Silversight were indeed dead, circum 
 stances would really authorize this arrest. The rifle, 
 which he was known to have carried with him from 
 town, had been found, it seems, beside the murdered 
 body. The money that the unfortunate man had en 
 trusted to him, was discovered in his possession ; and 
 how could it be proved for what purpose it had been 
 given to him? As these thoughts rushed rapidly 
 through his mind, he turned to the officer, and ob 
 served, 
 
 O 
 
J58 TALES AXD SKETCHES. 
 
 / 
 
 " Mr. Pike, I yield myself your prisoner. I per 
 ceive there are some circumstances that cause suspi 
 cion to rest on me. I must rely, for a while, upon the 
 character which, I trust, I have acquired since my re 
 sidence among you, for honour and fair dealing, until I 
 shall either be enabled to prove my innocence, or 
 Heaven places in the hands of justice the real perpe 
 trator of the deed," 
 
 So saying, he gathered up the money from the table, 
 and departed with the officer and his companions, to 
 the house of Mr. Lawton, who, being a justice of the 
 peace, had issued a warrant for his apprehension. 
 
 " I have always been glad to see you heretofore, 
 Doctor Rivington," said the magistrate, politely, on 
 the appearance of that person before him, " and 
 should be so now, w r ere it not that you are charged 
 with a crime, which, if proved, will call down the se 
 verest vengeance of the law. I hope and believe, 
 however, that you can establish your innocence. 
 Where were you, sir, on the afternoon of yesterday?" 
 
 " I went out to visit some patients, meaning to con 
 tinue my ride as far as Mr. Buckhorn s ; and took his 
 rifle with me from the gunsmith s, with the intention 
 of stopping and leaving it ; but I met with old Mr, 
 Silversight at the cross-roads, who was going up from 
 the New Settlements, and he offering to take charge, 
 of it, I gave it to him. We parted at the fork, and 1 
 crossed over to Mr. Wentworth s." 
 
 " Did Mr. Silversight continue on his journey, 
 having Jim Buckhorn s rifle with him?" asked the 
 justice. 
 
 " Yes sir ; but before we separated he gave me this 
 money," handing the notes and specie to the magis 
 trate, " and requested me to pay it into the land-office 
 to-day, to clear out Mr. Richly s land. He said there 
 were five hundred dollars in all. and fcwas counting it 
 when arrested." 
 
THE RIFLE. 
 
 " There is a most unfortunate coincidence of cir 
 cumstances against you, Doctor. The man is found 
 murdered, the rifle which you were known to have 
 carried, lying near him, and you arrive in town on 
 the next day, with the money of the deceased in your 
 possession. The poor old man s horse going home 
 without his rider, excites alarm ; Buckhorn and Car- 
 lock, with other neighbours, set out upon the track ; 
 they find the murdered victim, stark and bloody, ly 
 ing on the snow, which was scarcely whiter than his 
 aged head ; they divide some bearing the body back, 
 while the others follow on the trail ; it leads them to 
 Mr. Wentworth s, where you acknowledge you passed 
 the night ; they there inquire what person made the 
 tracks which they had followed, and were answered 
 it was you ; they continue on your trail until you ar 
 rive in town ; they make affidavit of these facts, and 
 procure a warrant for your arrest, when, to complete 
 the chain of evidence, you are found counting the 
 spoils of the murdered man. Now, sir, what an 
 swer can you make to these appalling circum 
 stances ?" 
 
 "They are appalling indeed, sir," said our hero. 
 " and I can only reply to them I am innocent. If 
 the poor man was murdered, the one who did it must, 
 certainly have left tracks ; and I fear they have fallen 
 upon his trail, and taken it for mine. But it is in my 
 power to prove that I had no weapon with me, except 
 that unlucky rifle, and the gunsmith will testify that he 
 gave me no balls with it." 
 
 " The gunsmith has already been before me," said 
 Squire Lawton, " for I was loath to have you appre 
 hended, except on an application backed by such 
 proof as could not be rejected. He states that when 
 he gave you the gun, the lock had been repaired, and 
 polished, and that since that time it has certainly been 
 
160 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 discharged. I am sorry to do it, sir, but my duty corn- 
 pels me to commit you." 
 
 It is needless to dwell longer on this examination. 
 Our hero was committed for trial, and so strong were 
 the proofs adduced against him, that the magistrate, 
 and, indeed, the whole neighbourhood could scarce 
 hesitate to believe him guilty. When the sun arose 
 that morning, Charles Rivington was one of the hap 
 piest of men. Loving and beloved, his business in 
 creasing, his name respected, and the time rapidly ap 
 proaching which was to bind him to his Catharine in 
 the tender relationship of marriage he looked back 
 upon the glorious orb, as it burst up through the east 
 ern heaven, with an eye of almost kindred bright 
 ness. How changed the scene at its setting ! its last 
 rays fell upon him through the iron-guarded window 
 of a prison. Yet could we examine into the soul of 
 the young man as he lay in one corner of the small 
 and noisome apartment, on a bed of straw that had 
 been spread for a former inmate, we should find, per 
 haps, though surrounded by the greatest danger the 
 danger of dying an ignominious death, and having a 
 blot left for ever upon his memory, he was still serene 
 and happy. And why was this ? He had a com 
 panion in that dreary place, whose acquaintance had 
 been sought in the hours of prosperity, and who now, 
 in the darkness of trouble, would not depart ; a com 
 panion that can cheer us amid the revilings of the 
 world, can pierce through the bars of a dungeon, and 
 whisper to the desponding spirit, " Blessed are they 
 f hat mourn, for they shall be comforted." 
 
 Charles Rivington was one of the too small number 
 of young men who are not ashamed to be religious ; 
 and verily he had his reward." The mere worldling 
 similarly situated, would have been loud in impreca^ 
 tions or dumb with agony : but he, upborne by con 
 scious innocence, and knowing that not a sparrow 
 
HIFLE. 16) 
 
 fails to the ground without the will of our heavenly 
 Father, humbled himself in prayer before that Being 
 who is mighty to save unto the uttermost ;" and he 
 arose from the exercise with those tranquillized and 
 invigorated feelings, which are its invariable result. 
 
 Nearly two years had elapsed since our hero emi 
 grated to that western region. He was the youngest, 
 and, at the time of our narrative, the only son of o 
 widowed mother, who had been doomed to follow 
 successively to the grave, a husband, a lovely daugh 
 ter, her eldest born, and two fine and promising boys. 
 Sick of the scene where death had made such havoc, 
 and crushed so many fragrant buds of promise, she 
 consented to accompany her sole remaining child to 
 ti place where the newness of the country seemed to 
 hold forth greater prospects of success, than was af 
 forded to a young practitioner among the overstocked 
 population of a city. Hitherto their expectations had 
 been amply realized. He who tempers the wind to 
 the shorn lamb, provided for the Christian heart of 
 that poor widow, a balm of sweetest efficacy. Her 
 son. was such a child as mothers pray for ; he strove 
 by redoubled filial attentions to supply the place of 
 the lost ones to his parent ; and her eyes seldom 
 rested on his manly form, that they did not become 
 watery, from the overfulness of gratified maternal 
 love. Their family misfortunes had rendered his mind 
 uncommonly ductile ; and it was she who planted there 
 those seeds of righteousness, which, as we have seen^ 
 sprang up and produced goodly fruit. 
 
 On the afternoon of her son s commitment, she was 
 Hitting in the parlour of the pleasant little house which 
 they occupied, when Judy, an Irish girl, who had 
 lived long in the family, remaining with them through 
 all their trouble, came running, almost breathless, into 
 the apartment. 
 
 ^. Och. mistress, and the Lord bless voti," she cried t 
 O 2 
 
TALES AJN1J SKJSTCJULUS 
 
 /is soon as she was able to speak, "and presarve yom 
 old heart from breaking but I se got bad news 
 for ye." 
 
 " How often, Judy, must I repeat to you," said the 
 pious old lady, interrupting her, " that it is extremely 
 wrong to use the name of your Maker so familiarly on 
 all occasions : * the Lord will not hold him guiltless 
 who taketh his name in vain. " 
 
 " Botheration, ma am, but I se no time to tend to that 
 
 "Judy!" interrupted Mrs. Rivington again, "how 
 *an you speak so - " 
 
 " Ma am, will you be pleased to hear me," roared 
 out the servant, at length fully restored to her voice, 
 ; are ye going to sit here preaching, and let them mur 
 der Mr. Charles ?" 
 
 " Charles ! gracious Providence !" ejaculated the 
 mother, catching the alarm of the menial, " what is? 
 I he matter surely nothing evil has happened to him? * 
 
 " Oh, nothing at all, at all, mistress," responded Judy, 
 striving to speak calmly, that she might not too sud 
 denly shock the trembling parent ; then, unable to 
 control her feelings, she sobbed out, " my poor, dear 
 young master s in prison." 
 
 " In prison !" exclaimed the astonished mother, 
 turning quickly to the weeping girl, and grasping her 
 arm, "Judy," said she, with the earnestness of agonized 
 apprehension, "tell me the whole truth you have seen 
 me bear calamity before what does this mean ?" 
 
 " Ah, madam, jist be quiet," returned the anxious 
 servant ; " it s only one of them drunken hunters what s 
 kilt himself, and the blackguards want to lay it to poor 
 Mr. Charles, because he s a yankee, as they call it, and 
 (hat s jist the whole of it." 
 
 " My boy accused of murder ! my honourable, my 
 pious boy ? Father of mercies !" said the pale and 
 ngitated mother, sinking on her knee?, "if this withered 
 
THE RIFLE, 1G3 
 
 heart is doomed to receive another wound, if my lasf: 
 earthly prop is to be torn from me, oh ! do thou give 
 me strength to bear this greatest of affliction s, and 
 enable me to say, thy will, not mine, be done." She 
 rose with renewed composure, and turning to her maid, 
 ^ get me my hat and shawl, Judy," said she, " I m glad 
 it s no worse : this is but a passing cloud ; for he is 
 innocent, and his innocence will soon be manifest. I 
 feared lest he might be sick, or thrown from his horse ; 
 but the Lord be praised who hath not tried his servant 
 beyond her strength." 
 
 " Such was the language of the exemplary Mrs . 
 Rivington, as she walked out that evening, with the 
 intention of visiting her son in prison. We will not 
 accompany her ; their meeting was such as will be an 
 ticipated from their enlightened and pious characters ;.. 
 and though the good woman was alarmed by the 
 strength of the circumstances adduced against her 
 beloved boy, yet not for a moment was her faith ia 
 the justice of the Almighty so shaken, as to permit a 
 fear that the guiltless would suffer. But leaving; 
 them mutually striving to strengthen and encourage 
 each other, we will ask the reader to accompany us. 
 into the kitchen of Dr. Rivington s house, whither 
 Judy immediately returned on the departure of her 
 mistress. 
 
 " She s a noble-hearted woman, that s what she is, ? 
 said the girl, whose admiration was excited by tho 
 Christian firmness she had seen exhibited ; " she s jist 
 the right sort of mither for sich a swait young gentle 
 man as he is : and you, Jimmy," (turning to Buckhorn,, 
 who sat with a sorrowing countenance in a corner) 
 " ye re a pretty blackguard, ar nt ye, to give informa 
 tion ginst a man what you know niver did harm in 
 his born days. Ah ! git along with ye I m fairly sick 
 of ye." 
 
 " But, Judy, when we found the rifle laying by tho 
 
164 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 dead body," answered the distressed young man, " 1 
 very natur ly said to Carlock, that that was the best 
 1 rail we could have : for I know d old Silversight had 
 been down in the new settlement, and so, says I, the 
 man what got this ere rifle from Drill s, must be the 
 murderer ; but if I d a-know d it was the Doctor took 
 it out, miss fire but I d a-held my peace, if I never 
 could shoot buck agin till I told it. I hardly b lieve 
 lie killed the old fellow, now." 
 
 " Now pon my honour ye re a great fool," respond 
 ed the indignant Judy ; " you hardly b lieve it, do you? 
 1 tell you what, Jimmy Buckhorn, the man as comes 
 a sparking to me, if I set ever so much by him, should 
 t liver get my consent, if he was the means of putting 
 Ihe dear young gentleman into limbo, till he con- 
 I rived ways and means to git him clare agin. You 
 don t b lieve he s guilty ! Arrah now, Jimmy, I ve told 
 you afore I s a sort of liking for you but " I d sooner 
 b lieve you had murdered the poor old vagabond, in 
 r,old blood, than that Mister Charles did it, if he was 
 ever so provoked." 
 
 Buckhorn rose from his seat when the fluent and 
 handsome Irish girl had finished her speech, and 
 taking her hand, " Judy," said he, " my nag is tired 
 down but I ll git Bob Millar s I ll go down and see 
 the Doctor at the jail winder, and find which way he 
 went out to the head waters then I ll follow up his 
 trail from town, and see where he cut off to old 
 Wentworth s, for it s sartin he slept there and it may 
 turn out that the villain s trail and his are two differ 
 ent ones. If so be that s the truth, I ll keep on the 
 scent till I find out who the rail ruff an is and there s 
 no time to be lost, for it may come up to snow, and 
 *hat will fill up the tracks in short order. So, Judy, 
 ive me your hand, and there," continued he, kissing 
 t he blushing girl s lips?, " there, I ll find out who the- 
 
THE RIFLE. 165 
 
 scamp is, or, in case that s unpossible, if Doctor Riv- 
 ington doesn t git clar, it shall be his own fault." 
 
 A heavy fall of snow did unfortunately occur that 
 night, leaving the wide prairies as white and smooth 
 as unwritten paper, and consequently depriving our 
 calumniated hero of the most obvious, and apparently 
 of every mode of substantiating his innocence. His 
 confidence, however, in the Divine protection was un- 
 diminished ; and nightly, from the silence of his cell, 
 went up the inaudible aspirations of a soul that firmly 
 relied on the goodness and justice of its prayer-hear 
 ing Father. Nor did those pious orisons ascend un 
 accompanied through the still vault of night to the 
 Almighty s ear : the aged mother s contrite heart was 
 poured out in an agony of prayers; the parents of his 
 affianced bride knelt often before the throne of Hea 
 ven for the welfare of their slandered boy, as in their 
 affection they called him ; and the blue eyes of Catha 
 rine wept supplications, and her pure and innocent 
 heart, hitherto untouched by sorrow, except on the 
 occasion of her sister s death, now continually sent 
 unworded and unutterable appeals to her Creator, for 
 her lover s life. In the mean while, week after week 
 rolled by, and the day appointed for trial at length 
 arrived. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE little village in which the sessions of the circuit 
 court were held, and which, for the sake of a name, 
 we will call Clairville, contained about fifty or sixty 
 houses, most of them constructed of logs. There was 
 an open space in the midst of it, termed " the public 
 
166 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 square," in which stood a building answering the 
 double purpose of court-house during sessions, and of 
 meeting-house, when an occasional missionary passed 
 through that part of the county. It fronted on the 
 public road. The jail occupied a corner of the same 
 place. It was a small, one-story edifice, about twelve 
 feet square, and, like the court-house, built of large 
 hewn logs, fastened together with iron bolts at the 
 corners. Its single apartment contained but one door 
 and window, both secured by strong bolts and bars. 
 A. large brick-house, the only one in the town, was 
 situated on the rear of the square, and was occupied 
 as a hotel, as the traveller was informed by a huge sign 
 suspended from a post at the road side, where was 
 conspicuously written in great yellow letters, under a 
 burlesque likeness of General Washington, " Enter 
 tainment for man and horse." A little further up the 
 road, or main street as it was called, though there was 
 but one in the village, on the opposite side, was 
 another tavern of more humble appearance than the 
 first. It was around these two places of public enter 
 tainment, that a numerous assemblage of persons col 
 lected on the morning when the important trial \vas to 
 take place, all eagerly conversing on the crime of which 
 the prisoner was supposed to be guilty ; and many of 
 them uttering no very moderate anathemas against the 
 yankees, whom they pretended to consider, en masse, 
 as rogues and cheats, and who, at least, were coming 
 into the country to break up their old manners and 
 customs. The women, who were plentifully sprinkled 
 among them, seemed very willing to join in the general 
 clamour. 
 
 " They re a monstrous fidgety people, say the least 
 of them," observed the large fat wife of a farmer, and 
 her sleepy eyes and unmeaning face assumed some- 
 tiling like angry vivacity as she spoke. " They want 
 : heap of waitin on ; and you don t git no thanks 
 
THE RIFLE. 167 
 
 after all. Now there was old WentWorth he tarried 
 with us, you know, Carlock, on account of his da tar, 
 when he first came out here. Good coffee wasn t 
 good enough for em ; they must have a little tea to 
 be sure. So I sent Johnny down to the Settlement 
 to git some ; and I took a heap of pains to cook the 
 truck and, what do you think ? they wouldn t eat a 
 bit on t after all. I don t much wonder neither ; for 
 twas bitter, nasty trash, as ever I d wish to taste. But 
 it s always the way with em ; they make trouble just 
 for nothing." 
 
 The remarks of the indignant woman were fully 
 concurred in by most of her simple and unsophisti 
 cated hearers ; but there was one among them who was 
 obliged to thrust his tongue into his cheek, and turn 
 aside, to prevent the dame from seeing his laughter. 
 He was the merchant s clerk, and had heard the story 
 before. The fact was, that never having used the ar 
 ticle of tea in her life, the poor woman had caused a 
 pound of it to be purchased, and boiling it all in a 
 large kettle, served it up to her guests as greens for 
 dinner. 
 
 " They tell," said a farmer, who had the reputation 
 of being a wit among his fellows, and whose linsey- 
 woolsey coat contrasted strangely with a printed 
 calico shirt, the collar of which was ostentatiously dis 
 played. " They tell that old S Oversight had a power 
 of money when he was killed. It s kill or cure with 
 these yankee doctors, anyhow ; but that was the 
 queerest pill to give a patient, I ve ever heard of; 
 and he took the trouble off your hands, Carlock, and 
 paid the bill himself out of the dead man s pocket, 
 hey?" 
 
 Such is a specimen of the idle talk with which the 
 crowd amused themselves, until the court, at length, 
 assembled, when, after the usual preliminaries, the im 
 portant trial commenced. The prisoner had been 
 
168 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 supplied by his anxious and affectionate parent with all 
 the little comforts which the narrow apartment ad 
 mitted of, except fire and candles ; they being forbid 
 den on account of the material of which the jail was 
 constructed. But the coldness of the weather had 
 been excessive, during a part of the time that he was 
 the occupant of that dreary abode ; and the bounda 
 ries of his cell not allowing of much exercise, a sick 
 ness fastened upon him, which, though not dangerous 
 in its nature, had rendered him thin and pale. He 
 eame into court, arm in arm with the attorney who 
 was employed to plead his cause ; and slightly bow 
 ing to those whose friendly salute indicated that they 
 believed him innocent, he passed through the crowd, 
 and took a seat beside the lawyers within the bar. 
 From the high and exemplary character which he had 
 sustained invariably, from his first settling in the place, 
 until the present black suspicion rested on him, a de 
 gree of intuitive respect was accorded by all, that 
 must have been highly gratifying to his feelings. A 
 plea of not guilty was entered, and the examination of 
 witnesses commenced. 
 
 George Carlock was the nephew of the deceased. 
 On the night of the sixteenth of December, he was 
 surprised to see the horse of his uncle arrive, with 
 saddle and bridle on, but without a rider. He thought 
 that the deceased had stopped for a while, perhaps, at 
 Buckhorn s, who lived a mile or so further down the 
 timber ; but, as the night passed away without his re 
 turning home, he started early in the morning with the 
 intention of trailing the horse. He called for Buck* 
 liorn, and they got upon the trail, and followed it till 
 they found the dead body. Two young men that 
 had joined them at Buckhorn s returned with the body, 
 they continuing on the trail. It led them to Mr. Went- 
 ~worth s. They inquired if any person had been there, 
 that crossed over from the other side of the stream. 
 
