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Alexander Pushkin and other authors - "The Bakchesarian Fountain and Other Poems"

Marcus Clarke - "For the Term of His Natural Life"

Archbishop Wake - "Forbidden Gospels and Epistles, Volume 8, Ignatius"

Charlotte M. Yonge - "Friarswood Post Office"

Charlemont

W >> W. Gilmore Simms >> Charlemont




"What a lucky dog! You'll marry her yet, old boy, in spite of all!"

"Pshaw! You are green to talk so."

"You'll be devilish loath to give her up; I'm afraid I'll have to
wait a cursed long time."

"No, not long! Do not despair. Easy won, easy valued."

"And was she easily won?"

"Very! the game was a short one. She is a mere country-girl, you
know, but eighteen or thereabouts--suspecting nobody, and never
dreaming that she had a heart or passions at all. She thought only
of her poetry and her books. It was only necessary to work upon
heart and passions while talking of poetry and books, and they
carried her out of her depth before she could recover. She's wiser
now, Ben, I can assure you, and will require more dexterity to keep
than to conquer."

"And she has no brother to worry a body--no d---d ugly Hobnail,
who has a fancy for her, and may make a window between the ribs of
a gallant, such as nature never intended, with the ounce-bullet of
some d---d old-fashioned seven-foot rifle--eh?"

"There was a silly chap, one Hinkley, who tried it on me--actually
challenged me, though I was playing parson, and there might have
been work for me but for his own bull-headed father, who came to my
rescue, beat the boy and drove him from the place. There is nobody
else to give me any annoyance, unless it be a sort of half-witted
chap, a cousin of the former--a sleepy dog that is never, I believe,
entirely awake unless when he's trout-fishing. He has squinted at
me, as if he could quarrel if he dared, but the lad is dull--too
dull to be very troublesome. You might kiss his grandmother under
his nose, and he would probably regard it only as a compliment to
her superior virtues, and would thank you accordingly--"

A voice a little to the left interrupted the speaker.

"So he does, my brave parson, for his grandmother's sake and his
own," were the words of the speaker. They turned in sudden amaze
to the spot whence the sounds issued. The bushes opening in this
quarter, presented to the astonished eyes of Brother Stevens,
the perfect image of the dull lad of whom he had been speaking.
There was Ned Hinkley in proper person--perfectly awake, yet not
trout-fishing! A sarcastic grin was upon his visage, and rolling
his eyes with a malicious leer, he repeated the words which had
first interrupted the progress of the dialogue between the friends.

"I thank you, Brother Stevens, for the compliment to my grandmother's
virtues. I thank you, on her account as well as my own. I'm very
grateful, I assure you, very grateful, very!"






CHAPTER XXXI.

"ABSQUATULATING."





Had a bolt suddenly flashed and thundered at the feet of the two
friends, falling from a clear sky in April, they could not have
been more astounded. They started, as with one impulse, in the same
moment to their feet.

"Keep quiet," said the intruder; "don't let me interrupt you in so
pleasant a conversation. I'd like to hear you out. I'm refreshed
by it. What you say is so very holy and sermon-like, that I'm like
a new man when I hear it. Sit down, Brother Stevens, and begin
again; sit down, Ben, my good fellow, and don't look so scary! You
look as if you had a window in your ribs already!"

The intruder had not moved, though he had startled the conspirators.
He did not seem to share in their excitement. He was very coolly
seated, with his legs deliberately crossed, while his two hands
parted the bushes before him in order to display his visage--perhaps
with the modest design of showing to the stranger that his friend had
grievously misrepresented its expression. Certainly, no one could
say that, at this moment, it lacked anything of spirit or intelligence.
Never were eyes more keen--never were lips more emphatically made
to denote sarcasm and hostility. The whole face was alive with
scorn, and hate, and bitterness; and there was defiance enough in
the glance to have put wings to fifty bullets.

His coolness, the composure which his position and words manifested,
awakened the anger of Brother Stevens as soon as the first feeling
of surprise had passed away. He felt, in a moment, that the game
was up with him--that he could no longer play the hypocrite in
Charlemont. He must either keep his pledges to Margaret Cooper,
without delay or excuse, or he must abandon all other designs
which his profligate heart may have suggested in its cruel purposes
against her peace.

"Scoundrel!" he exclaimed; "how came you here? What have you heard?"

"Good words, Brother Stevens. You forget, you are a parson."

