University of Virginia Library

“Dearest Cousin: The terrible excitement
of this awful day, the confusion around
me, the smell of murder which invades my
nostrils, the weighty cares on my mind, my
unsteady nerves, and the bruised state of the
tin pan on the bottom of which I write this
letter, must be my apology for the wretched
scrawl I send you.

“Words fail me when I undertake to describe
to you the awful scene to which I am an
unhappy eye witness. `Quorum pars magna
fui,' as æneas said to Dido. All Verfield is
astir. Legions of men, women, and children,
prompted by curiosity, besiege the house of
Mr. Brance. The awful intelligence has gone
forth to the four quarters of the world, and
three quarters of the world are here already.
But the cry is, Still they come. Curious faces
peer into the windows while I write. Men
stand on tiptoe, and balance themselves on
fences and trees, to get a sight of the corpse;
and an awful array of grim faces surrounds me
on all sides. Can you conceive how it is the
populace relishes crime and horror in this way?
They scent a murder as far off as vultures scent
their prey. O tempora! O mores! when at the

sight of blood, or a mangled corpse, people
experience such awful pleasure! I can't help
thinking what egregious bumps of destructiveness
must lie at the foundation of this savage
joy.

“You cannot conceive of the excitement
which surrounds me. Down from the mountain,
up from the valley, out of the forest, and
over the fields, armies are still pouring. A
dense crowd is gathered on the spot where the
corpse was found, and eager eyes look curiously
for marks of blood. Meanwhile, my father,
Squire Wilbur, Dr. Draper, Dr. Dosemore, and
a number of other respectable influential men,
are pursuing their investigations.

“I have not yet been made a confidant
of the wise heads of Verfield, and the result
of their deliberations I am unable to disclose.

“In haste I close this bloody record. I am
happy to inform you that I have made arrangements
by which I can send to you every half
hour. You shall know every thing as fast as
the dark mystery unfolds itself, and the plot
of the tragedy is developed; and believe me,
I shall ever remain your obedient servant,
sincere admirer, and devoted cousin,

“Adored Alice: How I shall write this
note I know not. The tin pan which served
me as a desk before has been wrested from me
by a barbarous multitude. I am driven to use
a rough board, which I hold upon my knee.
The truth is, I am looked upon as a maniac by
some; others consider me a reporter for the
Gazette and Recorder. My friends shake
their heads doubtfully at my enterprise. But
nothing can daunt me. Write I must, and
will!

“I have just seen Mr. Brance. Grief was
on his brow, sorrow in his eye, and pale was
his cheek. He looked like a miserable, desperate
man. I didn't suppose he had so much
feeling before. Appleton's death must go hard
with him.

“About the time I closed my last epistle, a
great sensation was produced by an announcement
that Mr. Brance had offered a reward of
a thousand dollars for the murderer of his ill-fated
son. This is a fact; already they are

printing the bills at the office of the Gazette
and Recorder. Who can have done the deed?

“I have just been sent for in great haste by
my father. I must close, and despatch this
hurried letter.

“Star of my Existence, dearest Cousin:
In the midst of my imperative duties, I snatch
a few minutes from my much-occupied time
to keep you posted up. I have testified — told
the truth — the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth. I feel relieved. I have done my
duty. I have acted — a man!

“But I have sad news to tell you. My
heart bleeds when the truth knocks at it and
will come forth. But why hesitate? I will to
my task with the spirit of a man.

“Early this morning, Solomon Brown found
a pistol in the road, where it had evidently
been thrown or dropped by some terrified hand.

“He gathered up the murderous weapon, and
it was produced at the inquest. I will here
add, that those lights of science and adorners
of their profession, Drs. Dosemore and Draper,
have taken from the hideous wound of death a
leaden globe — a bullet, which, although a little
bruised, fits the dark muzzle to a T. Here is
the conclusion arrived at by all sensible minds:
1. The bullet killed the man. 2. The murderous
pistol gave to the globe of lead its deadly
impulse. The question now arises, Who was
the motive power — that is, who pulled the
trigger? Would that the weapon could have
fired itself! Would that man were guiltless of
this bloody act! But no! pistols don't go off
without hands.

“Now, with a bursting heart I come to the
dark end of this tale.

“Mr. Solomon Brown remembered seeing a

pistol on Dr. Corrinton's table; thought said pistol
was similar to the one found in the road; and
proper persons were immediately despatched to
Corrinton's office. The doctor had just left, but
the pistol observed by Brown was found, and
brought; also, a pouch containing bullets. The
two pistols were compared; found to be precisely
alike — made by same man, workmanship
peculiar. Major Smith — that barbarous man!
— called upon, recognized said weapons as property
of Corrinton. Corrinton and Major Smith
had been in the habit of shooting together in
an orchard beyond the doctor's office. Had seen
the pistols thousands of times — knew them to
be Corrinton's. After Smith, several respectable
individuals, intimate with Corrinton, testified
to the pistols being his property; had seen
the pair hanging in his office time and again.

“The bullets were examined by competent
judges. Found to be all alike — all cast in
the same moulds as bullet taken from wound.

“You will probably ask, Where was Dr. Corrinton
all this time? You remember he called
for father this morning. Well, he arrived at
the scene of the tragedy just as the matter of
the pistols had been brought to light. I am

told he appeared much excited. When questioned,
he acknowledged his property, and hurriedly
declared that it was on this subject he
wished to consult father. Didn't know how the
weapon found by Brown ever got out of his
office. Must have been stolen. Never carried
his pistols, except when he went out to practise
shooting. Discovered that pistol was
missing last night; didn't think much of it;
supposed some one of his friends had come to
borrow it during his absence. This morning
thought differently; missing pistol troubled
him; went in haste to consult father. This is
the doctor's story.

“My letter draws to its terrible conclusion.
The coroner's verdict has been rendered — `Deceased
came to his death by being shot in the
neck with a lead bullet, fired from a pistol belonging
to Albert Corrinton; and it is the belief of
the jury that said pistol was fired by said Corrinton.'
This is the substance of the verdict.
It filled the multitude with consternation. The
excitement was tremendous. O, my dearest
cousin, you can have no idea what a wicked
community this is! I can write no more at
present. I am of great importance in this

matter, and am willing to make myself useful.
Though I should feel much better if I hadn't
seen deceased and the doctor together last
night, or rather heard them, and had not
been obliged to testify to that effect. Your
faithful, ever-devoted