THE RIELE. 169 
 
 They were answered that Dr. Rivington had crossed 
 the stream, and remained the night with them. That 
 Mr. Rumley, the deputy-sheriff, had also remained the 
 aight, but that he had come from further up on the same 
 side. They followed on the trail, and found that there 
 was a track from further up, most likely Mr. Rumley s. 
 They continued on the track till they arrived in town. 
 Being informed, by Mr. Drill, the gunsmith, that Doctor 
 Rivington had taken Buckhorn s rifle with him, they im 
 mediately procured a warrant for his apprehension. 
 They found him employed in counting the identical 
 money which had been taken from the unfortunate Sil- 
 versight. 
 
 James Buckhorn s testimony was in full corrobora- 
 tion of the preceding. He mentioned, in addition, that 
 he examined the lock and barrel of his rifle, on finding 
 it lying near the murdered man, and discovered that it 
 had certainly been discharged, but a short time before. 
 
 The gunsmith deposed to his having given the rifle to 
 the prisoner, on his offering to carry it out to Buckhorn, 
 and that it had been discharged since. 
 
 " Mr. Drill," said Lawyer Blandley, who was counsel 
 for our hero, " you mention having given the gun to Dr. 
 Rivington ; did you also give liim a bullet that would fit 
 the bore?" 
 
 I did not." 
 
 " Did he exhibit any anxiety to obtain the weapon ?" 
 again asked the lawyer. 
 
 " By no means," replied the gunsmith; " I considered 
 at the time that the Doctor s offer was one of mere kind 
 ness ; and he had previously mentioned he was going 
 out that way to visit his patients. 
 
 " The bore of this rifle, Mr. Drill, continued the sa 
 gacious lawyer, " is very small. I presume that you 
 are familiar with the size and qualities of all that are 
 owned on the road out to Mr. Buckhorn s. Is there 
 P 
 
170 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 any house at which Dr. Rivington could have stopped, 
 and procured a ball of sufficient smallness ?" 
 
 " John Guntry s rifle," answered Mr. Drill, " carries 
 eighty-seven or eight to the pound, and one of his bullets 
 with a thick patch, would suit Buckhorn s pretty well. 
 That is the only one any where near the size." 
 
 The attorney for the people here asked the witness 
 another question. 
 
 " For what purpose, sir, did the prisoner go into your 
 shop, on the morning of the sixteenth of December V 
 
 " I was employed in repairing a pair of pocket pis 
 tols for him, and fitting a bullet mould to them. He 
 came in, I believe, to inquire if they were finished." 
 
 " Please to note that answer, gentlemen of the jury, * 
 said the prosecuting attorney. " Mr. Drill, you may 
 stand aside." 
 
 Samuel Cochrane was next called. He was one ot 
 the young men who had returned with the body of 
 Silversmith. On his way back, and about two hundred 
 yards from the place where the murder had been com 
 mitted, he found a copper powder-flask, (which was 
 shown to him, and he identified it,) the letters C. R.M. D. 
 being cut upon one of its sides, apparently with a knife. 
 There was but one more witness on the part of the 
 people, Mr. Lawton, the magistrate before whom the 
 unfortunate prisoner had been examined. He testified 
 as to the facts which were deposed before him, together 
 with the acknowledgment of Dr. Rivington that he had 
 been in company with Mr. Silversight, &c. But we 
 may pass over these circumstances, as the reader is al 
 ready acquainted with them. 
 
 The prisoner was now put on his defence ; and all 
 that talent and ingenuity could devise, was done by his 
 skilful counsel. The witnesses were cross-examined, 
 andrecross-examined; but their answers were uniformly 
 the same. A large number of respectable persons came 
 forward to testify to the excellence of our hero s 
 
THE RIFLE. 171 
 
 general character, but their evidence was rendered un 
 necessary by the attorney for the people admitting in 
 unequivocal terms, that previous to this horrid occur 
 rence, it had been exemplary in a high degree. At 
 length, wearied by his exertions, and distressed at their 
 result, Mr. Blandley discontinued his examination ; he 
 had one more weapon to try in behalf of his client - 
 the powerful one of eloquence ; and it was used by a 
 master of the art, but, alas ! was used in vain, 
 dwelt much on the fact that his unfortunate client 
 wished his route to be trailed from the village, and 
 Buckhorn had started for the purpose, when the di* 
 trous snow-storm occurred, and took away the only 
 hope he had of proving his innocence. He cited many 
 cases to the jury in which circumstances, even stronger 
 than these, had been falsified, when their victim, mur 
 dered by their laws, was slumbering in his grave. He 
 appealed to them as parents, to know if they would 
 believe, that a son, who had been so filial, whose cha 
 racter had previously been without stain or blemish, 
 could suddenly turn aside from the path of rectitude 
 and honour, to commit such an atrocious crime ? But it 
 would be useless to recapitulate the arguments that were 
 made use of on this interesting occasion they were 
 ineffectual. 
 
 The attorney for the prosecution summed up veiy 
 briefly. He assured the jury that the evidence was 
 so clear in its nature, so concatenated, so incontro 
 vertible, as to amount to moral certainty. Near the 
 body of the murdered man, a powder-flask, such as the 
 eastern people principally use, had been found, with 
 the initials of the prisoner s name and medical degree 
 engraved upon it C. R. M. D. Charles Rivington, 
 Doctor of Medicine. The trail is pursued, and it leads 
 them to the house of Mr. Wentworth, where the pri 
 soner arrived on the evening of the bloody deed, and 
 remained all night. They continue on the trail, till at 
 fast they find him, with greedy eyes, bending over the 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 plunder that he had torn from his gray-haired victim . 
 " Such," concluded he, " is a rapid outline of the facts ; 
 and deeply as I deplore the wretched young man s 
 guilt, yet, believing him guilty, it is my sacred duty to 
 display his enormity but further than the imperious 
 call of justice requires, I will not I cannot go." 
 
 The charge of the judge, who was evidently very 
 much affected, occupied but a few minutes ; and the 
 jury retired to make up their verdict. I have already 
 told the reader that the prisoner wos pale, in conse 
 quence of sickness, produced by his exposed situation 
 in prison; but the appalling events of the trial had caused 
 no alteration in his appearance. He sat fii m and col 
 lected ; and there was a melancholy sweetness in the 
 expression of his countenance, which told that all was 
 calm within. Indeed, the awful coincidence of the 
 C"cumstances had been made fu)l\ known to him, 
 before he came into court ; he was convinced unless 
 the interposing arm of heaven should prevent the blow, 
 that deaih and ignominy must fail upon him, and, alter 
 a severe internal conflict, he had become enabled to 
 say, " Thy will be done." 
 
 His mother, fey the assistance of that never-failing 
 comforter in sorrow, religion, had hitherto supported, 
 with something like resignation to the divine will, this 
 greatest earthly calamity. In compliance with the 
 earnest request of her son, who wrs fearful that the 
 feelings of nature might heron -e too strong for control, 
 and who wished to behave with manliness and equani 
 mity through the tryirg period , she refrained from going 
 to court, on the doy that was to decide, in a great mea 
 sure her mortal destiny. 
 
 Seated in the little parlour of their dwelling, together 
 with the weeping Catharine, the strength of whose love 
 had drawn her to the spot, and awaiting with intense 
 anxiety the issue of the laggard hour, was the mother 
 of Charles Rivington, at the time to which I have 
 
THE RIFLE, 173 
 
 brought my narrative. She started at each noise that 
 reached her ear, and every breeze that shook the case 
 ment seemed laden with the awful sentence of the 
 Jaw against her son. And yet that noble woman, 
 though torn by the deep and awful solicitude which 
 only a mother s heart can know, strove to speak words 
 of comfort to the lovely being beside her, whose affec 
 tionate bosom seemed bursting with affliction. 
 
 " Weep not so bitterly," she said, " Catharine, my 
 dear child ; alas ! I soon may have no other child than 
 you. But no: the Searcher of hearts knows that 
 Charles is guiltless, and will yet put forth his arm to 
 save. What sound was that ! I am wrong to distrust 
 his goodness : yet this is a heavy, heavy hour. I have 
 knelt, Catharine, at the bedside of three lovely chil 
 dren, three little human blossoms, that death untimely 
 cropped, and was enabled to bow with resignation to the 
 inscrutable decree. But this, oh rny Father," groaned 
 the tortured parent, " suffer this bitterest cup to pass 
 from me. Catharine, dry your tears: He whose power 
 ful hand led forth unharmed from the fiery furnace the 
 three that would not renounce his name, will yet deliver 
 my boy from the toils that are around him." 
 
 At this moment, Judy was seen from the window, 
 running rapidly towards the house, and directly after, 
 pale and breathless, entered the apartment. 
 
 " Judy !" faintly cried the agonized parent, trembling 
 in every nerve, but unable to utter more. 
 
 "Ah, madam," responded the servant, "I know 
 what you d be asking me- tak comfort, it s no de 
 cided yit ; the juries has jist gone up stairs, to talk it 
 over among themselves ; and bless their swait souls, 
 they cried a most as fast as I did mysel , when Mr. 
 Blandly spoke to "em. Ah, he s a nice gentleman, and 
 he knows exactly what kind o body mister Charles is. 
 He described him jist for all the world as I would, only 
 f couldn t use sich ilegant words." 
 P 2 
 
174 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " The jury wept there is hope, then, Judy ? in 
 quired the parent, in a faltering voice. 
 
 "Wept, did they? yes, and the judge, and Mr. 
 Wentworth could scarce give his evidence for crying 
 and they all cried, except Mr. Charles himself. He 
 looked pale and sorrowful, but there was no blubber 
 ing about him. I niver see d him look so ilegant afore. 
 But I jist rin here to till ye how things was going on : 
 I ll go back, and find what them juries says. I hope 
 they may niver be able to open their ugly mouths, till 
 it s jist to spake the word innocent. " 
 
 " Stop, Judy," said Mrs. Rivington, feeling unable 
 to endure the horrors of another period of suspense, 
 " I will go with you : I trust that heaven will give me 
 strength to bear the issue, even should it be the worst 
 that can befall." 
 
 " Ye had bitter not, my dear mistress," replied the 
 devoted servant ; " for there are hard-hearted people 
 about the place, that b lieve he s guilty, becase he s a 
 yankee oddsrot their saucy tongues and they mout 
 jeer at ye, becase ye re his mother." 
 
 " They cannot at any rate, I will go forth," said 
 the afflicted woman, " he s my own, true, pious, noble- 
 hearted boy ; and his mother will be by to whisper 
 consolation in his ear, though every other tongue were 
 loud in mockery and revilings." 
 
 " And I will go with you, mother," said Catharine, 
 rising from her chair, and drying her tears, " I know he 
 is innocent and should the worst come, it is better to 
 hear it at once, than linger here in such protracted 
 anguish." 
 
 The assembled crowd was still anxiously awaiting 
 the return of the verdict, when the mother of Charles 
 Rivington, leaning on the arm of Catharine Went 
 worth, entered the court-house of Clairville. A pas 
 sage was instantly opened for them, with that intuitive 
 respect which almost all men are ready to yield to 
 
THE RIFLE. 175 
 
 misfortune, even when accompanied by guilt. They 
 had not been long seated, in the part of the room 
 where they could be most screened from observation, 
 when the jury returned, and handing a sealed verdict 
 to the clerk, resumed their places. The clerk arose, 
 and read in a faltering voice, "we find the prisoner, 
 Charles Rivington, guilty." The words had scarcely 
 left his lips, when a piercing shriek rang through the 
 apartment, and Catharine Wentworth fell lifeless to 
 the floor. Not so with that Christian mother with 
 unwonted strength she darted through the assem 
 bly, until she reached her child ; " My boy !" she 
 cried, " my boy ! be of good cheer. Your heavenly 
 Father knows your inmost soul, and sees that yon 
 are guiltless. We shall lie down together for think 
 not I can survive you we shall lie down together to 
 awake with the Lord my boy my boy ! little did )" 
 think to see this bitter day !" exhausted nature could 
 endure no more, and the mother fainted in the arms of 
 her child. 
 
 I shall not attempt to describe the situation of 
 my unhappy hero, for words are inadequate to the 
 task. The insensible forms of his mother and beloved 
 Catharine were conveyed from the scene ; and when 
 some degree of silence was restored among the sym 
 pathizing multitude, the judge proceeded to pronounce 
 sentence upon him. He had nothing to say to avert 
 it, except a reiterated declaration of his innocence ; 
 and he besought the court, that the time previous to 
 his execution might be made as brief as possible, in 
 mercy to his bereaved parent, who would be but 
 dying a continual death, while he survived. It was 
 accordingly fixed to take place on that day three 
 week?. 
 
I7G TALES ASD SKETCHED. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT was near midnight of that important day the 
 busy throng which the trial had collected together 
 were dispersed, and the moon, high in heaven, was 
 wading on her silent course, through the clouds of a 
 wintry sky, when Charles Rivington, startled from un 
 quiet slumber, by a fancied noise at the door of his 
 prison, and sitting up in bed that he might more intently 
 listen, heard his own name whispered from the outer 
 side. 
 
 " Will you wake, Mr. Charles !" was softly uttered 
 in the sweet accents of our little Irish acquaintance, 
 Judy. "Was there iver the like !" continued she, "and 
 he a sleeping at that rate, when his friends are opening 
 the door for him." 
 
 " Be quiet, Judy," responded a masculine voice, but 
 modulated to its softest tone, " and stand more in the 
 shadow. The Doctor 11 wake fast enough, as soon as 
 I git this bolt sawed out ; but if ye git that tavern- 
 keeper s dog a-barking, there s no telling but it may 
 w r ake the jailer, instead of the Doctor." 
 
 " And you re right, Jimmy dear," responded Judy ; 
 " there now, leave go with your fingers, man ; you 
 can t pull it off that ere way. Here, tak this bit of a 
 stake for a pry and now, that s your sort," continued 
 she, adding her strength to his, and a large end of the 
 log to wl .eh the fastenings of the door were appended, 
 fell to the ground. " ftow, one more pull, Jimmy, and 
 the day s our own." 
 
 They accordingly made another exertion of united 
 strength, when the prison door flying open, Buckhorn 
 and Judy stood before our prisoner. 
 
THE RIFLE. 177 
 
 " There, Mister Charles, say nothing at all, at all 
 about it, but jist take Jimmy s nag, that s down in the 
 hollow, and git clare as well as ye can. There s a 
 steamboat, Jimmy says, at St. Louis, going right down 
 the river, and here s all the money that we could git, 
 but it s enough to pay your passage, any how," said 
 the affectionate girl, tears standing in her eyes, as she 
 reached to her respected, and, as she firmly believed, 
 guiltless master, all her own hoardings, together with 
 the sum which Buckhorn had been accumulating, ever 
 since he became a suitor for her hand. 
 
 "You are a kind and excellent girl," ans\vered 
 Rivington, sensibly affected by the heroism and attach 
 ment of his domestic, " and you are a noble fellow. 
 Buckhorn ; but you forget that by flying J should only 
 confirm those in the beliei of my guilt, who are 
 wavering now; besides, I could hardly expect to es 
 cape ; for my life being forfeit to the laws, a procla 
 mation would be immediately issued, and apprehension 
 and death, then as now, would be my doom. No, no, 
 my good friends ; you mean me well, but I cannot 
 consent to live, unless I can live with an unsullied 
 name." 
 
 " Ah, dear doctor," sobbed out poor Judy, whose 
 heart seemed almost breaking, " what s the use of spak- 
 ing about it ? If you stay, you ve but a few days to 
 live, and if you tak your chance now, who knows but 
 the rail murderer may be found out, and then you might 
 come back, Mister Charles, and all would go well again." 
 
 " That is a powerful argument, Judy ; but my trust 
 is in Him who beholds all our actions," returned our 
 hero, " and I must confess that I cannot divest myself 
 of the hope, that the truth will yet be brought to light, 
 before I die the death of a felon." 
 
 " Doctor Rivington," said Buckhorn, going up to 
 him and taking him warmly by the hand, " I ve been 
 wavering all along about you ; but I m sartain now. 
 
178 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The man that murdered Silvers-ght in cold blood, 
 wouldn t be a-going to stand shilly-shally, and the jail 
 door wide open. I always was dub ous about it. 
 though the proof seemed so sure. My nag is down 
 in the hollow, with saddle-bags on him, and Judy filled 
 em full of your clothes : you may take him, Doctor, 
 if ye will ; you may take the moiey in welcome but 
 I, thai come here to set you cl ar, advise you to stay : 
 and if I dont fii> 1 out somethin to turn the tables be 
 fore hanging day, it sha nt be because I don t try. 
 
 Our he exchanged with the honest hunter one of 
 those warm pressures of the hand, which may be 
 termed the language of the soul, and conveyed to 
 him, by the eloquent action, more than he could readily 
 have found words to express. Thy were now alarmed 
 by the report of two rifles near them, fired in quick 
 succession, and two person? issuing from the shadow 
 of a neighbouring horse-shed at the same moment, 
 made directly towards the door of the jail, crying out 
 in a loud voice, " the prisoner has broke out ! the pri 
 soner has broke cut !" Our friends. Judy and Buck- 
 horn, were enabled to make good their refrest, as the 
 object of alarm seemed more to secure the prisoner, 
 than the arrest of his intended deliverers. It was not 
 many minutes before a considerable number of the 
 idle and th ^ curious were collected by this clamour 
 around the insufficient place of confinement, and ef 
 fectual means were devised to prevent any danger of 
 a further attempt at rescue. 
 
 The glimmer of hope whirb lad been lighted up in 
 our hero s heart by the lost words of Buckhorn, and 
 the confident manner in which they were uttered, 
 gradually declined, as day after dcy rolled by, and no 
 trace could be discovered of the real perpetrator of 
 the crime. To add to the anguis i of his situation, he 
 learned that his beloved Cathariru was confined, by a 
 wasting fever, to her bed ; and that his mother, though 
 
THE RIFLE. 17,9 
 
 ahe still bore up, and uttered not a murmur against 
 the Almighty s will, was fast sinking of a broken heart 
 into the grave. The evening previous to the fatal day 
 which was to terminate his earthly career, at length 
 arrived, but brought no cheering promise with it ; and 
 the unhappy young man, therefore, humbling himself 
 before the throne of heaven, and beseeching that mercy 
 there, which he could no longer hope for on earth., 
 devoted a greater part of the night to prayer. 
 
 It was on the same evening, in a little mean-looking 
 cabin, called " Brown s tavern," in the place which we 
 have before had occasion to speak of as the New Set 
 tlement, that two persons were sitting at a table, with 
 a bottle of whiskey between them, conversing on the 
 general topic, the execution that was to take place on 
 the morrow, when a third one entered, and calling for 
 a dram, took a seat at some distance from them. He 
 was a tall, dark man, dressed in a hunting frock, and 
 buckskin leggings ; and held in his hand one of those 
 mongrel weapons, which, partaking of the character 
 both of rifle and musket, are called smooth-bores by 
 the hunters of our western frontier, who, gene rally speak 
 ing, hold them in great contempt. The apartment of the 
 little grocery, or tavern, where these three persons 
 were assembled, was lighted, in addition to the blaze 
 of a large wood fire, by a single long-dipped tallow can 
 dle, held in an iron candlestick ; and its only furniture 
 consisted of the aforementioned table, with the rude 
 benches on which the guests were seated. The con 
 versation had been interrupted by the entry of the 
 third person, but was now resumed. 
 