"Brain the rascal!" exclaimed the whiskered stranger, looking
more fierce than ever. The same idea seemed to prompt the actions
of Stevens. Both of them, at the same moment, advanced upon the
intruder, with their whips uplifted; but still Ned Hinkley did not
rise. With his legs still crossed, he kept his position, simply
lifting from the sward beside him, where they had been placed
conveniently, his two "puppies." One of these he grasped in his
right hand and presented as his enemies approached.

"This, gentlemen," said he, "is my peace-maker. It says, 'Keep your
distance.' This is my bull-pup, or peace-breaker; it says, 'Come
on.' Listen to which you please. It's all the same to me. Both are
ready to answer you, and I can hardly keep 'em from giving tongue.
The bull-pup longs to say something to you, Brother Stevens--the
pacificator is disposed to trim your whiskers, Brother Ben; and I
say, for 'em both, come on, you black-hearted rascals, if you want
to know whether a girl of Charlemont can find a man of Charlemont
to fight her battles. I'm man enough, by the Eternal, for both of
you!"

The effect of Hinkley's speech was equally great upon himself and
the enemy. He sprang to his feet, ere the last sentence was concluded,
and they recoiled in something like indecent haste. The language
of determination was even more strongly expressed by the looks of
the rustic than by his language and action. They backed hurriedly
at his approach.

"What! won't you stand?--won't you answer to your villanies?--won't
you fight? Pull out your barkers and blaze away, you small-souled
scamps; I long to have a crack at you--here and there--both at a
time! Aint you willing? I'm the sleepy trout-fisherman! Don't you
know me? You've waked me up, my lads, and I sha'n't sleep again in
a hurry! As for you, Alfred Stevens--you were ready to fight Bill
Ilinkley--here's another of the breed--won't you fight him?"

"Yes--give me one of your pistols, if you dare, and take your
stand," said Stevens boldly.

"You're a cunning chap--give you one of my puppies--a stick for
my own head--while this bush-whiskered chap cudgels me over from
behind. No! no! none of that! Besides, these pistols were a gift
from a good man, they sha'n't be disgraced by the handling of a
bad one. Get your own weapons, Brother Stevens, and every man to
his tree."

"They are in Charlemont!"

"Well!--you'll meet me there then?"

"Yes!" was the somewhat eager answer of Stevens, "I will meet you
there--to-morrow morning--"

"Sunday--no! no!"

"Monday, then; this evening, if we get home in season."

"It's a bargain then," replied Hinkley, "though I can hardly keep
from giving you the teeth of the bull! As for big-whiskered Ben,
there, I'd like to let him taste my pacificator. I'd just like to
brush up his whiskers with gun-powder--they look to have been done
up with bear's grease before, and have a mighty fine curl; but if
I wouldn't frizzle them better than ever a speckled hen had her
feathers frizzled, then I don't know the virtues of gun-powder.
On Monday morning, Brother Stevens!"

"Ay, ay! on Monday morning!"

Had Ned Hinkley been more a man of the world--had he not been a
simple backwoodsman, he would have seen, in the eagerness of Stevens
to make this arrangement, something, which would have rendered
him suspicious of his truth. The instantaneous thought of the
arch-hypocrite, convinced him that he could never return to Charlemont
if this discovery was once made there. His first impulse was to
put it out of the power of Ned Hinkley to convey the tidings. We
do not say that he would have deliberately murdered him; but, under
such an impulse of rage and disappointment as governed him in the
first moments of detection, murder has been often done. He would
probably have beaten him into incapacity with his whip--which had
a heavy handle--had not the rustic been sufficiently prepared. The
pistols of Stevens were in his valise, but he had no purpose of
fighting, on equal terms, with a man who spoke with the confidence
of one who knew how to use his tools; and when the simple fellow,
assuming that he would return to Charlemont for his chattels,
offered him the meeting there, he eagerly caught at the suggestion
as affording himself and friend the means of final escape.

It was not merely the pistols of Hinkley of which he had a fear. But
he well knew how extreme would be the danger, should the rustic
gather together the people of Ellisland, with the story of his fraud,
and the cruel consequences to the beauty of Charlemont, by which
the deception had been followed. But the simple youth, ignorant
of the language of libertinism, had never once suspected the fatal
lapse from virtue of which Margaret Cooper had been guilty. He was
too unfamiliar with the annals and practices of such criminals, to
gather this fact from the equivocal words, and half-spoken sentences,
and sly looks of the confederates. Had he dreamed this--had it,
for a moment, entered into his conjecturings--that such had been
the case, he would probably have shot down the seducer without a
word of warning. But that the crime was other than prospective, he
had not the smallest fancy; and this may have been another reason
why he took the chances of Stevens's return to Charlemont, and let
him off at the moment.

