 | CHAPTER XXII. Richard Hurdis, or, The avenger of blood : a tale of Alabama |  |
22. CHAPTER XXII.
To scourge you for this reprehension;
Look to it well, and say you are well warned.
Shakspeare.
The unhappy youth had scarcely gone from sight,
when Mat Webber and my colleague Haller emerged
from a bush opposite, not ten paces off, in which
they had, equally with myself, listened to the whole
dialogue as I have already narrated it.
“So!” was the exclamation of Webber, shaking
his slow finger after the departing form of the youth
—“So! It is as I expected; and your doom is written,
Master Eberly. Foster can save you, can he?
We will see to that! It would be a difficult matter
for him to save himself, were he to try it. It is
well you have no hopes from me—well! I hate
your girl, do I, because she is the daughter of Grafton,
and hate you because you love her honourably?
Well! there is truth in the notion, however your
dull brains happened to hit upon it. I do hate both
of you for that very reason. Had the fool used his
pleasure with the girl, by God, I had forgiven him
and swear off from us at any moment, for he has
done nothing since he has been a member—he was
never of much use, and will be of still less now.
But to love where I hate, is an offence I cannot so
readily forgive.—No, Haller—the bullet and the
knife for him. He shall keep our secrets, and his
own too, if you and Williams do your duty. Ha!
—who's that?”
“Williams himself,” was my answer, as I came
out of my hiding place, and joined them.
“Well!—you have heard him—he avows his treason,
and you know his doom. What need of delay?
Go after him alone—you will not have a better
place for the blow if you waited a month. Go
alone, and despatch the business.”
I was not prepared for so sudden a requisition,
and the sanguinary and stern command at once confounded
me. Yet Webber had only repeated the
words of Foster. In our hands lay the award and
the execution of justice. We had been instructed to
punish the moment we resolved that the penalty had
been incurred; and there was no reasonable pretext
for doubt. What to do or say, I knew not—to think
of committing the cruel deed was, of course, entirely
out of the question. Fortunately, the answer
of my colleague, Haller, relieved me.
“We had better wait and hear what Foster has
so suddenly, particularly when we knew that
he had promised to take the affair into consideration.”
“And what can his consideration come to? What
can he have to say? He cannot alter the laws—he
cannot acquit an offender whom we condemn—he
has no power for that.”
“No! He has no power for that; and, so far as
my voice goes, we shall give him no such power in
this instance,” was the reply of Haller. “Yet, as
a matter of civility only, it will be better that we
should not proceed in this business till we have
heard what Foster has to say. He might look upon
it that we slighted his opinions, and his wishes, at
the least; and there's no necessity for our seeming
to do that. Besides, we cannot lose by the delay.
We can execute to-morrow just as well as to-day—
Eberly cannot escape us.”
“True—that's true,” was the reply of Webber;
“though to speak plainly, I don't like this undertaking
to interfere on the part of Clem Foster. He
can't certainly hope to persuade us to reverse our
judgment, and let this boy loose, unmuzzled, to confuse
and convict us in some of their rugged courts
of justice.”
“No! As you heard him say, that's a matter
more easy to think upon than to do. All that Eberly
against one of us, and we might hang him whenever
we choose.”
“Yes! But we don't want to get into a court of
justice at all,” said Webber; “and there's little need
for it, when we have laws, and courts, and executioners
of our own. I tell you, Haller, that I shall
regard as an enemy any man who attempts to get
this chap off from punishment. He shall die, by the
Eternal.”
“So he may, for what I care,” said Haller.—“So,
indeed, he shall, under our own certainty of what he
deserves, and the power which has been intrusted
to us. Be at rest, Mat Webber—I have as little
reason to let Edward Eberly escape as you have. I
hate him—from my heart, I hate him. He has
scorned and insulted me before our men; and it will
go hard with me, if I don't avenge the insult with
sevenfold vengeance.”
“I'm satisfied that you will keep your word, Haller;
but Foster's a smooth-spoken fellow, and he
may have some kink in his head for saving this chap.
He used to be very fond of keeping company with
him, and they were always spouting verses and such
stuff together. I know, too, for all Foster speaks so
promptly of punishing him, that, in his secret heart,
he had much rather let Eberly go clear from punishment,
by it.”
“No danger of his doing it, whatever may be his
wish,” said Haller. “You have my oath upon it,
Mat. Whatever Foster may say or do in the
business, he can't say or do any thing to alter my
determination.—So make yourself easy. To-morrow,
or the next day, at farthest, will wind up the
traitor.”