 " For my part, as I was saying," observed one of the 
 persons, in continuation of some remark he had pre 
 viously made, " I think the thing s been too hasty. 
 The doctor s character, which every body respected, 
 should have made em more cautious how they acted ; 
 specially as he wanted em to go right out on his trail. 
 
180 TALES ANJ> SKETCHES. 
 
 and said they d find he had kept straight on to Mr; 
 Wentworth s. Now he wouldn t a-told em that, 
 if it wasn t so ; and I m half a mind to b lieve that he s 
 not guilty, after all that s been proved agin him. 
 
 " That s damned unlikely," said the stranger, in a 
 gruff voice. 
 
 " Why bless me, Mr. Rumley," continued the first 
 speaker, " I didn t know it was you, you sat so in the 
 dark. How have you been this long time ? Let me 
 see why yes, bless me, so it was it was you and me 
 that was talking with poor old Silversight, the day he 
 started from here with the money. I havn t seen you 
 since. Why, a n t you a-going to be over in Clairsville. 
 to see the doctor hung, to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I don t know whether I shall go or not," replied 
 Rumley. 
 
 " Well, I ve a great notion to ride over there, though 
 I m monstrous sorry for the poor man." 
 
 " Sorry, the devil ! hang all the cursed Yankees, I 
 say !" responded the amiable deputy sheriff. 
 
 " Come, that s too bad though I like to see you 
 angry on account of the old man s murder, becase ye 
 wasn t very good friends with him when he was alive 
 but bless me, Mr. Rumley, that powder horn look? 
 mighty like old Silversight s," taking hold of it to exa 
 mine it, as he said so. 
 
 " Stand off*!" cried Rumley; "what do you s posc 
 I d be doing with the old scoundrel s powder horn ? 
 It s not his it never was his he never seen it." 
 
 " It s a lie !" cried a person who had glided in during 
 the foregoing conversation, and had obtained a view of 
 the horn in question, as the deputy-sheriff jerked it 
 away from the sight of the other : " it s a lie ! I know 
 it well I ve hunted with the old man often, and I 
 know it as well as I do my own. Bill Brown, and 
 you, John Gillam," addressing himself to the one who 
 first recognised the powder horn, " I accuse Cale Rum- 
 
THE RIFLE. 181 
 
 ley of old Silversight s murder help me to secure 
 him !" 
 
 The deputy-sheriff stood motionless for a moment, 
 and turned as pale as death, (from surprise, perhaps) 
 then, suddenly recovering his powers, he darted across 
 the room, and seizing his gun, before any one was 
 aware of his intention, levelled and fired at his accu 
 ser. The apartment became instantly filled with 
 smoke, which, as it slowly rolled away, discovered to 
 the astonished beholders, the stiff and bleeding form 
 of Caleb Rumley, stretched at full length upon the 
 floor. As soon as he discharged the piece, the infu 
 riated man had sprung towards the door, designing to 
 make an immediate escape ; but the motion was anti 
 cipated by our friend, Jimmy Buckhorn, (for it was he 
 who charged his fallen antagonist with murder, and 
 who luckily was not touched by the ball that was 
 meant to destroy him) and with one blow of his 
 powerful arm, he felled the scoundrel to the earth. 
 lie now rapidly explained to the wondering trio, the 
 nature of the proof he had obtained of Rumley s guilt ; 
 and succeeded in satisfying them that he ought to be 
 made prisoner, and immediately conveyed to Edgar- 
 ton. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE morning which our hero believed was to be 
 die last of his earthly existence, arose with unwonted 
 brightness ; and throngs of males and females came 
 pouring into the little village, impelled by the myste 
 rious principle of our natures which incites us to look 
 on that which we nevertheless must shudder to behold. 
 
 Q 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 But no sounds of obstreperous merriment, no untimely 
 jokes, were uttered, as they passed along the road, to 
 grate upon the ears of the unfortunate Charles, and 
 break him off from his communion with heaven : on 
 the contrary, many a tear was shed that morning, by 
 the bright eyes of rustic maidens, who were " all unused 
 to the melting mood;" and many a manly breast 
 heaved a sigh of sympathy for the culprit, who was 
 that day to make expiation to the offended laws. In 
 deed, since the sentence of the court was passed, a 
 wonderful change had been wrought among the ever 
 changing multitude, by various rumours that were whis 
 pered from one part of the wide prairies to another, 
 and spread with almost incredible velocity. A thou 
 sand acts of unasked-for benevolence were now re 
 membered, in favour of him who was so soon to suffer. 
 Here was an aged and afflicted woman whom he had 
 not only visited without hope of reward, but upon 
 vvhom he had conferred pecuniary, as well as medi 
 cinal comforts. There was an industrious cripple, 
 who had received a receipt in full from the young 
 physician, when creditors to a less amount were levy 
 ing on his farm. And many similar acts of bounty 
 were proclaimed abroad, by the grateful hearts on 
 which they had been conferred, all helping to produce 
 the change of sentiment which was manifestly wrought. 
 Still the general impression seemed to be "unshaken, 
 (so strong had been the proofs) that, in an evil hour, 
 he had yielded to temptation, and imbrued his hands 
 in a fellow-creature s blood. 
 
 The hour at last arrived when Charles Rivington 
 was to suffer the sentence of the law. A rude gallows 
 was erected at about a quarter of a mile from the 
 public square, and thither the sad procession moved. 
 He was decently dressed in a black suit, and walked 
 to the fata] place with a firm step. He was very pale : 
 but from no other outward sign might the spectators 
 
THE RIFLE. 
 
 183 
 
 guess that he shrunk from the horrors of such a death 
 for his eye had a calm expression, and the muscles 
 of his face were as motionless as an infant s in slumber. 
 They reached the spot. A prayer, a solemn prayer 
 was offered up to heaven for the murderer s soul, in 
 which every hearer joined, with unaccustomed fervour. 
 The sheriff s attendant stood in waiting with the fatal 
 cord, while the agonized mother, vainly endeavouring 
 to emulate the firmness of her heroic boy, approached, 
 with trembling steps, to bid a last farewell when 
 hark ! a shout was heard all eyes were turned to catch 
 its meaning another shout, and the words " stop ! stop 
 the execution !" were distinctly audible. In less 
 than an instant after, the death-pale form of Jimmy 
 Buckhorn tumbled from his horse, with just sufficient 
 strength remaining to reach towards the sheriff an 
 order from the judge to stay the execution. 
 
 Reader, our tale isjiearly at an end. Jimmy Buck- 
 horn had been faithful to his word. He had sought 
 for some clue to the real murderer, with an earnest 
 ness which nothing but a firm conviction of our hero s 
 innocence, superadded to his love for Judy, could pos 
 sibly have enkindled. For some time he was unsuc 
 cessful. At length the thought struck him, that the 
 track on the side of the stream where Mr. Wentworth 
 resided, might have been caused by a traveller passing 
 along, on the morning after the fatal deed, and the 
 deputy-sheriff, in that case, might be the real culprit, 
 He immediately set out to visit every cabin above Mr. 
 Wentworth s, to see if his story, that he had been fur 
 ther up the stream, was correct. This took consider 
 able time ; but the result satisfied him that the tale 
 was false. He then procured the assistance of a 
 surgeon, imposing upon him secrecy, until the proper 
 time for disclosure, and proceeded to disinter the body 
 of Silversight. This was more successful than he had 
 dared to hope ; the ball had lodged in a cavity of 
 
184 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the head, and being produced, Buckhorn pronounced 
 at once, from its great size, that it could have been 
 discharged only from Rumley s smooth-bore. He set 
 out directly for Edgarton, choosing to go by the way 
 of the New Settlement, for a two-fold reason. He 
 had heard that Rumley was in that neighbourhood, and 
 to get possession of him, or of his gun at any rate, he 
 deemed very essential. Besides, that route would 
 take him by the house of the judge, and from him it 
 would be necessary to procure an order to delay the 
 proceedings. We have seen the result. But the chain 
 of evidence was not yet complete. 
 
 A wild and dissipated young man, by the name of 
 Michael Davis, who had just returned up the river from 
 New-Orleans, entered the office of the clerk of the 
 county, on his way back to the tavern, from the place 
 where the execution was to have taken place, in order 
 to while away an hour until the time for dinner should 
 arrive. The powder-flask, which had been brought in 
 evidence against our hero, was lying on the table, the 
 graven side downward. There is a restless kind oi 
 persons in the world, who can never be easy, let them 
 be sitting w r here they will, without fingering and ex 
 amining whatever is within their reach and such a 
 one was Michael Davis : he accordingly took up the 
 flask in a careless manner, and turning it over in his 
 hand, his eye fell upon the letters. 
 
 " Why, halloo, what the devil are you doing with my 
 powder-flask ?" asked he. 
 
 " I wish the unlucky article had been yours, or any 
 body s, except the unfortunate Dr. Rivington s," re 
 turned the clerk, who was a friend of our hero, and 
 deeply deplored the circumstances that had lately 
 transpired. 
 
 "Unfortunate devils!" reiterated Michael; "I tell 
 you it s my flask, or article, as you prefer calling it ; or 
 Vnther it was mine and Cale Rumley s together. We 
 
THE RIFLE. 185 
 
 bought it when him and me went down to Orleans 
 let s see, that s three years, come Spring. I ought to 
 know the cursed thing, for I broke a bran new knife in 
 scratching them letters on it." 
 
 The clerk started from his seat he snatched the 
 flask out of the hands of Davis he gazed at it a mo 
 ment intently then, the truth suddenly flashing across 
 his rnind, he rushed out into the road, forgetting his 
 hat, forgetting every thing but the letters on the flask. 
 The magistrate, who grieved as much as any one, at 
 the supposed dereliction of their young friend, the 
 physician, was amazed to see the clerk enter his apart 
 ment in such a plight. 
 
 " There !" cried he, as he threw down the flask on the 
 table, " C. R. M. D spell something beside Rivington. 
 Send your servant out of the room." As soon as he 
 was gone, and the door carefully closed, the clerk con 
 tinued in a low confidential tone, "that flask is Caleb 
 Rumley s, and Caleb Rumley is the murderer, (no 
 wonder he has kept himself away all this while !) It 
 belonged to him and that imp of Satan, Mich Davis 
 together ; and Mich Davis told me so, with his own 
 mouth, not three minutes ago and Charles Riving- 
 ton s an honest man huzza! huzza! huzza!" conclud 
 ed he as he danced and skipped about the apartment, 
 with the delirious joy true friendship inspired. The 
 magistrate was a man of middle age, and very large and 
 corpulent ; but a mountain of flesh could not have kept 
 him down, when such thrilling news tingled in his 
 oars, and he too began to dance a jig, that shook the 
 tenement to its foundation. 
 
 It became the duty of the worthy magistrate to com 
 mit, in the course of that very day, our respected friend 
 
 Caleb Ruinley, Esq. deputy-sheriff of the county of 
 
 to the same capacious tenement which Doctor Riv 
 ington had lately inhabited ; he, with the consent of" 
 the judge, being more safely disposed of in the prisoa 
 
186 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 of his own house. A bill was immediately found b) 
 the grand jury, and the trial of the real murderer came 
 on shortly after. For a long time he obstinately de 
 nied any knowledge of the death of Silversight ; but as 
 proofs after proofs were disclosed against him, he 
 first became doggedly silent, then greatly intimidated, 
 and at last made a full disclosure of his crime. He 
 was found guilty, and executed on the same gallows 
 that had been erected for our calumniated hero. 
 
 The sickness of Catharine Wentworth was long 
 and severe ; but our friend Charles was her physician, 
 and the reader will not wonder that it yielded at last 
 to his skill. The Christian parent of our hero had been 
 condemned, at different periods of her life, to drink 
 deeply of the cup of affliction, and she had bowed with 
 a noble humility to the decree of heaven ; it was thence 
 she now derived support in this more trying hour of 
 joy. Spring had gone forth, warbling with her thou 
 sand voices of delight over those wide-extended prairies, 
 and the flowers had sprung into a beautiful existence at 
 her call, when the hand of the blushing Catharine, her 
 self a lovelier flower, was bestowed in marriage on the 
 transported Charles Rivington. Never did there stand 
 before the holy man a happier, a more affectionate 
 pair. Their hearts had been tried severely tried ; 
 they had been weighed in the balance, and not found 
 wanting. The house of Mr. Wentworth was the scene 
 of their union ; and on the same evening, and by the 
 same hand that bound her * dear Mister Charles to his 
 blooming bride, our little Irish friend Judy was united 
 to the worthy Buckhorn, who had been prevailed upon 
 reluctantly to lay aside his hunting shirt and leather 
 leggings on the joyful occasion. The evening glided 
 rapidly away, urged along by tales of mirth, and song, 
 and jest ; and it was observed that though Charles and 
 Catharine took but little share in the rattling conver 
 sation of the hour, they appeared to enjoy the scene 
 with happiness that admitted of no increase. Indeed. 
 
THE RIFLE. 1ST 
 
 often did the tender blue eyes of the beautiful bride be 
 come suffused with crystal drops of joy, as she raised 
 them up in thankfulness to her heavenly Father, who had 
 conducted them safely through all the perils of the past, 
 and at last brought them together under the shelter of 
 his love. 
 
 " The whole trouble came out of your being so kind, 
 Doctor Rivington," said the manly, though, in his new 
 suit, rather awkward looking Buckhorn. " It was all 
 of your kindness in offering to bring out my plaguy 
 rifle. If it hadn t been for that, suspicion wouldn t 
 alighted on you at all." 
 
 " Now hould your tongue, Jimmy, dear," answered 
 his loquacious little wife ; " I thought so mysell, till 
 Mister Charles explained it to me, and then I found 
 out how twas the wisdom of the Almighty put it into 
 his head to carry your gun ; for how would you iver 
 got on the true scent, if the big bullet hadn t a tould ye 
 ibr sartain that it was niver the small-bored rifle what 
 kilt him. No, blessed be His name, that made then, as 
 he always will, goodness its own reward, and put it in 
 the heart of my dear, kind master, to carry out a great 
 clumsy gun to an old ranger like you, Buckhorn. And 
 under heaven, the cause of all our present happiness, 
 tak my word for it, is THE RIFLE." 
 
188 
 
 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 JVJEAR-SIGHTJED. 
 
 " Sincerity I 
 
 1 hou first of virtues, let no mortal leave 
 Thy onward path, (although the earth should 
 And from the gulf of hell destruction cry) 
 To take dissimulation s winding way !" 
 
 HOME. 
 
 FANNY DAYTON was a beautiful girl. The eye of 
 a sculptor could scarcely have detected a fault in her 
 symmetrical form ; and her face was one of such love 
 liness as out-paragons description. Beside the ruby of 
 her lips the damask rose looked pale. Her teeth were 
 as polished as ivory, and white as snow ; and one would 
 search in vain to find a similitude for the glossy smooth 
 ness of her hair. Her eyes, too her dark melting- 
 eyes, the beautiful rotundity of which seemed always 
 lighted with the sunshine of the heart, to what shall 
 they be compared, blending as they did the spirit of the 
 eagle s with the softness of the gazelle s ? Yet it was 
 in those eloquent orbs, which, with their changeful and 
 soul-beaming expression, almost made any language but 
 their own unnecessary, that her greatest defect consist 
 ed. Fanny was near-sighted. This accident of na 
 ture, however, did not diminish, but rather enhanced her 
 personal loveliness, giving a fuller and more tender 
 expression to her glance. But it is useless to dwell 
 upon her charms ; for it is not in our power to do them 
 justice. Let a poet convey to a blind man a correct 
 impression of the hues of the rainbow, or to one born 
 deaf describe the living harmony of nature, when 
 awakened by the voice of spring from its long wintry 
 sleep, and we will then, with the feeble colouring of 
 words, give a portrait of Fanny Dayton, Could 
 
NEAR-SIGHTED. 189 
 
 life animate the bending statue that enchants the 
 world,* and the quickened marble walk abroad and 
 mingle with humanity, scarce warmeradmiration would 
 be excited by the faultless grace and harmony of its 
 form and features, than the appearance of Fanny never 
 failed to inspire. Had the dispositions of her heart 
 been in entire accordance with her outward perfection, 
 happy indeed would have been the man who suc 
 ceeded in stamping his image there, and should mingle 
 his vows with hers before the altar. But such was not 
 the case. There were many little faults in her nature, 
 which unlucky circumstances had concurred to cherish ; 
 and one of these a proneness to be insincere, for the 
 sake of being agreeable gave rise to the incidents of 
 the following story. 
 
 At a very early period in life, Fanny was doomed to 
 lose for ever the maternal care of that parent, to whose 
 province it peculiarly belongs to form the infant mind ; 
 to strengthen it with monitions of prudence, and guide 
 it in the path of virtue. A father s love, be it ever so 
 warm, cannot supply the place of a mother s. The 
 business, the bustle of life, occupies his thoughts and 
 distracts his attention. His mind cannot repose itself 
 upon his offspring in their innocent and interesting 
 childhood, for it is engaged in earnest speculations for 
 their future welfare and advancement ; his hasty kiss 
 is made brief by solicitude ; and his few and short in 
 tervals of relaxation from activity, are spent in devising 
 new plans of action. Different cares and different 
 pursuits claim a part of his attention ; 
 
 " Man s love is of man s life a thing apart, 
 Tis woman s whole existence ; man may range * 
 She court, camp, church, the vessel and the mart, 
 Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange 
 Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, 
 Andf\v there are whom these cannot estrange." 
 
 * Venus de Medicis, 
 
190 
 
 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The mother, on the contrary, has no being, but in her 
 husband s happiness, and children s welfare ; her exist 
 ence passes quietly away in the little world of home, 
 and is only diversified by the alternation of successive 
 duties. Hours of anxious watching are overpaid by 
 a smile ; and she heeds not that her own cheeks is 
 wan, while the bloom of health and hilarity mantles on 
 the faces of her offspring. 
 
 To Fanny the loss of this parent was indeed a heavy 
 calamity ; for fitted, in an unusual degree, by nature 
 and education, by the sensibility of her heart, and the 
 soundness of her judgment, for the delicate and com 
 plicated task of parental tuition, her guardian hand 
 would have been quick to eradicate, on their first ap 
 pearance, those seeds of error, which were suffered to 
 grow up, and in time produced bitter fruit. 
 
 It was early in the summer season of the year that 
 the events of my narrative took place. Fanny at this 
 time was about eighteen years old, and had hitherto 
 met with no obstacle to ruffle, for more than a mo 
 ment, the current of her happy feelings. She was all 
 buoyancy and life; and such was the ever-varying 
 vivacity of her countenance, that the most skilful artist 
 would have vainly striven to transfer its expression to 
 the canvass. The residence of her father was on a 
 green eminence which overlooks the Long-Island 
 Sound, at a place where a number of beautiful little 
 islands peep up from its glassy bosom, and seem 
 to float on the surface, like the clouds of a summer 
 evening in the azure sky. A stream of limpid water, 
 that had its rise in a stately forest, the dark green foli 
 age of which closed the view in the rear of the mansion, 
 went singing and gurgling on its course through the 
 enclosure, and after forming a basin in a little hollow 
 at the foot of the garden, leaped with a dashing noise, 
 from a projecting rock, into the Sound below. On 
 I he right of the house, the hill descended by a gentlo 
 
NEAR-SIGHTED. 191 
 
 declivity to a wide tract of lowland, bordering on a 
 rreek which ran in the midst ; and the prospect in that, 
 direction, of the green meadows, cultivated fields, and 
 orchards in full blossom, was truly delightful. Two or 
 three rustic looking mills occupied a part of the view; 
 and the clicking of their wheels blended well with the 
 other sounds and sights that regaled the senses. On 
 the left, the eminence continued gradually to ascend 
 for a considerable distance, till at length, terminating 
 in a wooded and romantic promontory, it shut out the 
 Avater prospect. In front, the broad bosom of the 
 Sound extended itself for miles, dimly skirted, on the 
 opposite side, by the scarce-seen shore of Long-Island. 
 When agitated by storm, its billows raged and foamed 
 with tumultuous fury, affording no inadequate resem 
 blance of the ocean in its wrath ; but, when the tem 
 pest subsided, they gradually sunk down to rest, like a 
 warrior after the fight till he who beheld the scene in 
 its tranquil loveliness, wondered how it ever could 
 have been so convulsed. 
 