"Even should he not return," such may have been his reflection--"I
have prevented mischief at least. He will be able to do no harm.
Margaret Cooper shall be warned of her escape, and become humbler
at least, if not wiser in consequence. At all events, the eyes
of Uncle Hinkley will be opened, and poor Bill be restored to us
again!"

"And now mount, you scamps," said Hinkley, pressing upon the two
with presented pistols. "I'm eager to send big-whiskered Ben home
to his mother; and to see you, Brother Stevens, on your way back
to Charlemont. I can hardly keep hands off you till then; and
it's only to do so, that I hurry you. If you stay, looking black,
mouthing together, I can't stand it. I will have a crack at you. My
peace-maker longs to brush up them whiskers. My bull-pup is eager
to take you, Brother Stevens, by the muzzle! Mount you, as quick
as you can, before I do mischief."

Backing toward their horses, they yielded to the advancing muzzles,
which the instinct of fear made them loath to turn their backs
upon. Never were two hopeful projectors so suddenly abased--so
completely baffled. Hinkley, advancing with moderate pace, now
thrust forward one, and now the other pistol, accompanying the
action with a specific sentence corresponding to each, in manner
and form as follows:--

"Back, parson--back, whiskers! Better turn, and look out for the
roots, as you go forward. There's no seeing your way along the road
by looking down the throats of my puppies. If you want to be sure
that they'll follow till you're mounted, you have my word for it.
No mistake, I tell you. They're too eager on scent, to lose sight
of you in a hurry, and they're ready to give tongue at a moment's
warning. Take care not to stumble, whiskers, or the pacificator
'll be into your brush."

"I'll pay you for this!" exclaimed Stevens, with a rage which was
not less really felt than judiciously expressed. "Wait till we
meet!"

"Ay, ay! I'll wait; but be in a hurry. Turn now, your nags are at
your backs. Turn and mount!"

In this way they reached the tree where their steeds were fastened.
Thus, with the muzzle of a pistol bearing close upon the body of
each--the click of the cock they had heard--the finger close to the
trigger they saw--they were made to mount--in momentary apprehension
that the backwoodsman, whose determined character was sufficiently
seen in his face, might yet change his resolve, and with wanton
hand, riddle their bodies with his bullets. It was only when they
were mounted, that they drew a breath of partial confidence.

"Now," said Hinkley, "my lads, let there be few last words between
you. The sooner you're off the better. As for you, Alfred Stevens,
the sooner you're back in Charlemont the more daylight we'll have
to go upon. I'll be waiting you, I reckon, when you come."

"Ay, and you may wait," said Stsvens, as the speaker turned off
and proceeded to the spot where his own horse was fastened.

"You won't return, of course?" said his companion.

"No! I must now return with you, thanks to your interference. By
Heavens, Ben, I knew, at your coming, that you would do mischief;
you have been a marplot ever; and after this, I am half-resolved
to forswear your society for ever."

"Nay, nay! do not say so, Warham. It was unfortunate, I grant you;
but how the devil should either of us guess that such a Turk as
that was in the bush?"

"Enough for the present," said the other. 'It is not now whether
I wish to ride with you or not. There is no choice. There is no
return to Charlemont."

"And that's the name of the place, is it?"

"Yes! yes! Much good may the knowledge of it do you."

"How fortunate that this silly fellow concluded to let you off on
such a promise. What an ass!"

"Yes! but he may grow wiser! Put spurs to your jade, and let us
see what her heels are good for, for the next three hours. I do not
yet feel secure. The simpleton may grow wiser and change his mind."

"He can scarcely do us harm now, if he does."

"Indeed!" said Stevens--"you know nothing. There's such a thing as
hue and cry, and its not unfrequently practised in these regions,
when the sheriff is not at hand and constables are scarce. Every
man is then a sheriff."

"Well--but there's no law-process against us!"

"You are a born simpleton, I think," said Stevens, with little
scruple. He was too much mortified to be very heedful of the
feelings of his companion. "There needs no law in such a case, at
least for the CAPTURE of a supposed criminal; and, for that matter,
they do not find it necessary for his punishment either. Hark ye,
Ben--there's a farmhouse?"

"Yes, I see it!"

"Don't you smell tar?--They're running it now!"

"I think I do smell something like it. What of it?"

"Do you see that bed hanging from yon window?"

"Yes! of course I see it!"

"It is a feather-bed!"

"Well--what of that? Why tell me this stuff? Of course I can guess
as well as you that it's a feather-bed, since I see a flock of
geese in the yard with their necks all bare."