“You must keep watch meanwhile upon him.”
“Yes! Go about it now, Williams; look to Eberly
for the space of an hour, and I will come and
relieve you. I must go with Webber, to see what
Foster has to say in the business; and hearken to his
interference, even if we do not mind it. But I don't
think he'll interfere, Mat:—The spouting poetry
might please his ears well enough, but I'm convinced
he could slit the pipe of the spouter the moment
he was done.”
“Perhaps so,” was the reply of Webber; “but,
at all events—”
They were leaving me now, and Haller interrupted
the speaker to counsel me before he went.
“I showed you, Williams, the place where Eberly
sleeps—do you think you can find it?”
“Yes—I doubt not.”
“Then go to it at once, and note well who goes
slily, and seems disposed to make off, do not stop
to consider, but give him your bullet. Be sure to
do this, if you find him with his horse.”
These were the instructions of Webber. The
other merely said—
“Don't fear that he will try to make off. He
knows such efforts cannot give him security, though
he should, for the present, escape us. No!—He
thinks Foster's influence can save him; and he will
remain quiet in reliance upon it.”
“Be not now too sure, Williams,” were the parting
words of Webber—“watch closely, or the fellow
may escape you yet. Remember, you are on
trial now; your promotion depends upon your zeal
and success.”
Nothing but the purposes which influenced me,
could have enabled me to tolerate, with patience,
such language from such a wretch. I felt my heart
burn, and my blood rise, and my lip quiver, with an
anger which it required all my strength of resolution
to repress, every moment which I spent in my
connection with this herd of rogues. They left me,
and obeying their instructions, I proceeded to the
place among the bushes—a leafy house—where Eberly
slept; and, taking a position which enabled me
to observe all the movements of its inmates, I pre
away my hour of watch.
Haller afterwards related to me what took place
in their interview with Foster. As he had predicted,
the latter made but a feeble effort to excuse the
unfortunate Eberly.
“We first tried to find out,” said Haller, “if
Foster was disposed to have any concealment from
us; and pretending that we knew nothing of the interview
between Eberly and himself, we spoke of
other matters entirely. But he volunteered and told
us all pretty nearly as we ourselves heard, except he
may have suppressed some of those parts where
Eberly spoke scornfully of Mat Webber. These
he did not speak. He then asked us what we
thought of the application, and when we told him
that now there was no doubt that Eberly ought to
to die and must die, he agreed with us entirely. Indeed,
even if he had not agreed with us, he must
have seen from the resolved manner in which we
spoke, that it would not have been wisdom in him
to express his disagreement; and his death is therefore
resolved upon. We are instructed to do the
business at once—better now than never—you say
he is still in his house.”
This conversation took place where I had been
watching in front of the bushy dwelling in which
of my comrade, was a falsehood.
“Yes he is still there—no one has gone in or out
since I have been here.”
Nothing but the lie could save me, and I had no
scruples whatsoever in telling it. I had seen persons
go in and out. Scarcely had I got to my place
of watch, indeed, when I saw Foster enter the dingle.
I crawled closely up behind it, and heard enough to
convince me that Foster was a greater hypocrite
than I had thought him, yet not so bad a man.
“Eberly,” he said, quickly. The youth started
from the ground where I could see he was kneeling.
He started and drew a pistol in the same moment.
The click of the cock warned Foster to speak again.
He did so and announced his name.
“I come to warn you that you can stay here no
longer. I cannot save you, Eberly. I wish I
could. But that is impossible. My lips must denounce
you, to keep myself unsuspected. There is a
conspiracy against me, which I must foil. To seek
to save you, I would only sacrifice myself and do
you no service. I can do nothing, therefore, but
counsel you to fly. The sooner you are off the better.
Indeed, I risk not a little in coming to you
now. Britton, the trusty fellow, advises me that
Webber, Haller and Williams are even now denouncing
me in the woods, where it seems they over-heard
them, and scrupulously addressed my words
rather to their ears than yours. This will excuse to
you my seeming harshness. But I can say no more.
In a short time they will seek me. Take that time
to be off. Fly where you can. Put the Ohio between
us as soon as possible, for no residence in the
southwest will save you.”
But few words were uttered by the visitor; but
these were enough to prompt the immediate exertions
of the youth. Hitherto he had appeared to me
in an attitude rather feeble and unmanly—there was
something puny and effeminate in the manner of his
appeal to Foster in their previous interview; but
this he seemed to discard in the moment which
called for resolute execution. He drew forth and
reprimed his pistols, set his dirk-knife in readiness,
and was ready in two minutes to depart.