 In a spacious, though somewhat antiquated house, 
 situated in the midst of the beauties I have barely 
 adverted to, for to describe them is beyond my 
 power Fanny Dayton w r as born and educated. 
 Her father, advanced in years, and, at the period of 
 which I speak, retired from the political turmoils and 
 contentions that had deeply engaged him during the 
 early part of his- life, now gazed on the expanded 
 flower, whose blossom he had too little cherished, with 
 feelings of mingled affection and pride. Possessed of 
 an ample fortune, which must soon devolve upon his 
 only child, he began to feel solicitous to have her per 
 manently settled in life ; and, with this view, examined 
 more closely into the characters and intentions of those 
 who visited his house, in order to single out a suitable 
 partner for his daughter. Among these, there was 
 one who attracted his particular attention ; a young 
 
1 92 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 gentleman from Philadelphia, named George Audley, 
 who had been spending some time with a relative in 
 that part of the country. Of a manly and dignified 
 appearance, large fortune, easy carriage, fine education, 
 and highly respectable connexions, he seemed in every 
 point of view entitled to his approval ; and it was 
 therefore with pleasure that the anxious father fancied 
 lie saw, in the glances of both, a mutual and increas 
 ing attachment. 
 
 He was not altogether mistaken. George Audley. 
 on his part, experienced that intense kind of love, 
 which exquisite beauty and congenial sentiments often 
 kindle in the breast of man, on a first acquaintance. 
 Fanny s personal loveliness won his admiration as soon 
 as he beheld her ; and, on an introduction taking place, 
 which he found means to accomplish directly after, 
 her discourse riveted his chain. George was an ardent 
 admirer of the beauties of nature ; and the romantic 
 situation of her father s dwelling afforded him a ready 
 topic of conversation. After his first introduction, his 
 visits were several times repeated, on one pretence or 
 another, and whenever he left her, it was with an in 
 crease of love. 
 
 On one of these occasions, during a delightful after 
 noon, they were sitting together in a front apartment 
 of the mansion, (he having called for the purpose of 
 returning a book, which he had borrowed that he might 
 return it !) the sun was just sinking behind the pro 
 montory we have mentioned before, and its red disk 
 seen through the trees on its summit gave them the 
 appearance of being on fire. A number of sloops 
 and other small vessels dotted he unruffled surface of 
 the Sound, in whose glassy surface their inverted 
 figures were reflected. The yo, heave, yo ! of the 
 sailers, who were just weighing their anchors and 
 spreading their white sails to the rising breeze, came 
 faintly and sweetly over the waters : and the song of 
 
NEAR-SIGHTED. 
 
 the birds, that were trilling their farewell to the sun, 
 rose up with delicious harmony from the forest, which 
 seemed alive with the little warblers. The breath ot 
 the evening was sweet with the perfume of the blos 
 som-covered trees, and seemed doubly refreshing front 
 the previous part of the day having been sultry and 
 calm. On the opposite side of the Sound, a. large 
 square-rigged vessel \vas wending slowly on its way to 
 the great commercial haven of the country ; and a. 
 little beyond it, dimly seen in the hazy indistinctness 
 of the receding day, the blaze of a lighthouse glim 
 mered like the evening star. 
 
 In such a scene, with such a companion, and at such 
 an hour, who could not be eloquent ? The ice of 
 formality once broken by a few common-place obser 
 vations, George found himself at no loss on his, favour 
 ite theme. He expatiated with all the ardour of 
 twenty-three on the beauties by which he was sur 
 rounded : the situation of the house, and the tasteful 
 improvements of the grounds, called for his praise ; 
 the fertile and fragrant lowlands, with their rustic cot 
 tages and mills, and the little inlet, twined like a thread 
 of silver in the midst of the verdant meadows, next, 
 attracted his observation ; he then adverted to the 
 numerous leafy islets that seemed to sleep in their 
 green beauty on the waters, like an infant on its mother s 
 breast ; and pointing out one of peculiar loveliness, 
 whose verdant summit was pleasantly shaded by a. 
 thick grove of trees, he quoted, with a meaning em 
 phasis, the following passage from Moore : 
 
 * Oft, in my fancy s wanderings, 
 
 I ve wished yon little isle had wings ; 
 Jf hat we, within its fairy bowers, 
 
 Were wafted off to seas unknown, 
 Where not a pulse should beat but our?, 
 
 Th at we might live, love, die alorie 
 
 R 
 
194 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 Far from the cruel and the cold, 
 ^ Where the bright eyes of angels only 
 Could come around us, to behold 
 A paradise so pure and lonely !" 
 
 In this way did he run on, only pausing every now 
 and then for the concurrence of his fair companion, 
 which was readily obtained, until every feature of the 
 landscape had been the separate subject of his enthu 
 siastic comments. Once, when he appealed to her to 
 know if she saw a particular bark far off in the Sound, 
 which seemed to be the frail vessel of some poor fisher 
 man, he noticed that she blushed, and hesitated for a 
 moment in her answer. For this he blamed himself, 
 attributing her embarrassment to his too ardent gaze, 
 and internally ejaculated, sensitive creature ! When 
 at last the improper duration of his stay was made 
 known to him by evidences which he could not disre 
 gard, he reluctantly departed, (taking care to borrow 
 another volume that there might be an excuse for an 
 other visit.) and as he strode along the road, now 
 lighted by the moon, on his return to his lodgings, the 
 image of Fanny Dayton occupied every thought, 
 and he unconsciously broke out into song : 
 
 This earth, till gentle woman smiled, 
 
 And back its darkness rolled, 
 lake snow or some untrodden wild, 
 
 Was pure but oh ! how cold ! 
 Our hearts are lit by woman s eyes, 
 
 As stars light up the sea ; 
 Her love their vital warmth supplies, 
 
 Her voice their melody. 
 
 Fanny Dayton, on her part, was delighted with tlu; 
 result of this visit. That George Audley loved her 
 she could not doubt: and without acknowledging u 
 reciprocal attachment, yet she was determined, if he 
 offered it. to accept hi* hand; for he was the hand- 
 
NEAR-SIGHTED, 195 
 
 somest and most accomplished man she had ever 
 known ; more than one of her young acquaintances* 
 she was aware, had endeavoured to captivate him ; 
 and she was animated by the thought of the triumph 
 that her success would afford. Another, and perhaps 
 the strongest inducement that weighed upon her mind y 
 was the desire she entertained of being established in 
 life, and seeing more of the gay world than her seclu 
 sion in the country had hitherto permitted. 
 
 There was one person present in the apartment 
 during the protracted visit of George Audley whom 
 we have not yet noticed. This was Mary Elwin, a 
 cousin of Fanny, and of about the same age. She, 
 however, had been educated under very different cir 
 cumstances, and looked forward to a widely different 
 lot in life. Her father had been the brother of Fanny s 
 deceased parent. He was an officer in the navy, and 
 with a fair prospect of promotion and success, married, 
 at an early age, a poor girl to whom he had been warmly 
 attached from youth ; but dying soon after, while on a 
 cruise in a sickly climate, he left his bereaved partner 
 in a state of absolute and most distressing poverty. 
 The accumulated sorrows that preyed upon her, fjnally 
 took the form of consumption ; and, though she lingered 
 for many years, health never again visited her unhappy 
 couch. 
 
 From the time that she became old enough to attend 
 upon her dying parent, Mary Elwin hovered continually 
 around her bedside ; and if ever yet a child fully repaid 
 the debt of filial duty and gratitude, she was that 
 child. Her hand prepared the delicacies with which 
 she tempted the attenuated sufferer s appetite ; her in 
 dustry supplied their scanty means of support; and 
 her unuttered prayers nightly ascended to the ear of 
 the Almighty, through immeasurable space, beseeching 
 him to soften the anguish of her widowed mother s 
 heart, At last life s feeble flame went out, and her 
 
Lttj TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 only parent lay stretched before the weeping orphan 
 an unconscious corse. To attempt to paint the afflic 
 tion of the pious and bereaved girl, would be utterly 
 vain. She, however, with that heroic fortitude which, 
 fio often nerves the humble Christian s heart, but which 
 philosophy, with all its vain boastings, seldom attains, 
 bore the heavy dispensation, and after the first 
 burst of wild affliction subsided, Mary sat quietly dow r n, 
 resumed her employments, and attended punctually to 
 the duties of life and, except by her pensive counte 
 nance, the tear that was sometimes seen standing in 
 her eye, and her frequent pilgrimages, in the stillness 
 of evening, to her mother s grave, no one could have 
 judged how deeply she lamented her loss. At the 
 period of this narrative, two years had gone by since 
 the mournful occurrence ; and time, that both causes 
 and heals our sorrows, had applied his lenient balm to 
 her wounded heart. On the death of her last parent, 
 the father of Fanny invited the orphan to his house ; 
 and there, as the companion of his daughter, she still 
 continued. Of an intelligent and observing mind, she 
 readily acquired the accomplishments of her cousin ; 
 but ^er own modesty and sincerity, her candour and 
 piety, w r ere not thought worthy of imitation by the 
 spoiled and beautiful Fanny. 
 
 Mary Elwin was not handsome, in the ordinary 
 sense of the \vord ; that is, she was not one of those 
 whose appearance makes a deep impression at first 
 sight. Fanny always bore away the palm from such 
 as had seen the two cousins but once ; but it was gene 
 rally remarked among those who knew them best, 
 that though Fanny \vas the most admired, Mary was 
 most beloved. 
 
 The last visit of George Audley had communicated 
 to this" unfortunate and isolated girl a secret, of which 
 before she had entertained no suspicion. When she 
 his eyes bent on her lovely cousin with an 
 
NEAR-SIGHTED. 197 
 
 that words could not have made more intelligible, 
 a strange tumult of feelings in her bosom disclosed to 
 her the real state of her heart she loved him. Re 
 solved not to cherish this unwelcome guest, she endea 
 voured to suppress her emotions ; but the fever which 
 she felt burning in her veins, the next moment suc 
 ceeded by an icy coldness the giddiness of her head, 
 and the throbbing of her heart, too plainly told her 
 that her efforts were vain. She would have left the 
 room, but propriety forbade ; and it is certain that the 
 bluntness of her replies to some questions put by Fan 
 ny, and the incoherence of something she attempted 
 to say in recommendation of truth and candour, left a 
 very unfavourable impression of her on the mind of 
 George Audley. Fanny, who well understood the 
 purport of what the poor girl would have said, felt no 
 increase of kindness towards her for her unasked ad 
 vice ; and contrived, in an after meeting with her lover, 
 to reduce her, by a few artful insinuations, still lower 
 in his estimation. 
 
 When they retired to rest on the evening, the events 
 of which had made known to Mary the state of -her 
 own heart, a long conversation took place between thr- 
 cousins, which at last terminated to the satisfaction of 
 neither. With the warmth and earnestness of a true 
 attachment. Mary endeavoured to convince her mis 
 guided relation of the impropriety and even criminality 
 of her disingenuousness, in first equivocating, and after 
 ward uttering falsehoods, in order to hide theMefect of 
 her vision. Fanny, in reply, defended herself on the 
 ground that the first object she was called upon to ad 
 mire was scarcely beyond her sight, for she could dimly 
 perceive it ; and she was willing to please her visiter 
 by concurring in his opinion : that having told an in 
 nocent white fb, in one instance, she could not retract: 
 and was thus led gradually on, from equivocal concur 
 rence in his remarks, to the utterance of a decided 
 R2 
 
198 
 
 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 untruth. She retaliated the reproach of her cousin ; 
 charged her with having ungenerously endeavoured to 
 oxpose her, and implied that jealousy was the incen 
 tive by which she was actuated. This last insinua 
 tion closed the lips of Mary ; and the two cousins, 
 displeased with each other, and one of them unhappy 
 from another cause, endeavoured to find consolation in 
 deep. 
 
 From this time forward the visits of George Aud- 
 Icy to Fanny were frequently repeated, and in thr* 
 course of a few weeks he was received as the avowed 
 suitor for her hand. Accustomed to the blaze of her 
 beauty, he could now look through it with a less dazzled 
 eye, and began to discern, notwithstanding the imputed 
 blindness of love, that even Fanny s character had its 
 blemishes. But love, though not so blind as poets 
 feign, is an eloquent pleader ; and for every defect that 
 observation found, offered at least fifty excuses. Be 
 sides, thought our hero, no human being is perfect ; 
 there are spots on the sun ; but with them, as in the 
 case of my Fanny, they are surrounded by such over- 
 poirering brightness, as to be obvious only to minute 
 JnsJRtion, and through a dark and miscolouring me 
 dium. Thus deluding himself, and happy in the delu 
 sion, the infatuated lover was continually by the side 
 of his mistress, reading to her, or playing on his flute, 
 or whispering those delightful nothings, which are said 
 to constitute a large part of courtship. 
 
 One evening, invited by the balmy freshness of the 
 breeze, and the beautiful appearance of nature, they 
 rambled out, arm in arm, to enjoy a stroll in a romantic 
 path along the brink of the Sound. The fragrance of 
 the new-mown hay filled the air with a delicious odour, 
 and the gorgeous clouds of sunset, which floated in the 
 western heaven, like large bodies of transparent gold 
 beautifully enamelled, were rich beyond description. 
 Enlivened by a scene so in unison with his feelings. 
 
NEAR-SIGHTED. 190 
 
 George pointed out, with voluble earnestness, as they 
 rambled on, whatever claimed his eye as beautiful in 
 the landscape; and by the ardour of his questions, 
 unconsciously drew the blushing girl at his side into the 
 utterance of many an untruth. Poor Fanny was thus 
 gradually and inextricably entangled in a mesh of 
 equivocation, from which she might at first have broken 
 by a noble effort of virtuous resolution ; but she suf 
 fered herself to become more and more deeply in 
 volved, till every opportunity of disenthralment was 
 past. After all, thought she, these fibs of mine do no 
 harm; my acquiescence gratifies George, and why- 
 should I damp his feelings, by avowing that I cannot 
 see those things, which it gives him so much delight to 
 contemplate ? Still, her own heart was not satisfied ; 
 and she began to. tremble lest a discovery of her du 
 plicity, which must inevitably take place at some time 
 or other, might, if prematurely made, ruin the bright 
 I natrimonial prospect before her. 
 
 It was at this stage of her feelings that her compa 
 nion aroused her from her reverie, by calling her atten 
 tion to a steamboat, which, emerging from a little inlet 
 a few miles above, shot out with graceful celerity into 
 the midst of the Sound, and 
 
 " walked the waters like a thing of life." 
 
 The steamboat had been recently built, and had just 
 commenced her trips between New- York and a small 
 village, situated in a valley at the head of the inlet we 
 have mentioned. The innovation had given great um 
 brage to those who were concerned in the sloop navi 
 gation of the place, and one of the captains had been 
 heard to insinuate that he would revenge himself for 
 this interference with his interest. 
 
 As the eye of George followed the beautiful object, 
 which indeed justified the line of the poet, and scemod 
 
200 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 to act by own volition, its attention was suddenly 
 aroused by a sloop, that had been standing in another 
 direction, but now tacked about, and headed directh 
 for the steamboat. 
 
 " See, Fanny, see ! those two vessels will surety 
 come in contact," cried he to his insincere com 
 panion. " By heaven ! as the steamboat alters her 
 course, so does the sloop, as if determined to run her 
 down." 
 
 " That surely cannot be their design," responded the 
 embarrassed girl, whose optics could not distinguish the 
 objects towards which they were directed. 
 
 " But it is their design," cried George, his face red 
 dening with anger at this unmanly outrage ; " and see." 
 continued he, " they have stopped the wheels of the 
 steamboat, and are waving to the sloop to bear away. 
 Do you see them, Fanny ?" 
 
 " Yes," faltered the trembling voice of his compan 
 ion, her cheek assuming a still deeper die at being thus 
 obliged to utter a positive untruth. 
 
 " But see !" resumed he again with earnestness, " it 
 is of no avail ; she alters not her course, and there !" 
 added he, after a momentary and breathless pause, 
 during which the expected catastrophe did indeed take 
 place " there ! they have actually run into her." 
 
 The eyes of George had not deceived him. En 
 raged by what they deemed an unwarrantable inter 
 ference in their business, the captains of the sloop-lino 
 had determined to revenge themselves in the w r av 
 which the reader has seen, and the opportunity the} 
 chose appeared peculiarly well adapted to their pur 
 pose. There were but few persons on board the 
 steamboat at the time to bear witness against them, and 
 no other vessel was in sight. Hid from the observa 
 tion of the villagers, by the promontory more than 
 once alluded to, and having a sufficient number of ad 
 herents on board, who would, on oath, ascribe the or.- 
 
IS EAR-SIGHTED. 
 
 currence to accident, it seemed as if they might wreak 
 their malice with perfect impunity. But they were 
 mistaken. The quick eye of George followed every 
 motion ; and sufficiently acquainted with nautical affairs 
 to understand and explain the malicious evolutions 
 which he witnessed, his testimony would be of mo 
 mentous weight against them. Aw r are of this, one of 
 the owners of the steamboat, who, before unperceived, 
 had also been walking on the bank and looking on the 
 nimble vessel, now approached him, to inquire if he 
 had observed the occurrence, and noticed that it was 
 the result of premeditated design. 
 
 To this George gave a ready affirmative, expressed 
 in such terms of warmth against the conduct of those 
 in the sloop, as the unjustifiable nature of the trans 
 action authorized. Turning to Fanny, he observed, 
 "You, too, Miss Dayton, beheld the whole affair. 
 Do you not agree with me that it was the result of ma 
 licious intention on the part of the sloop?" 
 
 Fanny was now in a dreadful dilemma, but there was 
 no retreating ; she felt that the keen eye of George 
 was riveted on her glowing face ; and with a blushing 
 cheek and faltering voice, ascribed by him to any but 
 the right cause, acknowledged that she had witnessed 
 the disastrous circumstance, and fully agreed, she 
 added, with Mr. Audley, that the sloop was entirely to 
 blame. 
 
 The Rubicon was now r passed ! and the thoughtless 
 Fanny had subjected herself to a mortification and ex 
 posure which she little anticipated. Before retiring to 
 rest that night a subpoena was received by herself and 
 George, summoning both of them to attend a Court, 
 on a specified day, to give their evidence in an action, 
 brought by the proprietors of the damaged steamboat 
 against the proprietors of the sloop. 
 
 I shall now hasten to the conclusion of this story. 
 Jt is unnecessary to describe the feelings which agitated 
 
30*2 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the breast of Fanny, during the interval, who sedu 
 lously concealed from her companion, Mary, all know 
 ledge of the circumstance. Her father, being unfor 
 tunately absent from home, could not interpose his 
 authority to prevent her appearance at court ; and all 
 arguments urged by the unfortunate girl against be 
 coming a witness, were met by George with stronger 
 argument in favour of it. A large party, he told her, 
 had been marshalled for the purpose of- making the 
 circumstance appear an accident ; and duty and honour 
 required that they, providentially placed where the} 
 had witnessed the whole occurrence, should unhesi 
 tatingly step forward, and support the cause of truth. 
 His feelings w r armly enlisted in the subject, the argu 
 ments and persuasions of George were uttered with 
 an earnestness and eloquence which she could not 
 resist ; and she consented to accompany him to the 
 dreaded trial, provided her evidence should not be 
 called, unless it became positively necessary, which she 
 secretly prayed might not be the case. 
 
