University of Virginia Library

26. CHAPTER XXVI.

To dispose of him now was a next consideration,
and one of some little difficulty. It was no wish of
mine, and certainly still less a wish with Colonel
Grafton, to hold the unfortunate and misguided youth
in bondage for trial by the laws. This was tacitly
understood between us. By the statements of his
associates, it was clear enough that he had been a
profitless comrade, doing nothing to earn the applause,
or even approval of the criminal; and as little,
if we except the mere fact of his being connected
with such a fraternity, to merit the punishment of
the laws. His hands had never been stained by
blood; and, setting aside his first offence against virtue,
and that which brought him into such perilous
companionship with vice, we knew nothing against
him of vicious performance. Apart from this, the
near approximation which he had made towards a
union with the family of Colonel Grafton, however

mortifying such an event may have become to his
pride, was calculated to produce a desire in his mind
that as little notoriety as possible should be given to
the circumstances; and even had Eberly been more
guilty than he was, I, for one, would rather infinitely
have suffered him to escape, than to subject the poor
girl, whose affections he had won, to the constant
pain which she must have felt by the publication of
the proceedings against him. Even as it was, her trial
was painful enough, as well to those who witnessed
her sufferings, as to the poor heart that was compelled
to bear them. Enough of this at present.

But it was essential at this moment, when it
was our design to entrap the heads of the “Mystic
Brotherhood,” that Eberly, though we refrained to
prosecute him before the proper tribunal, should not
be suffered to escape our custody. By his reluctance
to accuse, or to act against these outlaws, he evidently
held for them a degree of regard, which might
prompt him, if permitted, to apprise them of their
danger, even though he may have held himself aloof,
as he had promised, from all future connection with
them. But how and where to secure him was another
difficulty for which an answer was not so
readily provided. To imprison him in the dwelling,
in which that very day he was to have found his
bride, and in which, as yet uninformed of the melancholy
truth, that unconscious and full hearted

maiden was even then preparing to become so,
was a necessity of awkward complexion; and yet to
that necessity we were compelled to come. After
deliberating upon the matter with an earnestness
which left no solitary suggestion unconsidered, the
resolution was adopted to secure the prisoner in the
attic until our pursuit of his comrades was fairly
over. This, it was our confident hope, would be the
case by the close of the day following, and only until
that time did we resolve that he should be a prisoner.
His comrades once secured, and his way of
flight, it was intended, should be free. How our
determination on this subject was evaded and rendered
unavailing, the following pages will show.

His course once resolved upon, and the measures
of Colonel Grafton were prompt and decisive.

“Keep watch upon him here, Hurdis—let him
not stir, while I prepare Mrs. Grafton with a knowledge
of this unhappy business. My daughter, too,
must know it soon or late, and better this hour than
the next, since the strife will be the sooner over.
They must be out of the way when we take him up
the stairs—out of hearing as out of sight. Once
there, I have a favourite fellow who will guard him
as rigidly as I should myself.”

He left me, and was gone, perhaps, an hour—it
was a tedious hour to me in the painful watch that
was compelled to keep over the unhappy prisoner.

In this time he had communicated the discovery
both to his wife and Julia; and a single shriek, that
faintly reached our ears, and the hurried pace of many
feet going to and fro in the adjacent chambers, apprised
us of the very moment when the soul of the
poor maiden was anguish-stricken by the first intelligence
of her hapless situation. My eye was fixed
intently upon the face of Eberly, and when that
shriek reached us, I could see a smile, which had in
it something of triumph, overspread his cheek, and,
though it did not rest there a single moment, it
vexed me to behold it.

“Do you exult!” I demanded, “that you have
made a victim of one so lovely and so young? Do
you rejoice, sir, in the pang that you inflict?”