“Fortunately, I left my horse on the very edge
of the island!” was his self congratulating remark.
“Foster, God bless you as I do! Would that I
could persuade you to fly with me.”
The other shook his head.
“Go! go! that is impossible. You fly—because
you have hopes to fly to.—I have none. You love,
Eberly—may your love be more fortunate than mine
has been—than I am disposed to think human affections
generally are. It is because I too have loved,
you in your flight. I know not that I am serving
you, Eberly, in this, yet it is my will to serve you.
Take the will for the deed and be gone with all
haste. You have not a moment—adieu.”
Foster left him, and an instant after, Eberly
emerged from the dingle. It was in my power to
have obeyed to the very letter the instructions which
had been given me, and to have shot him down without
difficulty. My extended arm, at one moment,
as he passed from the copse, could have touched his
shoulder. But my weapon was unlifted; and I felt
a sudden satisfaction as I found it in my power to
second the intentions of Foster. This personage
had placed himself also in a more favorable light before
my eyes, during the brief interview which I
have narrated. It gave me pleasure to see that amidst
brutal comrades, and wild, lawless and foul pursuits
he yet cherished in his bosom some lingering sentiments
of humanity. There was something yet in
his heart which partook of the holy nature of a childhood
which, we may suppose, was even blessed with
hopes and kindred, and, which, however perverted
now to the lessons and performances of hate, once
knew what it was to do homage at the altar of confiding
love. Foster, as may already have appeared
to the reader, was not deficient in those requisitions
however much they may fail to impress themselves
for good on a corrupt and insensible spirit.
To return. I denied to Haller, as already stated,
that any one had gone in or out from the place
where Eberly slept. In the unequivocal lie was my
only hope, and I had no scruple to utter it. My
comrade then spoke as follows:
“We have agreed among ourselves that he must
be wound up. Foster makes no objections, and
Webber insists that it be done immediately. To
you it is entrusted to give the blow; and this concludes
your trial. I will go in and entice him out
to you. Do you creep forward as you see me enter.
Stand behind you tree to the left, and I will bring
him under it, on the other side. Have your pistol
cocked and use it. But take care not to mistake
your man. If you notice his white hat, you can't
blunder. Keep quiet now, while I go in.”
He left me, and I paused where I was. Musing
on the unanticipated disappointment of the ruffian,
a sudden whisper at my side aroused me to a recollection
of myself. The voice was Webber's—he had
crawled up to me with the stealthy pace of the wild
cat; and my involuntary start, as he spoke, attested
my wonder at the ease and dexterity of his approach.
“Why do you stand,” he said in stern accents;
have no time to waste—go forward.”
Not to seem remiss, I answered promptly—
“I wished him first to get there. Both of us
moving at the same time might alarm him.”
“More likely to do so moving one at a time; but
move now—you are slow. You will win no favour
in the club if you are not more prompt.”
I could have driven my fist into his teeth as he
spoke thus authoritatively. But prudence stifled my
anger. As it was, however, I gave a sharp reply
which had in it a latent threat.
“You will find me prompt enough when the time
comes, Mr. Webber.”
“I hope so, I hope so,” he said coolly. I went
forward and reached my station but a single instant
before Haller re-emerged from the copse.
“He is gone—the bird is off,” he cried out as he
approached.
“Ha! how is this?” exclaimed Webber, putting
his hand upon my shoulder with a firm gripe—
“You have let him escape, Williams. You have
slept on your post, man; or you have connived
—”
He paused, but his language, tone and manner
were so irresistibly provoking, that I shook his
grasp from my shoulder and facing him boldly,
replied—
“It's false! whoever says it. I have done neither,
sir—neither connived with him nor seen him
fly. Recall your words, or by Heavens, I strike
you in the mouth.”
“And if you did, young'un, you'd get little profit
from it. You'd get quite as good as you sent. But
this is no time to vapour. It's very likely you're
right and I'm wrong, and that must satisfy you at
present. How is it, Haller?—Wherefore should he
fly? Did you not understand that he would wait to
hear Foster's decision?”
“No—I did not understand, but I inferred it. It
seemed to me from the confidence which he expressed
in Foster's ability to save him, that he would
scarce think it policy to fly; since flight, as it indicated
distrust of us, would, at once, provoke our
distrust of him, and lead to a denial of his prayer.