 The appointed day at last arrived. Fanny would 
 have been glad to plec <] indisposition as an excuse for 
 remaining at home ; but she feared that George would 
 see into her motive and cast her off for ever. Thus 
 retreating became as difficult and hazardous as con 
 tinuance in her course of tergiversation ; and with a 
 pale cheek, a desperate heart, and a trembling hand, 
 she adjusted her head-dress, and throwing a mantle 
 around her shoulders, sallied out with George to the 
 appointed place of trial. Contrary to her hope, she 
 had not been long seated, before she was called to the 
 witnesses stand. No language can describe the rush 
 of blood from her heart to her cheeks, and back again 
 to her heart; the cold shiver that ran through her 
 veins, and the swelling emotion of her breast, as with 
 an unsteady step and a quivering lip, she walked to 
 wards the part of the room where a seat had been 
 
NEAR-SIGHTED. 
 
 prepared for her. George, on whose arm she leaned, 
 felt that she was trembling like an aspen leaf, and 
 whispered something in her ear for the purpose of 
 reassuring her. But the moment was one of too try 
 ing a nature for his and her united efforts to still the 
 tumults of her agonizing emotions. Her hand was on 
 the sacred volume ; the words of the oath were pro 
 posed, and her lips, now nearly as white as its pages, 
 kissed them in token of affirmation. The following 
 was the first question proposed to her : 
 
 " Miss Frances Dayton," asked the lawyer, " did 
 you behold, on a certain day, (specifying the date) 
 the sloop Nancy run against the steamboat Enter 
 prise ?" 
 
 With a convulsive effort, that seemed to tear her 
 heart out, Fanny answered in a scarcely audible voice, 
 "I did." 
 
 She was required to state from what point of view 
 she beheld the occurrence, and whether according to 
 her impression, it was the result of accident or design. 
 With much hesitation, and after many pauses, her an 
 swer to the interrogatories was at last given, and the 
 lawyer of the opposite side rose to question her. 
 There had been a considerable stir in the court during 
 the time of Fanny s examination, occasioned by a 
 young farmer, who was interested in the ownership of 
 the sloop, and whom report stated to have once been 
 a suitor of Fanny, but who had been rejected after 
 receiving several marks of encouragement. The 
 bustle was created by his forcing his way through 
 ihc crowd, to whisper something in the ear of the 
 lawyer engaged for the defence. The first question 
 to the trembling witness was one of awful import : 
 
 " Miss Frances Dayton," said he, " are you or arc 
 you not near-sighted ?" 
 
 A peal of thunder could not have more astounded 
 i he hearers, With an anxious and bursting eye. 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 George gazed on the fair equivocator, who, at iirst 
 striving to reply, turned as red as an autumnal sunset, 
 then as pale as death, and, at last bursting into a flood ot 
 tears, fell fainting on the floor ! 
 
 Much more need not be said. The tissue of false 
 hoods by which George had been deceived was now 
 unravelled to his astonished view ; the delusion was 
 dissipated, and he beheld Fanny Dayton in her true 
 colours a creature of delicate and impressive loveli 
 ness, but of misguided mind. Of course all thoughts 
 of marriage were now abandoned. He immediately 
 left that part of the country, with the determination 
 of making the European tour, his intentions in rela 
 tion to which had been suspended by his attachment 
 to Fanny. 
 
 Several years have now gone by since the occur 
 rences related in this story took place ; and George at 
 the present time is the happy husband of Mary Elwin. 
 How this union was brought about may, perhaps, be 
 related in a future volume ; but I must now leave the 
 reader to deduce the obvious moral from what has 
 already been written. 
 
 Poor Fanny, as she became sadly convinced by the 
 result, was near-sighted in a double sense ; but re 
 formed by the cruel ordeal to which she had been 
 exposed, she now owns that her doom was just. Her 
 father has lately died ; and sole inheritress of his large 
 estate, she spends her time in devising and pel-forming 
 such acts of munificence and benevolence, as may well 
 atone for her former impropriety. 
 
 
A WATCH Iff THE 
 
 WHEN I was a reefer, I once had the evil fortune 
 to sail under the command of a captain, who, in 
 nautical technicals, was very justly termed the hardest 
 horse in the navy ; or, in other words, with a tyran 
 nical ignoramus, by the name of Crayton, who I sin 
 cerely believe was cordially hated, by all who did not 
 despise him too much to allow of the former feeling. 
 Among other vexatious means which he devised for 
 the purpose of annoying his officers, was that of 
 having a regular sea-watch of midshipmen, night and 
 day, in the tops, of which there was about as much 
 need, in those piping times of peace, as there is for a 
 ringtail in a gale of wind. It happened on one clear 
 moonlight night, when we had a spanking wind on the 
 quarter, and were cutting along through the blue sea, 
 with as much sail set as we could cleverly stagger 
 under, going at the rate of about nine, two, that it 
 was my turn, when the mid- watch was called, to take 
 the main-top. This was no very disagreeable place, 
 after all, when the weather was pleasant, and the wind 
 steady ; for (be it spoken in a whisper) we would 
 sometimes on such occasions, so far infringe upon our 
 military duty as to stow ourselves snugly away, in a 
 coil of rigging, and snooze out an hour or two of the 
 long and solitary watch. For my own part, I had 
 done this so often that the timidity and caution at firs* 
 
 S 
 
306 TALES ANJ> SKETCHES. 
 
 attendant upon any deviation from discipline had gra 
 dually worn off; and it last became so customary, that 
 ag soon as I had got my head above the rim of the top f 
 I was casting my eyes about to see which coil of rig 
 ging lay the snuggest for my bunk. 
 
 On the occasion to which I now particularly refer, 
 however, I did not feel disposed to sleep. Knowing 
 that I would have the mid- watch to keep, and not feel 
 ing very well, I had retired to my hammock at about 
 seven bells in the evening, and by the time that the 
 lights were doused at eight o clock, had fallen into a 
 sweet and refreshing slumber. The noise on deck of 
 their taking in studding-sails, when the wind freshened, 
 did not waken me, and by the time that the first watch 
 was out, and an officer sent down to call the relief, I 
 was so completely renovated by my sound and unin 
 terrupted repose, that I had no disposition to renew 
 my slumber. When I got into the top, I took my seat 
 on a coil of rigging where I could lean back against 
 the fancy-lines, and throwing my arm over the top- 
 pail, I was soon lost in contemplation of the beautiful 
 scene. 
 
 I believe I said before that it was bright moonlight, 
 As far as the eye could reach, not a sail was in sight : 
 but on every side around us stretched the blue, inter 
 minable waves, till they met, and seemed to mingle 
 with the heavens. The sky above was gemmed with 
 many a star ; and large bodies of fleecy clouds every 
 . now and then drove across them, for a few moments 
 casting a deep shade over the ocean, which, as the 
 moon again emerged, seemed, to a fanciful view, to 
 dance and sparkle with joy for the recovered radi 
 ance. As soon as the watch was all mustered, the 
 boatswain s mate was ordered " to pipe down," or, in 
 other words, to blow that peculiar note on his whistle 
 which signified to the poor fellows who had been on 
 cteck from eight o clock, that they might now seek theiv 
 
A WATCIt IN THE MAIN-TOP. 207 
 
 hammocks, and snatch a short repose, before they 
 should again be summoned to their wearisome duty. 
 
 The noise of the retiring crew soon subsided ; the 
 hail of the lieutenant who had just taken the deck, to 
 each of the stations where look-outs had been appointed,, 
 bidding them keep a bright look-out, had been made 
 and answered; and the watch forecastle-men, waisters 
 and after-guard had all quietly snuggled down under 
 the weather bulwarks, before the quarter-master re 
 ported one bell. The maintop-men were not slow, in 
 perceiving that I w r as more wakeful than usual, and 
 instead of stretching themselves out to sleep, huddled 
 together in a corner of the top, and began to amuse 
 themselves by telling stories or, in their own phrase, 
 by spinning yarns. Jack Gunn, the captain of the 
 starboard watch of maintop-men, was the first called 
 on, and with true sailor alacrity he immediately com 
 plied. There never was, from the time of the Argo, 
 down to the frigate now on the stocks at. the navy-yard, 
 a more thorough man-of-war s-man than that same Jack 
 Gunn. He had sailed in all kinds of crafts, from a 
 Dutch Lugger to a Yankee Line-o; battle ship ; he had 
 fought under the fla^s of all nations, and it. was even 
 surmised, from occasional words that he wculd acci 
 dentally let fall, that he had handled a sabre under the 
 blood-red standard of piracy. Whether this was so or 
 not, he made no secret of his having been often en 
 gaged in desperate adventures on board of smuggling 
 craft ; and the number of suspicious looking French 
 men who recognised Jack, when the cutter to which 
 he belonged, was sometimes sent ashore while we 
 were lying at Cherbourg, bore no very favourable tes 
 timony in relation to his former pursuits. Yet for all 
 his recklessness of character, and for all the many un 
 warrantable enterprises in which he had been engaged, 
 Jack was a good fellow. His vices were those which 
 resulted from ignorance and thoughtlessness; his virtues 
 
TALES AND SKETrHES- 
 
 were the warm impulses of a naturally excellent heart, 
 which, properly nurtured and cultivated, would have 
 made him an ornament to his profession and his spe 
 cies. I do not believe, for all the many scenes of blood 
 and rapacity which he must have witnessed, and jn 
 which he most likely took a large part, that Jack ever 
 did a deliberately cruel action in his life. As a sailer, 
 he had but few equals, and no superior in our ship. 
 He did not eat, drink, nor sleep, like other men ; but 
 was always ready, whatever he might be about, to spring 
 on deck, and lend an active hand in any thing that it 
 might be requisite to do. If a squall struck us in the 
 mid-watch, and it was Jack s watch in at the time, it 
 made no difference ; the surge of the ship and her 
 heeling were sure to wake him, and the first thing you 
 would know, there he would be, out on the weather 
 yard-arm, before the quarter-deck midshipman had got 
 half way to the fore cockpit to tell the boatswain to 
 cal? ail hands. 
 
 But it was of Jack s story that I was speaking ; and 
 I do not know that I can amuse my readers better than 
 by relating it, as nearly as I can recollect, in his own 
 words. 
 
 " It s now near twelve years," said Jack, after he 
 had deliberately adjusted all the usual preliminaries, 
 sach as taking in a fresh quid, laying the old soldier 
 carefully on the cap to dry, hitching up the waistband 
 of his trowsers, and comfortably stowing away his 
 hands in the breast of his monkey jacket " It s now- 
 near twelve years," said he, "since I shipped the 
 first time in the sarvice; and it was about a year 
 beff re that I was concarned in a bit of a scrape which 
 I shall never forget, if I live to be as old as the Flying 
 Dutchman. What makes me think of it now, it was 
 just such another night as this, only it happened in 
 the first watch, about six bells, or so. You see, I was 
 then in the little schooner Nancy. There was onh 
 
A WATCH IN THE MAIN-TOP. 209 
 
 ibur of us aboard ; the skipper, captain Thomson, who 
 for two weeks hadn t been out of his birth, and who 
 wasn t expected to come on deck again, till we should 
 bring him up foot fore most; Jim Spenser and me, the only 
 two before the mast ; and the boy, a sickly, delicate 
 little fellow, who didn t take kindly to our rough ways 
 and no wonder ; for what with cooking for us, and 
 overhauling the medicine chest for the captain, and 
 doing a thousand things that Jim Spenser set him about, 
 out of sheer malice, he was kept as busy as the devil 
 in a gale of wind. Jim Spenser hated that boy worse 
 than a so dier, and never missed an opportunity of doing 
 him an ill turn. And yet Edward was a good boy, 
 and as civil and obleegin as any one I ever fell in with 
 in all my cruisings. I never could exactly account for 
 Jim s using him so ; but he was brute enough to bully 
 over any one, whether he had cause or not. 
 
 " Well, as I was saying, the captain was very sick, 
 The last time he had been on deck, was when we took 
 our departure after we left the Straits, and he had 
 given up all hopes of leaving his birth, till it should be 
 for the purpose of being launched over the side. Of 
 course, Jim and I had to keep watch and watch, and a. 
 pretty bright look-out too, for our little Nancy carried 
 a taught rag, and w T e took advantage of the stiff east 
 erly winds to crack it on pretty heavy. 
 
 " I had the second dog-watch, and besides, had been 
 knocking about on deck all day long ; and, by the time 
 it came eight o clock, I was glad enough to call my re 
 lief, and turn in. Jim had made out to get into the 
 skipper s locker, in the course of the afternoon, and had 
 started rather more grog into his spirit-room than he 
 could well carry ; so that when I went forward to the 
 forecastle hatch to call him to his trick, I found him jn 
 a deep sleep, and it was some time before I could fairly 
 wake him. At last, when he understood me, he turned 
 out of his bunk in a surly humour enough, and as he 
 
210 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 staggered aft, not yet fairly sober, he kept grumbling 
 and growling all the way. Little did I mind his heavy 
 words off a weak stomach, however ; so passing the 
 word to him as to what sail I had carried, and how I 
 had headed during the watch, I left little Nancy in his 
 charge, and stowed myself away for a snooze, in the 
 forecastle. I had been asleep, I suppose, for as much 
 as three hours, when I was suddenly wakened, by the 
 sound of mingled cries and curses on deck, and as soon 
 as my senses perfectly returned to me from the con 
 fusion of my dreams, I recognised the hoarse and angry 
 voice of sulky Jim, as I used to call him, the screams 
 and supplications of poor little Ned, and, mingling with 
 these, the heavy sound of a rope s end, apparently 
 applied to the naked back of the latter. I instantly 
 sprang on my feet, jumped up through the fore-scuttle, 
 and rushed like a streak of lightning to the quarter-deck. 
 There indeed I saw a piteous sight. The little un 
 offending boy, was seized up to the main-rigging, by a 
 piece of ratline stuff, passed so taught around his wrists 
 that the blood was oozing from them in drops ; his feet, 
 were made fast to the lubber grating, and the great 
 white-livered bully, Jim, was standing over him, his red 
 eyes still redder with passion, and his bloated cheeks 
 pale and quivering from the same cause. In his hand 
 he held half a fathom of thirteen thread ratline, which 
 he was drawing off and laying on to poor little Ned s 
 bare back, till his tender white skin was all over streaked 
 with blood. 
 
 " * Hold off your hands ! cried I, you damned 
 cowardly lubber, as I jumped before the wretch, just 
 as he was about dealing another heavy blow. 
 
 " * Stand away. Jack Gunn, he answered, * or you 
 shall be sorry for it. 
 
 " Shame on you, Jim, said I again, shame on you. 
 to flog a poor boy in this dreadful manner. You see, 
 topmates, I was a young hand at the bellows in them 
 
A WATCH IN THE MAIN-TOP. 211 
 
 Jays, and hadn t seen so many lashes given at the gang 
 way as I have since ; and every cut that fell on the poor 
 little creature s back seemed to go right to my heart. * 
 couldri t stand it ; so I seized Jim by the collar of his 
 red flannel shirt, and looking right up into his eyes, (for 
 he was a head taller than me) says I, * if you strike that 
 boy again, you strike me. 
 
 " * With all my heart ! answered the bully, as, drop 
 ping the colt from his hand, he grasped me tightly 
 round the throat, and endeavoured to throw me on the 
 deck. 
 
 " I didn t take time to think what I was about, and 
 if I had, I don t know that it would have made any dif 
 ference, for my courage was up, and I felt as wild as a 
 hurricane. Yet Jim Spenser was no fool of an anta 
 gonist. He was upwards of six feet high, and had a 
 pair of fists as large and as tough as our topsail-haliard 
 blocks, and arms like a pair of lower studdingsail 
 booms. But to it we went, pell mell, hugging each 
 other with a tighter grasp than ever friendship occa 
 sioned, and tossing and tumbling about, while the deck 
 shook under us like the upper hanck of a foretopmast 
 staysail. I don t know how it was, but Jim couldn t 
 manage to get the upper hand of me : when we fell, 
 we fell together, neither of us slacking our hold, and 
 up together again we would get, without any advantage 
 being obtained on either side. The groans of the poor 
 captain, who, of course, had heard the whole of the 
 occurrence, but who was too weak to attempt any inter 
 ference, were distinctly audible ; but these seemed only 
 to add fresh determination to both of us. During all 
 this time the moon had been shining brightly down 
 upon us, rendering every feature of Jim s swollen and 
 convulsed face as distinctly visible as if it had been 
 broad daylight, or, if it made any difference at all. 
 giving to him a more ghastly look. His eyes glared on 
 me like a wolf s, and seemed ready to start from his 
 
:212 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 head with rage; his teeth gritted against each other, 
 and foam stood on his lips as white as on the caps oi 
 lie waves around us. The poor boy, still seized to the 
 jing, fastened an earnest look on the conflict, well 
 >wing that his fate depended on the issue and^ 
 >uld Jim prove victorious, a dreadful fate indeed ; 
 for I do really believe he would have murdered him. 
 
 " About this time a deep cloud came over the moon, 
 casting darkness far and wide upon the waters. We 
 were both of us nearly exhausted in body, but as firm 
 in our purpose as ever. Jim s teeth gnashed together 
 for very hate ; and hugging me with a still stronger 
 grasp than before, he made a desperate effort to throw 
 me, when his foot slipping in the blood, that had trickled 
 on the deck from a cut I had received in my head, we 
 both staggered and fell over the rail into the sea ! 
 
 The force of our fall caused us to sink to a consi 
 derable distance beneath the surface ; and by the time 
 that we emerged the cloud had passed away from the 
 moon, by the light of which I saw, in one glance, the 
 full horror of my situation. I shall never forget that 
 moment. A cold, chilly weight, like a mountain of 
 ice, seemed pressing on my heart, as I saw the 
 schooner, already far away, streaking it off at about 
 the rate of nine knots through the water, and not a 
 soul aboard of her that could render me any assist 
 ance. The Captain, as I said afore, was sick in his 
 birth too sick and weak even to move without help ; 
 and the boy poor Ned you know, w T as tied up to the 
 main-rigging ; and I fancied I could hear his shrieks 
 above the dashing of the waves around me, and the 
 humming sound that the water had left in my ears. 
 There we were, Jim and me, in the wide, wide ocean, 
 without so much as a plank to cling to ; but clinging to 
 each other, and firmly locked together in the gripe of 
 bloody-minded hate. Jim s rage did not seem at all 
 abated by the desperate clanger we were in ; our fall 
 
A WATCH IN THE MAIN-TOP. 215 
 
 had caused him involuntarily to relax the hold of one 
 of his hands ; but as we rose again above the water, 
 lie made a grab at my throat, which he grasped so 
 tightly, that his fingers seemed to meet around my 
 wind-pipe. With his left hand he took me by the 
 hair, and bent my head backward, till I heard some 
 thing inside crack, and I fully believed that he had 
 broke my neck. I felt my eyes swell out from their 
 sockets ; the moon, which was right above me, seemed 
 going round and round, the air became of a dusky 
 reddish hue then darker darker and down again 
 we sunk. When we rose, Jim s right hand was no 
 longer on my throat, and I could breathe again, though 
 each breath was attended with a terrible feeling ot 
 soreness, as if the blood was bubbling through the 
 holes that his finger nails had torn clean through the 
 flesh, as it appeared. I could not see at first ; but a 
 dim perception of the sky and moon slowly returned 
 to me then a streak of lightning seemed to flash 
 across the heavens was it lightning? I cast another 
 glance up no, it was Jim s sheath-knife that flashed 
 above my head, and was now descending directly to 
 wards my heart ! With the quickness of thought 1 
 raised my arm to ward off the blow, and heaven 
 seemed all at once to renew my strength and courage, 
 I caught Jim s wrist, and stopped it just as the point of 
 the blade grazed my flesh. A desperate struggle en 
 sued. His eyes glared like balls of fire, and there 
 was a large circle around them as black as our bends : 
 his mouth foamed, and his tongue lolled away out 
 like a dog s. Once more he raised the knife, in spite 
 of the gripe I had around his wrist ; it descended ! 
 with a sudden effort of desperate strength and resolu 
 tion I seized the naked blade, clinging to it, although 
 it cut almost through my hand, and, with an unex 
 pected sleight turning it direction, it entered his own 
 
"214 TALES ANP SKETCHES. 
 
 side, between two of the left ribs, and penetrated to 
 his heart ! 
 