"Hark ye, then! There's something more than this, which you may yet
see! Touch up your mare. If this fellow brings the mob at Ellisland
upon us, that tar will be run, and that feather-bed gutted, for our
benefit. What they took from the geese will be bestowed on us. Do
you understand me? Did you ever hear of a man whose coat was made
of tar and feathers, and furnished at the expense of the county?"

"Hush, for God's sake, Warham! you make my blood run cold with your
hideous notions!"

"That fellow offered to frizzle your whiskers. These would anoint
them with tar, in which your bear's oil would be of little use."

"Ha! don't you hear a noise?" demanded the whiskered companion,
looking behind him.

"I think I do," replied the other musingly.

"A great noise!" continued Don Whiskerandos.

"Yes, it seems to me that it is a great noise."

"Like people shouting?"

"Somewhat--yes, by my soul, that DOES sound something like a shout!"

"And there! Don't stop to look and listen, Warham," cried his
companion; "it's no time for meditation. They're coming! hark!--"
and with a single glance behind him--with eyes dilating with the
novel apprehensions of receiving a garment, unsolicited, bestowed
by the bounty of the county--he drove his spurs into the flanks of
his mare, and went ahead like an arrow. Stevens smiled in spite of
his vexation.

"D--n him!" he muttered as he rode forward, "it's some satisfaction,
at least, to scare the soul out of him!"






CHAPTER XXXII.

THE REVELATION.





Having seen his enemy fairly mounted, and under way, as he thought,
for Charlemont, Ned Hinkley returned to Ellisland for his own horse.
Here he did not suffer himself to linger, though, before he could
succeed in taking his departure, he was subjected to a very keen
and searching examination by the village publican and politician.
Having undergone this scrutiny with tolerable patience, if not to
the entire satisfaction of the examiner, he set forward at a free
canter, determined that his adversary should not be compelled to
wait.

It was only while he rode that he began to fancy the possibility of
the other having taken a different course; but as, upon reflection,
he saw no other plan which he might have adopted--for lynching
for suspected offences was not yet a popular practice in and about
Charlemont--he contented himself with the reflection that he had
done all that could have been done; and if Alfred Stevens failed
to keep his appointment, he, at least, was one of the losers. He
would necessarily lose the chance of revenging an indignity, not to
speak of the equally serious loss of that enjoyment which a manly
fight usually gave to Ned Hinkley himself, and which, he accordingly
assumed, must be an equal gratification to all other persons. When
he arrived at Charlemont, he did not make his arrival known, but,
repairing directly to the lake among the hills, he hitched his
horse, and prepared, with what patience he could command, to await
the coming of the enemy.

The reader is already prepared to believe that the worthy rustic
waited in vain. It was only with the coming on of night that he began
to consider himself outwitted. He scratched his head impatiently,
not without bringing away some shreds of the hair, jumped on his
horse, and, without making many allowances for the rough and hilly
character of the road, went off at a driving pace for the house of
Uncle Hinkley. Here he drew up only to ask if Brother Stevens had
returned.

"No!"

"Then, dang it! he never will return. He's a skunk, uncle--as great
a skunk as ever was in all Kentucky!"

"How! what!--what of Brother Stevens?" demanded the uncle, seconded
by John Cross, who had only some two hours arrived at the village,
and now appeared at the door. But Ned Hinkley was already off.

"He's a skunk!--that's all!"

His last words threw very little light over the mystery, and
certainly gave very little satisfaction to his hearers. The absence
of Alfred Stevens, at a time when John Cross was expected, had
necessarily occasioned some surprise; but, of course, no apprehensions
were entertained by either the worthy parson or the bigoted host
that he could be detained by any cause whatsoever which he could
not fully justify.

The next course of Ned Hinkley was for the cottage of Mr. Calvert.
To the old man he gave a copious detail of all his discoveries--not
only the heads of what he heard from the conspirators in the wood,
but something of the terms of the dialogue. The gravity of Calvert
increased as the other proceeded. He saw more deeply into the
signification of certain portions of this dialogue than did the
narrator; and when the latter, after having expressed his disappointment
at the non-appearance of Stevens on the field of combat, at least
congratulated himself at having driven him fairly from the ground,
the other shook his head mournfully.

"I am afraid it's too late, my son."

"Too late, gran'pa! How? Is it ever too late to send such a rascal
a-packing?"

"It may be for the safety of some, my son."

"What! Margaret you mean? You think the poor fool of a girl's too
far gone in love of him, do you?"