“No! God forbid”—was his immediate answer.
“If it were with me now, she should instantly forget
not only her present, but all sorrows—she should
forget that she had ever known so miserable a wretch
as myself. But is it wonderful that I should feel a
sentiment of pleasure, to find myself an object of regard
in the eyes of one so pure—so superior? Is it
strange that I should rejoice to find that I am not an
outcast from all affections, as I am from all hopes;
that there is one angelic spirit who may yet intercede
for me at the bar of Heaven, and pray for, and
command mercy, though she may not even hope for
it on earth?”

Grafton now returned, and the flush of anger was
heightened on his face, though I could see a tear even
then glistening in his eye.

“Mr. Clifton,” he said calmly, but peremptorily
—“we must secure your person for the night.”

“My life is at your service, Colonel Grafton—I
tender it freely. As I have no hopes in life now, I
do not care to live. But I will not promise to remain
bound if I can break from my prison. I came
to you of my own free will, without any impulse
beside; and, though I thought it not unlikely when
I came, and revealed my story, that you would take
my life, I had no fear that you would constitute yourself
my gaoler. I am not prepared for bonds.”

“Make what distinctions you please,” was the
cold reply—“you hear my resolution. It will be
my fault if you escape, until I myself declare your
freedom. I trust that you will not render it necessary
that we should use force to place you in the
chamber assigned for you.”

“Force!” he exclaimed fiercely, and there was a
keen momentary flashing of the youth's eye, as he
heard these words, that proved him a person to resent
as quickly as he felt; but the emotion soon gave
way to another of more controlling influence. His
tone changed to mildness, as he proceeded:

“No, sir—no force shall be necessary. Lead me
where you please. Do with me as you please. I

know not whether it would not be better and wiser
for me, henceforward, to forego my own will and
wishes altogether. God knows it had been far better
and wiser, had I distrusted them half as much
hitherto as I now distrust them. I had now—but,
lead on, sir—conduct me as you will, and where
you will. I will not trouble you longer—even with
my despondency. It is base enough to be humbled
as I am now—I will not farther debase myself by
the idle language of regret. I have put down a boy's
stake in the foolish game which I have played—I
will bear with its loss as a man. I will go before
you, sir, or follow even as you desire. It shall not
be necessary to employ violence. I am ready.”

We could not help pitying the youth, as we conducted
him up stairs into the small garret-room,
which had been prepared for him. He was evidently
of noble stuff at first—naturally well fashioned
in mind and moral—with instincts, which, but for
circumstances, would have carried him right—and
feelings gentle and noble enough to have wrought
excellence within him, could it have been that he
had been blessed with a better education, and less
doubtful associates, than it was his fortune to have
found. He certainly rose greatly in my esteem
within the last two hours, simply by the propriety
of his manners, and the degree of correct feeling
with which he had, without any ostentation, coupled

their exhibition. Securing the windows as well as
we could, and placing a sturdy and confidential servant
at the door of the chamber, which was double-locked
upon him, we descended to the lower apartment,
where we immediately proceeded to confer
upon the other toils before us.

“There is some public good,” said Colonel Grafton,
with a degree of composure, which spoke admirably
for the control which his mind had over his
feelings—“There is some public good coming from
the personal evil which has fallen to my lot. The
proposed festival, which was this night to have taken
place, brings together the very friends, as guests,
whom I should have sought in our proposed adventure
to-morrow, and whom it would have taken me
some time to have hunted up, and got in readiness.
Our party was to have been large—and I trust that
it will be, though the occasion now is so much less
loving and attractive than was expected.”

This was said with some bitterness, and a pause
ensued, in which Grafton turned away from me and
proceeded to the window. When he returned, he
had succeeded quite in obliterating the traces of that
grief which he was evidently unwilling that his face
should show. He continued:

“We shall certainly have some fifteen able-bodied
and fearless men, not including ourselves; there may
be more. Some of them will, I am sure, bring

their weapons; they have done so usually; and for
the rest, I can make out to supply them, I think.
You shall see, I have a tolerable armoury, which
though any thing but uniform, can be made to do
mischief in the hands of men able and willing
enough when occasion serves to use it. There is a
rifle or two, an old musket, two excellent double-barrelled
guns, and a few pistols, all of which can be
made use of. You, I believe, are already well provided.”