 As the cold steel sunk into his flesh, Jim sent up 
 a horrid yell, so fierce and wild, that the unearthly 
 sound seems ringing in my ears this very moment. If 
 his countenance was ghastly before, it now assumed the 
 expression of a fiend ; his cheeks turned of a purple 
 colour; his teeth were firmly clenched, and blood 
 flowed profusely from his lips, which he had bitten al 
 most in two in the terrible cgcny of his demoniac pas 
 sion. With the strength oi expiring frenzy, he 
 seized me once more rourd the throat, as if deter 
 mined to drag me down with him to the bottom : in 
 vain I strove to loosen this ueath grapple ; the ends of 
 his fingers were completely buried in my flesh, and his 
 joints, as I tried to move his hands, were as inflexible 
 and tough as steel. It was with difiVulty I could 
 breathe. All the blood in my bony sf ined collected 
 in my head, which was overfull to bui sting. The sky 
 above me beg.*m to look as if all on fire, and danced 
 round and round, like a dog-vane in a whirlwind. All 
 this while, Jim s steady, fiend-like eyes were fixed upon 
 me with a dusky, lurid glow, like that of coals in a 
 furnace ; but their glare kept slowly growing duller 
 and duller, like that of coals going out and at last the 
 rolled entirely up, till nothing but the thick, blood 
 shot whites were visible ; his face turned almost black ; 
 blood started trom his nostrils ; his head dropped back, 
 and without a groan he sunk to rise no more ! For 
 some time, not even death unloosed his convulsive 
 grasp, and down we went together, the corpse and 
 me down, down, dow r n I franticly struggling and 
 striving to tear off his stiff dead fingers from my 
 throat, for which my strength, now almost spent, 
 seemed utterly insufficient. 
 
 " How long I remained in this situation I cannot tell, 
 for the horrors of the fate which now seemed certain, 
 
A WATCH Df TttE MAIN-*OP. 215 
 
 ^-*as the living and the dead were sinking thus together, 
 locked in an inseparable grasp of hate were too much 
 for my senses to sustain. I have a dim recollection 
 of trying to cry out ; of the bubbling of the water as 
 it rushed into my throat ; then of a feeling of having 
 been thrown from a great height on to a rocky shore, 
 to which, as I lay there sprawling and mashed, I in 
 voluntarily clung, that the waves, which seemed te 
 wash up against me, might not bear me off into the 
 sea. After this, all is a blank in my memory, till I re 
 turned to my senses. When I first opened my eyes, 
 I could not help fancying myself in another world ; a 
 tumultuous roaring sound, which I did not immedi 
 ately distinguish to be that of the waves, was in my 
 ears, and the darkness was so deep that I could not 
 discern my hand, as I feebly raised one to my face. 
 A faint recollection of the occurrences of the night 
 then slowly began to return, which I believe was first, 
 prompted by the soreness of my throat, of which 
 every breath made me sensible. At length I became 
 aware that I was still in the water, and that I had 
 been clinging to some floating object which Providence 
 had caused to drift in my way. I could not tell what 
 it was, but it felt like a box or coop. I looked up ; 
 the moon of course had gone down, and not a star 
 shed its twinkling beam through the deep blackness of 
 the hour. I turned my eyes all around the horizon : 
 and my heart fluttered with an indescribable sensa 
 tion, as I fancied I could perceive a very dim streak 
 of light in one part of it, as if the day was just be 
 ginning to dawn. My eyes became riveted to this 
 spot ; the streak grew wider and longer ; in a little 
 while (but it seemed a long while then) other streaks 
 variegated the heaven, and But I am growing te 
 dious. Day came at last ; when, judge my joy and 
 astonishment at seeing the dear little Nancy herself, 
 lying like a duck on the water, at a distance of not 
 
316 TALES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 more than two cables* length from me ! I looked to 
 her main rigging Ned was no longer there. Her 
 sails were down ; and the truth flashed at once upon 
 my mind. I strove to shout, but I was too weak my 
 voice had left me. I laughed like a very idiot I 
 laughed, till I became completely exhausted ; and 
 then I wept and sobbed like a child. Once more I 
 strove to shout ; but a sort of hoarse whisper was the 
 only sound that I could utter. A fear now chilled my 
 heart that, near as I was to succour, I might yet be left 
 to perish miserably in the ocean. I kept my eyes 
 riveted on the schooner, mid tried to strike out with 
 my feet so as to approach closer to her : but my limbs 
 were too weak and faint, and refused to make the ef 
 fort. For a long time there was no stir aboard the 
 Nancy ; but at last I saw Ned come on deck as if from 
 the cabin, and leaning his head on the taffarel, he ap 
 peared to be weeping bitterly. What would I not 
 have given to have been able to sing out, as that fellow 
 on the lee cat-head is now singing out ay-ay, in answer 
 to the officer of the deck s hail. If I could raise my 
 voice, I was sure that Ned would hear me, and come 
 immediately to my relief. I tried and could not. 
 But the poor boy raised his head and seemed looking 
 earnestly around the horizon. My hopes revived. 
 .At last, after looking all round the horizon, and over 
 looking me, whom he little thought so close aboard of 
 him, he turned away, and walked forward to the fore 
 castle. My heart dropped down within me, as heavy 
 as a thirty pound deep sea-lead, and I gave all over for 
 lost. With a frantic effort of despair, my agonized 
 feelings burst out into a terrible yell, the loudness of 
 which startled myself. It reached the ears of Ned. 
 He looked up gazed all around again run aft, and 
 got the spy-glass from the companion way but be 
 fore he raised it to his eye, he caught sight of me ! He 
 took off his tarpaulin, and waved it rapidly around 
 
A WATCH IN THE MAIN-TOP. 
 
 iiis head, to let me know that he had seen me and 
 fhen, in the wild joy of his feelings, he skimmed it far 
 overboard into the sea. 
 
 " I need not spin this yarn any longer, topmates," 
 said Jack, when he had arrived at this part of his story, 
 " for you can all guess the rest as well as I can tell it. 
 It wasn t long, you may be sure, before little Ned 
 !ow r ered away the stern-boat, and jumping from the 
 taffarel into it, with a rashness that liked to have cost 
 him his neck, sculled her to me. It was with some 
 difficulty that he got me into the boat, and when we 
 came alongside, he found it utterly impossible to get 
 me aboard, till he happened to think of the Captain s 
 locker, arid brought me a glass of clear brandy, which 
 he poured down my throat. When was it the case 
 that an allowance of grog didn t warm the heart of 
 man, and give him fresh strength and courage, how 
 ever weak and spiritless ? It was so with me : that 
 sup of brandy revived me, and with the assistance of 
 Ned I got on board. For several days I was unable 
 to stir out of my bunk ; and during all that time, as 
 good luck would have it, the wind continued steady 
 and the weather pleasant. As soon as I was able to 
 listen, Ned told me what had happened after I fell 
 overboard. The Captain, it seemed, had tried to rise 
 from his birth, and come on deck to separate us ; but; 
 the effort had been too much for him, and he had fallen 
 back on the floor and expired. Ned, by his violent 
 struggles to get loose from the rigging, and by the 
 use to which he had put his teeth, at last succeeded in 
 slacking up the knot of one of the seizings, and, as 
 soon as he extricated one hand, found little difficulty 
 in casting off the line from the other wrist and from 
 his ankles. With a presence of mind not to have 
 been expected from him, he immediately jumped to 
 the tiller, and put it hard down, luffing Nancy right up 
 into the wind s eye ; he then sprang forward, letting 
 
 T 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 go, as he ran, the main, fore, and jib haliards, 
 leaving the little schooner as quiet as a log on the wa 
 ter, except what she might drift. A shift of wind 
 took place in the course of the night, which had the 
 effect to set- her back towards where I was uncon 
 sciously drifting, on a coop, which Ned luckily threw 
 overboard immediately on getting loose from the main* 
 rigging. It was a long time before my hand got per 
 fectly well ; and I don t know what we should have 
 done, if we hadn t fell in with a Liverpool trader, 
 which, on learning our situation, spared us one of her 
 crew, by whose assistance we were enabled to work 
 our schooner, and in due time arrived in New- York." 
 By the time that Jack had finished the above story, 
 io which I have been able to do but halting justice, 
 the breeze, which was pretty stiff at the beginning of 
 the watch, had gradually died away ; and further con 
 versation was interrupted by an order from the officer 
 of the deck to get ready to set fore and main topmast 
 studdingsails. This order had hardly been complied 
 with, when the sentry reported eight bells ; as soon as 
 which were struck, the relief was called ; and when I 
 saw the head of the midshipman, who was to take my 
 place, above the rim of the top, I seized hold of a back- 
 stay, and, sliding down, in less than five minutes was 
 fast asleep in my hammock. 
 
WHITE HANDS? 
 
 OR, 
 
 NOT QUITE IN CHARACTER. 
 
 IT was on a dull, misty morning, in the early part of 
 November, that two persons were observed to land, 
 from a little boat, on the New-Jersey shore, about 
 three quarters of a mile, or a mile, below Powles Hook, 
 The elder of these, a tall, rough-looking man, appa 
 rently between forty and forty-five years of age, was 
 clad in fine apparel of a fashionable make ; but which } 
 either from a want of dexterity on the part of the 
 tailor, or from his own awkwardness, did not seem ex 
 actly adapted to the person of the wearer. His coun 
 tenance was dark, apparently from long exposure to 
 the sun ; and, except that his eye had a certain disa 
 greeable expression, might be said to be destitute of 
 meaning. A bluish tinge on the end of the nose, 
 which owed its cerulean hue to the chilliness of the 
 weather, being in a milder state of the atmosphere of 
 a deep crimson and several blotches on his face, in 
 dicated that he was addicted to the bottle ; while hig 
 rolling gait, his hoarse voice, his frequent expectora 
 tions of tobacco juice, and the coarseness of the black 
 neckcloth around his throat, seemed to mark him as a 
 mailerwho, probably, had spent a large part of hi? 
 
: TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 hard earned wages in purchasing the new suit, in 
 which he was so incongruously arrayed. 
 
 His companion was a young man of about his own 
 height ; but evidently of much better proportions, al 
 though his figure was partially concealed by the rough 
 sailer s jacket and trowsers which he wore. His fact 
 was pale, but handsome; his eye, which was large 
 and black, seemed fraught with a sad expression ; and 
 the perspiration that had collected on his forehead, 
 from the fatigue of rowing, denoted him to be either 
 less used to, or less able to endure athletic exercises than 
 his companion. As he lifted his tarpaulin hat from 
 his head, to wipe away the moisture from his brow, 
 his dark glossy locks were exposed to view, making a 
 beautiful contrast with the paleness of his high and ex 
 pansive forehead. Perhaps he was a novice in the 
 perilous profession to which his dress marked him as 
 belonging. 
 
 1 On reaching the shore, the two persons we have de 
 scribed sprang to land, and immediately busied them 
 selves in hauling the boat upon the beach, and making 
 it fast to a stake that had been driven in the ground 
 for that purpose. They then proceeded to walk along 
 the shore together, in the direction of Powles Hook, 
 each apparently absorbed in his own reflections. At 
 length the elder of the party, drawing a small flask 
 from his pocket, and ottering it to the other, inter 
 rupted the silence with an invitation to drink. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Charles," said he, " it s a cursed chilly 
 morning, and we may as well brace our stomachs with 
 a little stingo. Of all the winds that blow, I hate 
 these smoky south-easters. They go through one 
 worse than the but-end of a nor -wester, and make 
 one as sad and shiverish as an old woman with the 
 numb palsy. Will you taste a mouthful of mv 
 brandy?" 
 
 " No, Tom, no," answered the person addressed ; 
 
WHITE HANDS. 
 
 **it is a chill at my heart, not the coldness of the 
 weather, that affects me. The sadness which weighs 
 upon my spirits is of a kind that no artificial excite 
 ment can dissipate ; though, alas ! I cannot but think, 
 that wine had a large share in producing it." 
 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Charles, that you have got into 
 trouble," resumed the first speaker, "and am ready to 
 do any thing in my power to help you out of it." 
 
 " Thank you, Tom, thank you ; all you can do is to 
 keep the secret I have intrusted to you, and give no 
 intimation of the knowledge of which you have acci 
 dentally become possessed. Circumstances may yet 
 assume a brighter aspect, which I pray heaven may be 
 the case, and all may yet go well." 
 
 " I hope so too, Mr. Charles," answered the elder 
 person, " and since I can be of no further use to you. 
 we may as well part here. My business lays a couple 
 of miles down the beach ; so, hoping you may ride out 
 the gale in safety, I bid you good-bye." The rude 
 speaker on saying this, extended his rough, sunburnt 
 hand to his young companion, which the other took 
 with a cordial grasp and then turning on his heel, he 
 retraced his steps for some distance along the beach. 
 Arriving opposite a little mean-looking hut, near the 
 spot where he had landed, he cast a furtive glance 
 around, to note if he from whom he had just separated 
 were still in sight, and finding that an intervening 
 eminence had shut him out from view, he approached 
 the hut, and knocking on the door, at the same time 
 whistling in a low arid peculiar manner, was instantly 
 admitted. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the younger person kept on his 
 way towards the little town we have mentioned, 
 his mind apparently engaged in thoughts of a deep 
 and absorbing nature. Whatever was the subject 
 of his reflections, he was evidently not happy ; for 
 a sigh would every now and then steal from his 
 
*& TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lips, and once or twice he muttered to himself- 
 - Fool, fool that I was ! to stain my soul with such 
 a dreadful deed." On reaching the village, he pro 
 ceeded immediately to the hotel, which was denoted 
 by a sign to be the stopping place for the south 
 ern line of stages, and entering the public room, took 
 a seat in a retired corner, to await the arrival of the 
 vehicle which was expected over in the boat, then 
 about mid- way of the river. 
 
 It has already been observed that it was a misty 
 disagreeable morning. Although some time after sun 
 rise, the apartment in which the stranger had seated 
 himself, was lighted by lamps, on account of the dark 
 ness of the weather ; and several other guests were 
 walking to and fro across the floor, denoting by the 
 vsilk handkerchiefs around their necks, their coats but 
 toned close up under their chin, their busy and impor 
 tant air, and the frequent glances which they cast on a 
 pile of trunks and baggage, in one corner of the room, 
 that they too were awaiting the arrival of the stage. 
 For some reason or other, the mail coach had been 
 delayed beyond the usual hour ; and it was easy to 
 trace on the countenance of every traveller, whether 
 about setting out on his journey from motives of busi 
 ness or pleasure, the vexation and chagrin which thr 
 circumstance occasioned. At length, after many im 
 patient interjections as to the cause of the detention, 
 curses on the driver, and censures of the proprietors 
 of the line for their inattention and neglect, the ring 
 ing of the bell announced that the expected boat had 
 reached the dock, and all the inmates in the bar-room, 
 with the exception of the young sailer, hurried out 
 upon the porch to see the stage drive up to the door. 
 They soon returned, however, more disappointed than 
 before. The tardy Expedition had not yet come 
 over, and they were doomed to another half hour, at 
 the least, of impatience and anxiety. The young 
 
"WHITE IIANB6. 
 
 man now seemed to share in the general feeling. 
 He drew a handsome gold watch from his pocket, 
 seemed uneasy at the delay, and as he returned it, 
 inquired of the landlord, in a low and tremulous voice, 
 whether, in case any accident should prevent the 
 arrival of the stage, he could be furnished with an 
 other vehicle, stating that his business was of the most 
 urgent kind, and would materially suffer should he 
 lose any time on the road. Whether any of this rest 
 lessness of manner and solicitude to be gone, so sud 
 denly displayed on the part of our young nautical 
 acquaintance, were occasioned by the steady and 
 rude gaze of a stranger, who had entered the room 
 a moment or two after the arrival of the ferry 
 boat, and w T hose glance, after wandering over every 
 individual in the apartment, finally rested on the 
 person of the handsome sailer we have described, 
 it would be difficult to tell. Certain it is, that the 
 individual who had last joined the party in the bar 
 room, and who had seated himself at a large table 
 immediately opposite the object of his curiosity, did 
 stare at him with a most pertinacious and inquisi 
 tive look ; and certain it is, furthermore, that the young 
 man, by the reddening of his cheeks, by twiddling 
 with his watch-chain, which had not been exposed 
 to view previous to his looking at his watch, but which 
 was now left hanging out and by sundry other move 
 ments, evinced that he was far from being pleased 
 with the impolite curiosity of the stranger. To hide 
 his confusion, or, perhaps to hide his person from 
 observation he took up a file of papers from the 
 bench on which he was sitting, and holding them so 
 that they completely interrupted the view of the rude 
 gazer, he became apparently at once immersed in their 
 contents. The starer, however, was not to be eluded 
 so easily. 
 " Pray, sir," said he, advancing nearer to the young 
 
 
(TALES AXD SKETCHES. 
 
 sailer, and taking a seat beside him, " do you find am 
 thing new in the papers this morning ?" 
 
 " Nothing of particular consequence," replied the 
 oilier, reaching the newspapers to the questioner, and 
 turning round so as to bring his back to him, while, 
 at the same time he drew his hat further over his 
 brows. 
 
 " May I be so bold," again inquired the first speaker. 
 ** as to ask you how late it is in the morning ?" 
 
 It might have been that he sat too far from the fire 
 to feel much of its influence, or it might have -been 
 from a natural timidity, or it might have been from 
 displeasure at being thus importuned by the stranger: 
 but, from whatever cause it arose, it was noticed by 
 two or three whose eyes had been drawn upon the 
 young man by the occurrences we have related, that 
 his hand trembled, and that his voice had the disa 
 greeable huskiness which agitation produces, as he 
 drew his watch again from his pocket, and answered 
 the interrogation of the inquisitive gentleman beside 
 him. 
 
 " That is really a very beautiful watch, sir," said he. 
 * Will you suffer me to examine it ?" 
 
 The young man made no reply, but handed the 
 watch. 
 
 " You are a sailer, sir, I presume ?" again asked his 
 importunate companion. 
 
 " Ye yes, sir," was the answer, with increased hus 
 kiness of voice, and embarrassment of manner. 
 
 4< Have you recently returned from sea ?" 
 
 44 Ye ye yes, sir," still more embarrassed. 
 
 What vessel did you belong to ?" 
 
 i( To to the the Nautilus." 
 
 " The Nautilus, sir !" exclaimed one of the persons 
 \vho was awaiting the arrival of the stage. " The 
 Nautilus ! why it s more than eighteen months since 
 
WiriTE HAND.*. 225 
 
 that vessel was lost at sea ! You surely must be mis 
 taken, sir." 
 
 " Perhaps I am, sir," said the young sailer, rising 
 from his seat, and speaking in a more confident and 
 manly tone than he had yet used. ** But at all events 
 my answer is full as correct as the conduct of my im 
 portunate and troublesome interrogator. Have you 
 any business with me, sir," said he, turning round to 
 the latter, "that you thus go about me with your 
 questions, seeking to ascertain my name and charac 
 ter?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," responded he to whom this question was 
 addressed, at the same time laying hold of the collar of 
 the young sailer s jacket " yes, sir, I have business 
 with you. I arrest you on a charge of having com 
 mitted a robbery and mufderlast night. Gentlemen, 
 continued he, " you may all see by this fellow s white 
 hands, that he is not a sailor ; and his own blundering 
 lie about the Nautilus plainly shows it." 
 