I would have sworn that we should find him here.”
“He has thought better of it, and taken to his
heels. But he has not gone far. He will not go
far. He's to marry Grafton's daughter—I know
that they're engaged and the affair is to take place
very soon. I shouldn't be at all surprised from his
agitation and hasty reference to Foster—not to speak
of his flight now—if it is fixed for to-morrow or the
next night.”
There was much in this speech to confound and
afflict me. “That marriage must be prevented,” I
to prevent its consummation. The poor girl must
not be sacrificed to such a connection. However
much I may pity him”—and circumstances really
began to impress me favourably toward Clifton—
“I must yet save her.”
While the two confederates debated the matter,
I formed my own plans.
“Mr. Webber,” I said, “you have ascribed the
flight of this man to my neglect, or, which is worse,
my connivance; and your apology, if it may be
called such, is scarcely satisfactory to me. But I
leave my personal atonement over, and waive my
own claims to the interests of our confederacy. I
claim to pursue this man, Eberly—to pursue and
put him to death. The privilege is mine, for several
reasons—the principal are enough. I will establish
my claim to the confidence of the confederacy, and,
as the death of Eberly seems now essential to our
secret, secure that. Instruct me where to seek for
him—I will pursue him to Grafton's and put a stop
to this wedding in the most effectual manner. Give
me the necessary directions, and you shall see, that
I am neither a sleeper nor a traitor. You will also
see whether I am bold enough to strike either in our
common cause or in defence of my own honour.”
“Shrewdly crowed, young chicken, and to the
purpose,” was the chuckling response of Webber.
man, and if you succeed in doing what you promise
you will undoubtedly have an equal claim on me
and the confederacy. But don't misunderstand, me,
Williams. I never had any doubt of your honour,
and if I had, your offer now sufficiently proves me
to have been wrong. I spoke from the haste and
disappointment of the moment; and I have not the
slightest question that Eberly took off the moment
after leaving Foster. He took the alarm at something
or other—and men who have in them a consciousness
of wrong find cause of alarm in every thing;
or it may be that he meditated flight from the first,
for now I think of it, I observed when he first came
that he fastened his horse on the edge of the swamp,
by “Pigeon Roost Branch,” which you know, Haller,
is scarce a stone's throw from the main road.
Though that would be a stranger plan than all, since
if he meditated flight, he need not have come. He
only incurred useless risk by doing so.”
“He's half mad—that's it,” said Haller—“but
let us look if his horse is gone. That will settle
our doubts. It may be that he is still on the island
somewhere.”
To ascertain this fact did not take many minutes,
and the absence of the horse confirmed the flight of
the fugitive. I now demanded of Webber if my
proffer was accepted. To go upon a mission of this
with Colonel Grafton, was now the dearest desire of
my heart. To save his daughter was a sufficient
motive for this desire—to wreak the measure of my
great revenge upon the damnable fraternity with
which I had herded for this single object, was no
less great, if not, in a public point of view, much
greater. I had a stomach for the lives of all—all.
The memory of my murdered friend took all mercy
from my heart.
To my question, Webber answered—
“We must see what Foster says. We will go to
him at-once. I'm willing that you should go about
this business, and will help you to all information;
but I'm scarcely in a hurry about it now. I've been
thinking it would please me better to let him marry
the girl before we kill him. Then, if it so happened
that I could ever lay my foot on Grafton's throat, as
I hope to do before long, I could howl it in his ears,
till it hurt him worse than my bullet or my knife,
that his sweet Julia, his darling, of whom he is so
fond, and proud, and boastful, was the wife of a common
robber—a thief of the highway—a rogue to all
the world, and worse than a rogue, to his own comrades.
That would be a triumph, Haller; and Grafton,
if I know the man rightly would go out of the
world with a howl when I cried it in his ear.”
Sickening at the fiendish thought, I turned with
as I was constrained to follow such a ruffian in silence
and without any show of that natural resentment
which I felt. But I conquered my impatience
as I reflected that, by delay, I hoped to obtain, at
once, a complete and certain satisfaction. An image
of my sanguinary revenge rose before my eyes as I
then went forward; and in fancy, I beheld steaming
wounds, and I felt my feet plashing in rivulets of
stagnating blood—and, a strange but shuddering
pleasure went through my bosom at the fancy.
| CHAPTER XXII. Richard Hurdis, or, The avenger of blood : a tale of Alabama | |