I showed him my state of preparation, and he
then proceeded.

“I know the region where these fellows harbour,
much better than you do, and, perhaps, much more
intimately than they imagine. My plan is to surprise
them by daybreak. If we can do this, our fifteen
or twenty men will be more than a match for
their thirty. And then, I trust, we have no less an
advantage in the sort of men we bring to the conflict;
men of high character, and among the most
resolute of the surrounding country. I have no
doubts that we shall be able to destroy at least one
half of them, and disperse the rest. We must strike
at your master-spirits—your Foster and your Webber—though
the former, according to your account,
seems not without his good qualities. The latter is
a tough villain, but he fears me, deny it as he may.
If he did not, having such a feeling towards me as

he has so openly avowed, he would have drawn
trigger on me before now. I must endeavour, this
time, to wipe out old scores, and balance all my accounts
with him. These two, and one or two more
provided for, and we may be content with the dispersion
of the rest. I care nothing for the pitiful
rascals that follow—let them go.”

But such was not my thought. There was one
of these pitiful rascals whom it brought the scarlet
to my cheek to think on. Brother though he was,
he was the murderer of William Carrington, and I
had sworn, and neither he nor Pickett could escape,
according to my oath. But of this I said nothing to
Colonel Grafton. I was resolved that John Hurdis
should perish, but that he should perish namelessly.
There was a family pride still working in my
breast, that counselled me to be silent in respect to
him. We proceeded in our arrangements.

“There are two fellows belonging to this clan,”
said Grafton, “that lodge, if I recollect rightly what
you said, some two miles below me.”

“Yes, at a place called `the Trap Hole,' if you
know such a spot; it was described to me so that I
could find it easily, but I know nothing of it.”

“I know it well—it's an old hiding place; but I
had not thought the hovel was inhabited. These
fellows must be secured to-night at an early hour.
They are spies upon us, I doubt not, and will report

every thing that happens, if they see anything unusual.
Certainly, it is our policy to clear our own
course as well and speedily as possible; and as soon
as our men come, which will be by dark or before,
we will set forth as secretly as we may, to take them
into custody. This, as you have the signs which
they acknowledge, can be done without risk. You
shall go before, and set them at rest, while we surround
the house and take them suddenly. They
will hardly life weapon when they see our force;
and, once in our possession, we will take a lesson
from the book of Master Webber and rope them
down in the woods, with a handful of moss in their
mouths to keep them from unnecessary revelations.”

Such, so far, was our contemplated plan. It was
the most direct of any, and, indeed, we hardly had
a choice of expedients. To come upon our enemy
by surprise, or in force, was all that we could do,
having so little time allowed us for preparation of
any sort. It was fortunate that we had a man like
Grafton to manage—a man so well esteemed by the
friends he led, and so worthy in all respects of the
confidence they put in him. As the hour drew
nigh, and the looked for guests began to assemble,
he rose superior to the paternal situation in which
he stood, and seemed to suppress the father in the
man and citizen. He revealed separately to each of

his guests the affair as it now stood, upon which
they had been summoned together, then submitted
the new requisition which he made upon their services,
as a friend and magistrate alike. With one
voice they proclaimed themselves ready to go forth
against the common enemy, and with difficulty were
restrained from precipitating the assault; changing
the hour to midnight from the dawn. This rashness
was fortunately overruled, though it could scarcely
have been thought rashness, if all the men had possessed
an equal knowledge with Colonel Grafton, of
the place in which the outlaws harboured. To quiet
the more impetuous among his guests, he led them
out after dark, in obedience to our previous resolve,
to take the two fellows at `the Trap Hole,' and, I
may say, in brief, that we succeeded to a tittle in
making them prisoners just as we had arranged it.
Surprise was never more complete. We roped
them to saplings in a thicket of the woods, filled
their mouths with green moss, and the arms of
which we despoiled them, enabled us the better to
meet their comrades.