 The countenance of the young stranger, thus rudely 
 accosted, turned as pale as death, and directly after be 
 came suffused with the deepest crimson, as he per 
 ceived that the guests in the apartment were crowding 
 around him with that curiosity and eagerness which the 
 circumstance was calculated to occasion. An answer 
 appeared to tremble on his lips, and once or twice he 
 attempted to speak ; but his voice died av av in a broken 
 and unintelligible murmur. These signs of confusion 
 were not lost on the spectators, who, with that readi 
 ness to believe in the guilt of any one against w T hom an 
 accusation is made, which usually distinguishes a mis 
 cellaneous assemblage, plainly evinced by the expres 
 sion of their countenances, the horror they entertained 
 at his crime. 
 
 " I thought he had a suspicious look when I first 
 clapped my eyes on him," said one, in a suppressed 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 voice, at the same time shrugging his shoulders, ele 
 vating his brows, and trying to look very wise. 
 
 " A real hang-dog face !" muttered another. " And 
 then his fine linen and gold watch ! I knew he was a 
 rogue." 
 
 " The scoundrel P exclaimed the landlord, thrusting 
 his red visage into the midst of the assemblage. "He 
 wanted to hire a private conveyance, too. His busi 
 ness was of the most urgent kind, no doubt P 
 
 The object of these, and a hundred other similar re- 
 vilings, made no answer to the abuse with which he 
 was assailed ; but addressing the individual by W 7 hom 
 he had been arrested, he Informed him in a low and 
 trembling voice, that he was ready to accompany 
 him. 
 
 The ringing of a bell no^r announced the arrival of 
 the boat ; and the twanging of the driver s horn, the 
 crack of his whip, and the rattle of rapidly revolving 
 wheels, made the guests in the bar-room aware that 
 the expected vehicle was near at hand. In the bustle 
 and confusion to which this circumstance gave rise, 
 the departure of the officer with his prisoner, on whom 
 such a dreadful suspicion had alighted, was scarcely 
 noticed. A few inquiring and lowering glances were 
 turned on the latter, as he issued from the hotel and 
 walked hastily towards the boat ; but the cry of the 
 stage-driver, "hurry! hurry!" the eagerness of the pas 
 sengers in arranging the disposition of their baggage, 
 the oaths of the servants, and all the usual noises which 
 attend the departure of a mail coach, claimed their 
 share of attention from those who were witnesses of 
 the scene, and caused our hero (for such \ve fear he 
 will prove, notwithstanding the unfavourable light in 
 which he appears) to attract a less degree of disagree 
 able scrutiny than the circumstance of his arrest at 
 any other time would have occasioned. 
 
 On reaching the opposite side of the river, the offr 
 
WHITE HANDS. 227 
 
 cer, at the request of his prisoner, procured a carriage, 
 in which he was speedily conveyed before the police 
 magistrate, for the purpose of undergoing an exami 
 nation in relation to the charge that had been made 
 against him. It was still early in the morning ; and a 
 number of those who had been taken up on the pre 
 ceding night, for various causes of offence, yet lingered 
 in the apartment ; some stretched upon the benches in 
 deep slumber, others, to whom a consciousness of their 
 recent excesses had perhaps just returned, sitting in a 
 posture of nervous and stupid contrition. On one side 
 lay extended a ragged and filthy woman, whose 
 dishevelled hair, bloated cheeks, and soiled apparel, as 
 well as the deathlike sleep which locked her senses, 
 betokened that beastly intemperance had led her into 
 her present situation. In a corner of the apartment* 
 another of the same sex sat rubbing her bloodshot 
 eyes, apparently just aroused from similar stupefaction. 
 The blood upon her face, and the tattered and muddy 
 condition of her garments, evinced that fighting had 
 been the offence of this Amazon, and the black circle 
 which surrounded either eye seemed to attest that she 
 had not come off victorious from the fray. At a little 
 distance from this revolting object, lay a drunken sailer, 
 his head hanging over the edge of the bench, and his 
 nose bearing sonorous witness to the uncomfortable- 
 ness of his posture. A huge, greasy looking negro was 
 standing before the magistrate when our hero joined 
 the disgusting assemblage ; and the latter, apparently 
 satisfied that the accusation against the culprit had been 
 sufficiently substantiated, had just consigned him to 
 the charge of an officer, to be conveyed to Bridewell 
 " Who have we here V cried he, as his eye fell upon 
 the pale but handsome countenance of our young nau 
 tical acquaintance. Well, Jenkins," addressing the 
 constable, " what has this chap been doing ?" 
 
 " I have arrested him on suspicion of having com 
 mitted the robbery last night." 
 
*2*28 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Ah ha ! my buck," said the police magistrate, eyeing 
 f he prisoner from head to foot, " you are a young man. 
 but an old sinner, I am thinking. What proofs have 
 you against him, Jenkins ?" 
 
 " Mr. Worthly stated, sir, that the man who knocked 
 him down and robbed him was about six feet high: so 
 is this chap. He was dressed in sailer s clothes : so is 
 this fellow. Jim Sharpe, the watchman, come in, you 
 know, sir, just after the robbery had been committed, 
 It happened in his beat, and when, alarmed by the 
 noise, he ran to the spot, the villain had made his 
 escape. He couldn t see him on account of the fog : 
 but he could hear his feet as he ran, and he said he 
 seemed to steer straight down to the river. As soon 
 as I heard this I went down to Sam Mooney s, that 
 keeps a grocery store on the dock, thinking like enough 
 it was one of the tag-rag that hangs about his place. 
 8am told me that he had happened to be out of doors 
 about an hour before, and that he had seen a tall, sailer- 
 looking fellow, come running down nearly out of 
 breath ; that he had jumped hastily into a boat which 
 lay alongside the wharf, and was just about shoving 
 off, when another person joined him, and, after a few 
 words in a low and earnest tone of voice, the letter 
 got into the stern-sheets, w r hile the former shipped the 
 oars and pulled, for as far as he could see them in the 
 fog, directly across the river. Sam said he couldn i 
 distinctly hear what passed between them, but under 
 stood one of them to say something about taking 
 passage in the southern stage. As soon as I learnt 
 this, I laid my plans accordingly, and crossing over in 
 the first boat to Powles Hook, I went immediately up 
 to the hotel, that I might take a look at the passengers 
 who were waiting for the mail coach. Among the 
 rest, I found this fellow, who is no more a sailer than 1 
 am. His height and his clothes corresponded exactly 
 with the description, and first drew my suspicions upon 
 
WHITE HANDS, 
 
 him. Then I saw him pull out a fine gold watch, and 
 f hat strengthened them ; and then, as he returned it to 
 his fob, I noticed that his hands were as delicate and 
 white as a lady s. So, so, thought I, < these white 
 hands are not quite in character for a common sailer. 
 The young man observed that I looked at him pretty 
 sharp, and it seemed to confuse him a good deal ; but 
 this only made me more sure of my man. I took a seat 
 near him, and asked him a few questions. He stam 
 mered and stuttered out his answers like a guilty per 
 son, and showed himself anxious to avoid me. I asked 
 him if he had just returned from sea. He said he had, 
 in the Nautilus, which your honour knows, as well ay 
 me, was lost more than a year ago. Finding so many 
 circumstances against him, I took upon myself to arrest 
 him, and it is for your honour to say whether I was 
 wrong or not." 
 
 " You have done well, Jenkins," replied the magis 
 trate. " Did you discover any thing further to confirm 
 your suspicions?" 
 
 " This pocket-handkerchief," answered the consta 
 ble, " is marked C. W., which stands for Caleb Worthly 
 and there are some memorandums in this pocket- 
 book, which, with still greater certainty, mark them as 
 having been taken from that gentleman." 
 
 The magistrate reached forth his hand to receive the 
 proffered articles of evidence, and after carefully ex 
 amining them, turned to the young man, and asked him 
 in a serious and impressive voice, what he had to say in 
 answer to the circumstances which appeared against 
 him. 
 
 " As I have no evidence at hand, whereby to sub 
 stantiate my character," replied lie, " I fear that what I 
 have to say will prove of but little avail. My name is 
 Charles Wilton. I am a stranger in this city, from Vir 
 ginia. An unfortunate occurrence, but of a very dif 
 ferent nature from that with which I am charged,, took 
 
 U 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 place last night, in consequence of which I was anxious 
 to leave New- York. Half distracted at thought of 
 the difficulties in which I had become suddenly involved, 
 I rushed out into the street, and after wandering for 
 some time, I knew not whither, found myself at the 
 river side. Just beneath me I perceived a man in a 
 boat, apparently engaged in detaching the chain from a 
 ring to which it \vas fastened, and which, while I gazed 
 with an unmeaning stare upon him, he accomplished, as 
 was made manifest by the rattling of the iron, as it 
 dropped down into the fore part of the boat. The 
 noise startled me, and the moon, breaking out just at 
 that moment from the rack of clouds which had for a 
 long time enveloped it, and shining dimly through the 
 misty atmosphere, discovered me to the person be 
 neath. 
 
 " Who s there ? cried he. 
 
 " The voice struck me as a familiar one. " Tom Star* 
 board/ said I, " is that you ?" 
 
 " * And if it is/ responded the voice from the boat, 
 what is it to you, and for what purpose do you 
 ask? 
 
 " I communicated my name to him, and the strong 
 desire I had of reaching the opposite side of the river. 
 He consented, though in rather an ungracious manner 
 it must be confessed, to admit me into the boat. I had 
 known Tom Starboard before he took to the sea. He 
 lived in the same part of the country where I reside ; 
 and glad to meet with an acquaintance, even though 
 so unlettered and humble a one as Tom, I communi 
 cated to him the situation in which I found my 
 self involved. He appeared to sympathize with me, 
 and advised me by all means to leave New- York, sug 
 gesting at the same time the propriety of adopting 
 some disguise, lest I should be recognised on the road, 
 and my flight intercepted. Aswe were about of a height, 
 it occurred to me that the best thing I could do would 
 
WHITE HANDS. s 
 
 be to effect an exchange of garments with Tom. To 
 this he at first appeared reluctant, stating, as an objec 
 tion, the superior value of my apparel, and the suspi 
 cions to which he would be rendered liable by thus 
 suddenly appearing in such an unusual dress. I found 
 means to overcome his hesitation, and, cold as it was, 
 when we were about mid-way of the river, we enter 
 ed into the proposed accommodation. The rest, sir. 
 you know. On my arrival on the opposite shore, ) 
 parted from my companion, whose route lay further 
 down, and proceeded immediately to the hotel where 1 
 was arrested. I am aware that my solicitude to leave 
 this city, and the manner in which I effected my object, 
 create a suspicious appearance against me, which ] 
 have no other means than my simple assertion to re 
 fute. My baggage, containing letters of credit and in 
 troduction, through my own carelessness has been left 
 on the road ; and until that arrives, my character must 
 remain in doubt." 
 
 The magistrate had listened attentively to this nar 
 ration, of the prisoner before him, and saw, or thought 
 he saw, in his countenance a confirmation of his stor}^. 
 " You have not explained," said he, in a milder tone 
 than he had used before, "in what manner you became 
 possessed of this pocket-book and handkerchief, which 
 evidently belong to the unfortunate gentleman who 
 has been robbed." 
 
 "The handkerchief is mine," replied Wilton, "though, 
 by a singular coincidence of initial letters, the officer 
 who apprehended me was led to suppose that it had 
 been rifled from the person you mention. As for the 
 pocket-book, I know nothing of it." 
 
 The magistrate reflected for a moment, and then 
 asked of the prisoner, in an earnest tone of voice, 
 what had been the character of the individual in com 
 pany with whom he had crossed the river, during the 
 lime of his former knowledge of him, 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " He was a wild and thoughtless fellow," answered 
 Charles Wilton, " frequently engaged in tavern brawl?, 
 and once suspected of having been concerned in a 
 theft to a considerable amount, which occurred in a 
 neighbouring town. He underwent an examination 
 on the subject ; but the charge was not maintained 
 with sufficient evidence, and he was acquitted. Shortly 
 afterward he left that part of the country, and I sa\v 
 nor heard no more of him, until our accidental en 
 counter last night." 
 
 When this reply was made, the magistrate called 
 Jenkins to his side, and for some time conversed with 
 him in a low and earnest manner, apparently giving 
 him private and particular instructions. He paused 
 once, to ask the prisoner for a description of Torn 
 Starboard s person, as soon as which was rendered, he 
 renewed his directions to the constable. When these 
 were finished, the latter, together with two other offi 
 cers, who received an order to that effect from the 
 bench, left the apartment. 
 
 " I am fearful, young man," resumed the magistrate, 
 " that my duty will oblige me to commit you. The 
 circumstances against you are of the strongest kind ; 
 and though I feel disposed to credit your relation ; 
 yet your unsubstantiated word cannot, of course, be 
 received as evidence. Besides, even according to your 
 own account, a mystery hangs over a part of your 
 conduct last night, which you appear unwilling to dis 
 pel, and which certainly admits of a very unfavourable 
 inference." 
 
 It would be tedious to dwell further on the particu 
 lars of this examination : suffice it to say that Charles 
 Wilton was committed to prison. In consequence of 
 the interest, however, which his narrative had evi 
 dently awakened in the breast of the, benevolent 
 magistrate, and of a hope which the latter enter- 
 l.ained that the result of the expedition on which 
 
WHITE HANDS. 233 
 
 tie had despatched Jenkins and his associates would 
 totally exculpate the accused from the fearful charge 
 against him, he gave directions to confine him in a com 
 modious apartment, and treat him with respectful at 
 tention, In this situation we mifst now leave our hero 
 for a while, and request the reader to accompany us 
 to the hut on the other side of the river, of which we 
 have already had occasion to speak in the early part 
 of our narrative. 
 
 The interior of this building fully corresponded with 
 the mean appearance of the outside. It consisted 
 of one large apartment, which seemed never to have 
 been finished, as on one side of -it the laths were not 
 covered with plaster, and rough pieces of board? 
 were nailed up against some of the apertures intended 
 for windows. The floor, composed of crooked and 
 unshaven boards, was black with dirt ; a bed, which 
 occupied a corner of the room, was of much the 
 same hue ; and the bedstead had but three legs, an 
 old sea-chest being thrust underneath it, to answer 
 in place of the fourth. Different kinds of fishing 
 tackling were strewn about the floor, and a net, which 
 was stretched several times across it, on wooden pegs 
 driven in the wall, seemed to denote that the occu 
 pant was a fisherman. A large fire blazed in the 
 chimney, beside which sat, or more properly reclined, 
 on a low stool, a dingy looking female, the redness of 
 whose broad and unfeminine face was heightened by 
 the flickering light that fell upon it from the embers. 
 Her black and knotted hair appeared to be a stranger 
 to the comb, and her draggling and stained apparel 
 evinced the most perfect contempt for the mysteries 
 of the toilet. Immediately in front of the fire, seated 
 on either side of a small pine table, were two rough- 
 looking men, apparently engaged in earnest conversa 
 tion. The elder of these was short and stout, and 
 was dressed in a pea-jacket and coarse trowsers. His 
 
234 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lace bore the marks of frequent and severe exposure 
 to wind and weather, and perhaps the same causes had 
 assisted the operation of time in giving their silvery 
 hue to the few locks which straggled beneath the tar 
 paulin hat that he wore. Whether it was his bloated 
 cheeks, or the quick, restless, sinister glances of hi? 
 little gray eyes, that shone like fire beneath his shaggy 
 brows, it is certain that there was something in the 
 expression of this old man w r hich completely counter 
 acted the effect of his white hairs, and predisposed the 
 observer to view him with dislike. His companion 
 was much taller, and appeared to be a few years 
 younger ; but showed equal indications on his counte 
 nance of hardships and exposure. He was dressed" in 
 a suit of sailer s clothes ; but over the back of the 
 chair on which he sat there hung garments of a much 
 more fashionable cut and texture ; arid it was to these 
 that the conversation seemed to allude. 
 
 4i I tell you, Tom," said the elder person, " you did 
 wrong to exchange clothes with him. You maybe 
 have left something in the pockets that will bring all 
 out ; and besides, of what use is this fine toggery to 
 you T 
 
 /* 
 
 " Why you see, old trembler," responded the other 
 in a hoarse and sulky voice, " I couldn t well refuse 
 to make the swap, since the fool desired it ; and if it 
 wouldn t be safe to rig out here, what s to hinder me 
 mounting em when we get to Havana 1 We shal) 
 want to cut a swell there you know. Bet !" (addresing 
 the female who sat half asleep in the corner) " look 
 out, and see if this damned south-easter has hauled 
 round any yet. It s full time to top our booms I m 
 thinking ; for we can t expect to steer clear for ever, 
 The charlies came within an ace of overhauling me 
 last night : you might have heard their clubs rattle on 
 the pavement clean here. But I m a hank to wind ard 
 of em yet." 
 
WHITE 
 
 As he finished speaking, the sailer poured out a huge 
 draught of liquor from a bottle that stood upon the 
 table, which he drank off at a toss, and bursting out 
 into a loud laugh exclaimed, " Talk of privateering 
 and pirating ! I tell you there s no such prizes to be 
 taken on the big pond as you may fall in with any nighi 
 in the streets and lanes of yonder cruising ground. 
 See here !" (taking out of his pocket a roll of bills 
 and spreading them on the table before him) " here s 
 what will buy a suit of sails for the little Rover, with 
 something left for small stores. Bet, I say and be 
 damned to you !" roared he to the ragged wench in 
 the corner, whose slumbers had not been broken by 
 his first command, " rouse up here, and thrust your 
 ugly head outside the door, until you find which way 
 the wind is." 
 
 The woman, yawning and grumbling, arose from 
 her seat, and left the apartment to comply with the 
 harsh order she had received. She had not, however, 
 been absent more than a minute, before she returned, 
 running nearly breathless into the room, the usual 
 redness of her face having been succeeded by an ashy 
 paleness, and with a husky and trembling voice whis 
 pered that several men had been listening at the win 
 dows, and were now actually entering the house. She 
 had scarcely completed this annunciation before the 
 truth was corroborated by the entrance of Jenkins 
 and his associates. They all rushed instantly towards 
 the fireplace, to seize on the person of the sailer, who 
 seemed in particular the object of their search. Tom 
 -Starboard (for, as our readers have probably conjec 
 tured, it was no other than he) sprang to his feet as 
 the constables burst into the apartment, and snatching 
 the money with one hand from the table, with the 
 other he tore down the old ducking piece which was 
 suspended over the fire. The officers, however, had 
 been too nimble in their motions to allow him to exe- 
 
300 TALES A3SD SKETCHES, 
 
 cute his design. Two of them seized hold of his 
 arms and pinioned them down, while the third en 
 deavoured to wrest the musket from his grasp. In the 
 struggle the piece was accidentally discharged. The 
 woman raised a shrill scream as the report revebe- 
 rated through the room ; while taking advantage of 
 the confusion of the scene, the old man, perhaps see 
 ing that resistance would be in vain, sought safety in 
 flight. Tom Starboard was a person of uncommon 
 strength and activity ; but he had three active and 
 resolute antagonists to deal with, whose united efforts 
 soon forced him to yield. His arms were tied behind 
 him, and in that condition he was conveyed across the 
 river, and thence to the Police Office, a rabble, as is 
 usual on such occasions, hooting and hallooing at his 
 heels. 
 