"If that were all, Ned--"

"Why, what more, eh? You don't mean!--"

The apprehensions of the simple, unsuspecting fellow, for the first
time began to be awakened to the truth.

"I am afraid, my son, that this wretch has been in Charlemont too
long. From certain words that you have dropped, as coming from
Stevens, in speaking to his comrade, I should regard him as speaking
the language of triumph for successes already gained."

"Oh, hardly! I didn't think so. If I had only guessed that he
meant such a thing--though I can't believe it--I'd ha' dropped him
without a word. I'd have given him the pacificator as well as the
peace-breaker. Oh, no! I can't think it--I can't--I won't! Margaret
Cooper is not a girl to my liking, but, Lord help us! she's
too beautiful and too smart to suffer such a skunk, in so short a
time, to get the whip-hand of her. No, gran'pa, I can't and won't
believe it!"

"Yet, Ned, these words which you have repeated convey some such
fear to my mind. It may be that the villain was only boasting to
his companion. There are scoundrels in this world who conceive of
no higher subject of boast than the successful deception and ruin
of the artless and confiding. I sincerely hope that this may be
the case now--that it was the mere brag of a profligate, to excite
the admiration of his comrade. But when you speak of the beauty
and the smartness of this poor girl, as of securities for virtue,
you make a great mistake. Beauty is more apt to be a betrayer than
a protector; and as for her talent, that is seldom a protection
unless it be associated with humility. Hers was not. She was
most ignorant where she was most assured. She knew just enough to
congratulate herself that she was unlike her neighbors, and this is
the very temper of mind which is likely to cast down its possessor
in shame. I trust that she had a better guardian angel than either
her beauty or her talents. I sincerely hope that she is safe. At
all events, let me caution you not to hint the possibility of its
being otherwise. We will take for granted that Stevens is a baffled
villain."

"I only wish I had dropped him!"

"Better as it is."

"What! even if the poor girl is--"

"Ay, even then!"

"Why, gran'pa, can it be possible YOU say so?"

"Yes, my son; I say so here, in moments of comparative calmness, and
in the absence of the villain. Perhaps, were he present, I should
say otherwise."

"And DO otherwise! You'd shoot him, gran'pa, as soon as I."

"Perhaps! I think it likely. But, put up your pistols, Ned. You
have nobody now to shoot. Put them up, and let us walk over to your
uncle's at once. It is proper that he and John Cross should know
these particulars."

Ned agreed to go, but not to put up his pistols.

"For, you see, gran'pa, this rascal may return. His friend may have
kept him in long talk. We may meet him coming into the village."

"It is not likely; but come along. Give me that staff, my son,
and your arm on the other side. I feel that my eyes are no longer
young."

"You could shoot still, gran'pa?"

"Not well."

"What, couldn't you hit a chap like Stevens between the eyes at ten
paces? I'm sure I could do it, blindfolded, by a sort of instinct."

And the youth, shutting his eyes, as if to try the experiment,
drew forth one of his pistols from his bosom, and began to direct
its muzzle around the room.

"There was a black spider THERE, gran'pa! I'm sure, taking him for
Stevens, I could cut his web for him."

"You have cut that of Stevens himself, and his comb too, Ned."

"Yes, yes--but what a fool I was not to make it his gills!"

By this time the old man had got on his spencer, and, with staff
in hand, declared himself in readiness. Ned Hinkley lowered his
pistol with reluctance. He was very anxious to try the weapon and
his own aim, on somebody or something. That black spider which
lived so securely in the domicil of Mr. Calvert would have stood no
chance in any apartment of the widow Hinkley. Even the "pacificator"
would have been employed for its extermination, if, for no other
reason, because of the fancied resemblance which it had always worn
to Brother Stevens--a resemblance which occurred to him, perhaps,
in consequence of the supposed similarity between the arts of
the libertine and those for the entrapping of his victims which
distinguish the labors of the spider.

The two were soon arrived at old Hinkley's, and the tale of Ned was
told; but, such was the bigotry of the hearers, without securing
belief.

"So blessed a young man!" said the old lady.

"A brand from the burning!" exclaimed Brother Cross.

"It's all an invention of Satan!" cried old Hinkley, "to prevent
the consummation of a goodly work."

"We should not give our faith too readily to such devices of the
enemy, Friend Calvert," said John Cross, paternally.

"I never saw anything in him that wasn't perfectly saint-like,"
said Mrs. Hinkley." He made the most heartfelt prayer, and the
loveliest blessing before meat! I think I hear him now--'Lord,
make us thankful'--with his eyes shut up so sweetly, and with such
a voice."

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