 While these occurrences were transpiring, our hero 
 had remained immured within the walls of the prison 
 to which we lately saw him committed ; and after the 
 first fever of sharnc and agitation had subsided, he 
 had time to reflect upon his situation, and on the course 
 of conduct which it would be proper for him to pur 
 sue. The worthy magistrate, as soon as he was* 
 released from the duties of his office, had called to 
 see and converse in private with the youth, in whose 
 behalf he began to feel a warm interest ; and to 
 him Charles Wilton made a full and frank confession 
 of the occurrences which had been the primary cause 
 of his present difficulty. On his arrival in the city on 
 the previous evening, not knowing what to do, as his 
 baggage containing his letters and credentials, had 
 been left upon the road, he had rambled out for the 
 purpose of visiting some of the most prominent places 
 of public amusement. In one of these he encountered 
 a former acquaintance, whom he was induced to ac 
 company to a gaming table. At first it was his inten 
 tion not to hazard any thing on the chances of the 
 
WHITE HANDS. 
 
 game ; but having been induced to transgress this 
 prudent resolution, he at last entered into a lull parti 
 cipation of the excitement of the scene, in which he- 
 was so far successful that he rose from the table a 
 winner to a considerable amount. The acquaintance 
 who led him to the place, on the contrary, had losl 
 every thing, and, being by this time somewhat inflamed 
 with wine, began to make injurious insinuations against 
 the sole remaining guest in the apartment. Charles 
 Wilton had endeavoured to sooth him ; but this seemed 
 to have quite a contrary effect from that which was 
 intended, and provoked a blow. Enraged at the 
 insult, he returned it with his sword-cane ; a scuffle: 
 ensued, in the confusion of which the weapon became 
 unsheathed, and his antagonist, staggering towards him, 
 fell upon the point, arid sunk wounded and bleeding 
 to the floor. Recalled to his senses by this unlooked- 
 for catastrophe, he entreated his friend to fly, assuring 
 him, that in the event of the wound proving mortal, 
 his reputation should be cleared from stain. Charles 
 Wilton, distracted at the thought of what he had done, 
 complied, and rushed out into the street. Unknowing 
 whither he went, for a long time he wandered about 
 at random, until he at length reached the river side, 
 where Tom Starboard was just preparing to shove oft 
 in his boat. The reader is acquainted with the rest. 
 
 The magistrate, as soon as he heard this relation, 
 took immediate means to ascertain the state of the 
 wounded man, and after a short absence, returned with 
 the cheerful tidings that the hurt was not only not 
 mortal, but extremely slight, and that it was with diffi 
 culty he could persuade his antagonist of the previous 
 evening from accompanying him in person, to express 
 his apologies for the ungentlemanlike conduct of which 
 he had been guilty. 
 
 It is needless to dwell longer on the events of this 
 story. The entire innocence of Charles Wilton being 
 
"<IOO TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 thus made apparent, he was immediately released bv 
 the same worthy magistrate who had committed him*: 
 and, except that he was shortly after called on for his 
 evidence in a suit of " The People, vs. Thomas Star 
 board," he has never, from that time to this, been cited 
 before a criminal tribunal. The arrival of his trunk?, 
 which happened a day or two after his release, enabled 
 him to substantiate his character beyond the possibility 
 of a doubt, and it was with great pleasure that, on 
 looking over his letters of introduction, he found one 
 addressed to the excellent magistrate, to whose kind 
 ness he had been so largely indebted. 
 
 The criminality of Tom Starboard was fully estab 
 lished by the most incontrovertible evidence. The 
 gentleman whom he robbed was enabled to come into 
 court by the time that the trial took place, and swore 
 positively to the identity of the notes which the con 
 stables had found in his possession. Many other 
 circumstances equally strong appeared against him, 
 till they at last had the effect to induce Tom to with 
 draw his plea of " not guilty," and throw himself on 
 the mercy of the court. He was sentenced to the 
 State Prison, where, for aught we know, he remains to 
 this day. 
 
 The acquaintance of Charles Wilton, whose rash 
 conduct at the gaming-house had nearly cost him his 
 life, soon recovered from his wound, and took every 
 opportunity, while he continued in this city, to correct 
 the unfounded rumours which grew out of the circum 
 stance. He was a wild and thoughtless fellow, how 
 ever, and soon after lost his life in a duel with a Spanish 
 officer, in the West Indies. 
 
 About two years since Charles Wilton w r as united 
 in marriage to the blooming daughter of the magistrate 
 whom we have had occasion to mention so often. 1 
 dropped in to see them one evening during my last visit 
 to the city, and found Charles dandling a chubby-faced. 
 
WHITE HANDS. 239 
 
 t. osy-cheeked little fellow on his knee, while his Catha 
 rine I sat beside her work-table, busily engaged in em 
 broidering a cap for the little rogue s head. They are 
 indeed a happy couple, and I hope they may long live to 
 enjoy the good things which Providence has bestowed 
 upon them. This story of The White Hands, I got from 
 Charles s own mouth, who often laughs at the sagacity 
 of the honest constable in perceiving that white hands 
 were not quite in character for a sailer though he 
 usually adds, in a graver mood, that his conduct at the 
 gaming-house was certainly, NOT QUITE IN CHARACTER. 
 
THE MISTAKE. 
 
 Haply for I am black, 
 
 And have not those soft parts of conversation 
 That chamberers have : Or, for I am declined 
 Into the vale of years ; yet that s not much. 
 fc , Shakspcar< 
 
 IT was in that beautiful season of the year, when th< 
 extreme heats of summer have passed away, and the 
 delicious days and more delicious evenings of autumn 
 have succeeded ; when the air is filled with music, and 
 the fanning breeze bears health and fragrance on its 
 \vings ; and when the darkened hue of field and forest, 
 though still unfaded and lovely in their verdure, whis- a 
 pers that, like all things earthly, they are hastening to 
 decay it was in such a season, not many years ago. 
 and in a romantic country place, that the incidents of 
 the following tale occurred. Twilight had commenced 
 her melancholy reign, in a valley of the Catskill moun 
 tains, though the lingering glory of the sunken sun was 
 still glowing, like a flood of molten gold upon their 
 summits, when two persons, a young man and woman, 
 issuing from the shadow of the woods, by a little path, 
 seated themselves on the fallen trunk of a tree, beside a. 
 stream that rippled at their feet. The female appeared 
 to be about twenty years old, and was arrayed in the 
 simple and modest attire, which is one of the most com 
 mon characteristics of our country maidens. She was 
 not beautiful ; yet she possessed, in a high degree, 
 the indescribable charm with which the rosy cheeks 
 and laughing eyes of woman are always accompanied, 
 when those roses are bestowed by health and exercise^ 
 
THE MISTAKE. 
 
 and that laughing expression is prompted by innocence. 
 One of our own sweetest poets has beautifully and 
 truly said, that 
 
 woman s eye, 
 
 In court or cottage, wheresoc er her home, 
 
 Hath a heart-apell, too holy and too high 
 
 To be o erpraised oven by her worshipper Poesy. 
 
 The young man seemed four or five years older : 
 and though dressed in the homespun cotton clothing, 
 much used by farmers of middling degree, in our mouri- 
 tain districts, was certainly handsome ; if we may so 
 term the manly and independent expression, which 
 honesty and toil bestow upon their followers. He 
 held the hand of his fair companion within his own, 
 and was conversing with her, in that low and softly 
 modulated tone, which is taught by love itself, while 
 she sat listening, " nothing loth," or we might rather 
 say, " with greedy ear devouring his discourse." 
 
 ;< You know, Sally," it was thus the conversation 
 ran, " you know that my affairs are very much changed 
 for the worse, since you gave me your word 
 that you would become my wife. If farmer 
 Schemely hadn t died, before he finished his new mill- 
 power, I dare say he d a-been able to ave sold it for 
 enough to pay me all I lent him, and taken up that 
 deuced note himself; but as it is, it must all come out 
 of my little farm, and then I shan t have much left. 
 But these hands will be left, Sally ; and this heart will 
 be left : you needn t be afraid while I have the one, 
 but we shall always be able to get a comfortable living, 
 and the love of the other will last till that heart grows 
 cold in death, and these hands are folded over it in the 
 sleep of the grave. However, Sally, you have beauty 
 and merit enough to get a better husband if you re 
 pent your bargain, I give you back your word, and 
 though I shall always love you, to my dying day, not 
 one syllable of complaint shall ever pass my lips." 
 
 JoL 
 
242 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " William, I have known you a long time, and I never 
 heard you speak so unkindly before," responded Sally. 
 " When you pressed me to be your wife, and I owned 
 I loved you, and gave you my promise, do you suppose 
 there was a falsehood in my heart, and I only wanted 
 to get a husband that could make a lady of me, so that 
 I need have nothing to do ? Do you think so mean of 
 me, William, as to believe that it was your snug farm, 
 and the new house that you had built, and the dairy 
 house, and your cattle, that made me love you ? If 
 you do, you know little of my heart. When I looked 
 round, and saw every thing so pleasant and prosper 
 ous about you, I was glad in my soul ; but it was on 
 your account as much as on my own. I have often 
 thought, when the twilight hour came down upon the 
 valley, to make every thing look misty and dim, and 
 brought sad feelings along with it, that if William s 
 house was to be burnt down, and his cattle were to die, 
 and the sheriff was to seize his farm, and he himself 
 was to be put into prison, that I would love him still, 
 with a truth that time couldn t alter, nor absence di 
 vide. And why did I love you, William ? Was it 
 because affairs went on so smoothly with you, and you 
 wore smart clothes, and rode a fine horse, and rode 
 so well ? I can lay my hand here, and answer, no. 
 Was it because you beat all the young men in the 
 village in playing ball, and pitching quoits, and such 
 things ? You can t believe me so foolish. No, I ll tell 
 you why it was. You was a good son, lengthening 
 out your old father s and mother s days by your obedi 
 ence and kindness to them ; you was constant at meet 
 ing on Sabbaths, and always had something for the 
 plate ; and more than all, you went about doing good, 
 without letting people know who it was that did it ; 
 and it was by mere chance, I may say, that I found 
 out twas you that helped my own cousin Harry onl 
 of his trouble, and paid the debt yourself. Tvvas for 
 
THE MISTAKE, 
 
 243 
 
 these things that I loved you, William : and here s my 
 hand, if you choose to take it ; it s one that will hold 
 by you through good report, and through evil report, 
 and leave you only when death unlocks its grasp." 
 
 Tears stood in the eyes of both these rustic lovers ; 
 and when the pious and affectionate girl had finished 
 speaking, she was folded to as manly and true a bo 
 som as ever was lighted by the flame of love. Im 
 printing " a pure kiss, sweet and long," upon her cheek, 
 William arose from his seat. 
 
 " Sally," said he, " 1 never doubted your truth, but 1 
 have observed Squire Wilding, since he came up here 
 last spring, has put himself often in your way, and 
 seems to admire you very much. I don t like to be 
 uncharitable ; but I m thinking Parson Goodman 
 wouldn t often have him to listen to his sermons, if it 
 wasn t on your account. I had made up my mind to 
 speak to you about it ; for, thinks I, it will not show 
 my love much, if I stand between her and such a for 
 tune." 
 
 " You mean kindly, Will, I know you do," returned 
 the maiden, also rising. " But I ask of you as a favour, 
 never to mention- that odious Squire again. If he 
 meant honourably, (and I m by no means sure of it) 
 I wouldn t have him no ! not if his pennies were all 
 dollars. What ! I s pose because he comes here with 
 his dashing carriage and horses, and servants, and dogs, 
 he thinks he s agoing to turn all the young women s 
 heads. Now, merit makes the man ; and for my part, 
 if I was obliged to have a husband, whether or no, and 
 had to choose betwixt the two, I d take Jack Ratlin, 
 that lost his leg and eye board the Chesapeake, by all 
 odds ; though he has to support himself and his 
 old mother, by making mats, and such things. Don t 
 mention his name to me any more." 
 
 "Well, Sally, I m very willing to oblige you in 
 that, as in every thing you ask ; for I always find you 
 
244 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 have good reasons for what you say, and I don t think 
 much of his principles myself." 
 
 " Principles ! he has no principles. But come, 
 William, it s time for me to be at home ; I ll meet you 
 here to-morrow evening, as I told you." 
 
 " I ll w r alk with you as far as the lane," replied he ; 
 and entering the footpath through the woods, they 
 were soon lost to sight. 
 
 Not many minutes elapsed after these rustic lovers 
 disappeared, before a person emerged from a leafy 
 and shaded recess among the trees where he had 
 been secreted during the Ibregoing conversation, into 
 the open moonlight, (for the moon had risen, and was 
 now r shedding a silver lustre over the beautiful scene) 
 his countenance inflamed, and his lips trembling with 
 anger. 
 
 "Bo, so, Mr. William," muttered he; "you don t 
 think much of the Squire s principles, it seems ; but 
 I ll make you think something of the Squire s power 
 before I m done with you : and you, too, Miss Mala 
 pert, you would prefer Jack Ratlin, by all odds, 
 would you 1 But I ll have you, in despite of your 
 squeamishiiess ; and then you may come back, with 
 your love and sentiment, to be the wife of the clown. 
 A pretty Collin and Chloe, pon honour." Thus 
 grumbling to himself, the Squire pursued his way to 
 his own house ; and sending for his coachman, he 
 gave him some private instructions, repeating them 
 over and over, that they might not be misunderstood. 
 "Remember, Tom, what I have told you," he con 
 cluded, " and obey it to the letter. The Three 
 Swans, about fifteen miles, on the main road. I 
 shall leave on horseback early in the morning. Go 
 now, and send Dinah up with supper." 
 
 " Dinah has gone down into the village, sir," an 
 swered Tom, grinning, " to rig herself out for a 
 
THE MISTAKE. 
 
 cuflec ball they re going to have there to-morro\v 
 
 night." 
 
 "Well, go along with yourself, sir, and have 
 
 per prepared." 
 
 It was on the evening of the following day, that a 
 carriage was seen standing near the spot where the 
 lovers were to have their meeting, partly sheltered 
 from observation by a little thicket, that interposed 
 between it and the path we have mentioned, 
 moon was riding high above the neighbouring moun 
 tains, and had been pouring down the silent influence 
 of her beauty, over the tranquil autumnal scene, 
 lightino- up every branch and leaf into silvery beauty ; 
 but atlhis moment a cloud, borne along through the 
 azure heavens, by the scarce-felt breeze, passed over 
 its face, and spread a temporary darkness on the 
 
 earth. , 
 
 " Who the deuce is the woman, that master thinks 
 will come along here, I wonder," said Tom, (for i 
 was he who was trudging to and fro, near the spot, 
 and had been waiting nearly an hour, in obedience 
 to his master s orders) "I spect he s at some o his 
 wild pranks agin, and my neck against nothm he I 
 o-itinsome cursed hobble yet hush ! there s some 
 one comin ;" and so saying, he glided behind a tree. 
 
 A step was heard, tripping along the path, and pre 
 sently a female, in a white dress, made her appearance. 
 She had just reached the tree, and was passing 
 quickly by, when Tom rushed out, arid seizing hold of 
 her, bore her in his arms to the carriage. She shrieked, 
 and endeavoured to get loose, but was too firmly held. 
 "Egad," said Tom, "you ve pretty good lungs ol 
 your own, Miss ; and an t very bad off in the way of 
 muscle ; but ye see, there s no kind of use in making 
 such a thundering noise, for go you shall, and there s 
 an end of it so there !" (slamming to the carnage 
 door) " you may screech now, as long as you please. 
 
240 TALKS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 My maxim is to bey orders, if I break owners. * So 
 saying, the coachman mounted the box, and drove oft 
 at full speed. 
 
 We will now request our readers to accompany us, 
 for a few minutes, to an obscure inn, called "The 
 Three Swans," twelve or fifteen miles on the road to 
 New- York. It was about nine o clock of the same- 
 evening, that a carriage, driving rapidly past the afore 
 mentioned inn, and wheeling into the stable yard., 
 stopped in the rear of the building ; \vhile Squire 
 Wilding, who had been awaiting its arrival, rushed to 
 the door of the vehicle, and endeavouring to open it, 
 began to speak, in a soothing tone, to its inmate : 
 
 " Mistress of my soul !" he cried, as he fumbled at 
 the handle of the door, " forgive the rashness of which 
 I have been guilty, and believe that nothing but the 
 ardent passion that burns within my bosom, could 
 have caused me to give you a moment s uneasiness. 
 Curse the latch !" said he in an under tone " My 
 life (come here, Tom, and open this infernal door) 
 is at your disposal, my honour, fortune every 
 thing " 
 
 At this moment, Tom, by a violent jerk, forced open 
 the unyielding door ; and the inmate of the carriage, 
 anxious to escape, springing quickly out, Black Di 
 nah, in her ball-dress, was enfolded in the arms of 
 Wilding. 
 
 " Why, master !" roared she, " an t you ashamed of 
 yourself! let me go! let me go! if I is black, you 
 shan t play such pranks wi me ! you is a pretty 
 white man, an t you ? but I ll go right down to York, 
 and tell old master of you that s w r hat I will !" 
 
 Wilding, petrified by astonishment, did comply 
 with the wench s request, and let her go and it is 
 even thought, from the quick backward movement 
 that she made, till, unable any longer to retain her 
 equilibrium, she, falling, seated herself in the soft mad 
 
THE 
 
 217 
 
 uf the stable-yard that his disgust communicated it 
 self to his actions, and that he gave her a slight retro 
 grade momentum. 
 
 " Tom, you rascal," roared his master, as soon as he 
 recovered the use of speech, " what, in the name of 
 nil the fiends, does this mean 1" 
 
 " I know nothing more about it than you do yourself. 
 sir," answered the servant ; " I beyed the order to the 
 letter, sir." 
 
 " You did, with a vengeance," muttered the disap 
 pointed squire. Then, perceiving that some of the 
 inmates of the house were drawing near the spot, at 
 tracted by the noise, he spoke in a low tone to Tom, 
 handing him, at the same time, a bank-note from his 
 pocket-book, to be divided between him and Dinah. 
 on condition that they should not open their lips to 
 any one about the events of the night. Such a pro 
 mise was easily made, but not so easily complied with ; 
 sind not many weeks w r ent by, before Tom s ludicrous 
 mistake became the common theme of conversation 
 and laughter, in that part of the country. 
 
 On a pleasant evening about two months after this 
 affair, as William and Sally, now joined in marriage, 
 were walking arm in arm through a grassy lane, in 
 tending to ramble down to their old trysting-place, a 
 servant in livery rode up to them, and respectfully 
 touching his hat, inquired if he addressed himself to 
 Mr. William Thornton. On being answered in the 
 affirmative, he handed him a letter. It was from the 
 lather of the dissolute young Wilding, and ran thus: 
 
 New-York, October 2, 1820. 
 
 Sir I have the satisfaction to announce to you, 
 that the unfinished invention of your late friend, Mr. 
 Schemely, has recently been sold, under rny direction, 
 to an ingenious mechanist of this city, for seven hun- 
 and twenty dollars ; from which sum I have 
 
TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 deducted three hundred dollars, (that being half tin 
 amount of Mr. Schemely s note, with your endorse 
 ment, which I herein enclose to you) and the balance 
 I have directed to be deposited, subject to your order, 
 
 in the bank at C . Having been informed that 
 
 the endorsement was an act of mere friendship, on 
 your part, I cannot consent that you should lose any 
 larger sum. 
 
 I have lately heard of a disgraceful affair, in which 
 my son was concerned, while spending the warm 
 weather in your part of the country ; and can only 
 express my pleasure that his dishonourable intentions 
 were overruled. The ridicule which has attached to 
 him in consequence of the termination of his base de 
 sign, I am much in hopes will have a salutary influ 
 ence on the rest of his life : should that be the case. 
 we all shall have great occasion to bless THE MIS 
 TAKE. 
 
 THE ENP. 
 
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