 | CHAPTER XXV.
THE FORGERY. Oliver Goldfinch, or, The hypocrite |  |
25. CHAPTER XXV.
THE FORGERY.
When Oliver Goldfinch appeared before
Alderman Croly and beheld the parties
present, he became so violently agitated
that it was only by a great effort he prevented
himself from sinking to the ground.
What he saw at a glance, told him too well
that his long guilty career had now come
to a frightful terminus. Before him, apparently
awaiting his arrival to complete
their triumph, stood Morton, and Dudley,
and Edgar, and, most dreaded of all, with
a Sardonic grin on his ugly features, his
own vile tool, the treacherous Nathan
Wesley.
To understand the nefarious scheme of
which Goldfinch was the author, it will be
necessary for us to give in substance Wesley's
testimony. Being put upon oath,
considered as state's evidence, and consequently
exonerated in the eyes of the law
for his own part in the dark transaction, he
told his story in such a bold, unhesitating,
straight-forward manner, that all present
felt convinced, no matter what had been
the tenor of his life heretofore, he now at
least spoke the truth.
He began by stating that some five years
previous, mentioning the exact date, the
accused had found him, at a time when,
driven nearly to desperation by poverty,
he was ripe for almost any scheme that
would put money in his empty pockets,
and had commenced by asking him what
he would do to be rich, and ended by unfolding
to him a dark plot, and offering
him a fortune if he would venture to become
one of the principal actors therein.
This plot was no other than forging or altering
a will of his own brother-in-law,
Ethan Courtly, who, he stated, was about
to set sail for Europe, from whence it was
his (Goldfinch's) intention he should never
return alive. The will, in the first
place, was to be drawn up in due form by
a lawyer, and then, to prevent the possibility
of detection, was to be copied entire
by Wesley, and the copy be presented
to the principal and witnesses for
signing. This was accordingly done;
when Goldfinch, taking possession of it,
for the purpose, as he said, of having it recorded,
passed it over to Wesley for alteration.
This alteration consisted in extracting,
by means of a chemical process,
such portions of the will as bestowed the
bulk of the property upon the wife and
heirs of the deceased, and supplying the
place thereof with such language as would
make Goldfinch the principal inheritor.
This being effected in a manner almost
certain to escape detection—from the fact
of the hand-writing of both the alteration
and original being the same—Goldfinch,
the better to blind all parties, had the boldness
to have the forgery recorded the day
previous to the embarkation of Ethan
Courtly. Of this vile transaction, Wesley
stated, in conclusion, there was only
one other who had any knowledge. This
was the lawyer who drew up the original
will, and who,having by chance overheard a
private conference between the witness
and the accused, and being discovered ere
the important secret had escaped hrs possession,
soon after mysteriously disappeared.
“In other words, he was murdered, I
suppose?” said the counsel for defence.
Wesley shuddered and turned pale, as
he replied:
“I didn't say that.”
“No, but your language implied as
much.”
“So please your Honor, and you gentlemen,”
said Goldfinch, with a gleam of
malice on his countenance, “I do here
boldly accuse Nathan Wesley of committing
most foul murder, and beg you will
have him arrested forthwith!”
“One case at a time,” replied the magistrate.
“As matters are, I demand that my client
be liberated at once!” rejoined the
lawyer. “Surely, your Honor cannot think
of detaining him on the flimsy evidence
ot a witness who has already owned to
the commission of a capital offence?”
“It's a lie!” cried Wesley, much excited.
“I haven't owned to any such thing;
and I'll be—if I do, either!”
“Silence, sir!” exclaimed the magistrate;
“and when you speak again, make
use of more respectful language, or I will
have you imprisoned for contempt of
court. Is there any other evidence to be
brought forward touching this forgery?”
“I will bring evidence to impeach the
present witness,” replied the counsel of
Goldfinch.
“All in good time, my friend,” rejoined
Morton, with marked emphasis, and a peculiar
glance of deep meaning toward the
other. “Before proceeding farther, your
Honor, I would have an officer dispatched
for this will, that we may examine it and
compare it with the description given by
the witness.”
“It shall be done,” replied Alderman
Croly; and he beckoned to an officer in
attendance, with whom he held some conversation,
in a tone too low for the others
to hear.
At this the features of Goldfinch assumed
despair, while the countenance of Wesley,
and more especially his small black eyes,
displayed a look of malicious triumph.
“You'll find it,” said the latter, “in a
private drawer of the secretary, which
stands in the library.”
The officer soon after passed out of the
room; but ere he did so, Morton whispered
a few words in his ear, and then resuming
his seat before a table, commenced
overlooking some manuscripts. For a moment
deep silence prevailed, and the magistrate
was on the point of inquiring if
any more witnesses for the prosecution
were to appear, when the door slowly
opened, and a pale, emaciated, ghostly figure
stood in the entrance, and rolled his
protruding and glassy-looking eyes steadily
over those present, until they fell upon
Wesley, where for a time they remained
stationary, with a look well calculated to
freeze the blood of one given to belief in
the supernatural.
And most astonishing was its effect upon
Wesley in the present instance—insomuch
that every eye became fixed upon
him. On the first appearance of this
ghostly object, the attorney looked towards
it with a careless, indifferent air.—
Then he slightly started, and his features
began to pale. Then his eyes enlarged
and protruded, his nostrils expanded, and
his lower jaw slightly dropped ajar. But
it was not till the cold, glassy, unearthly-looking
eyes of the figure fastened upon
his, that his terror reached its height.—
Then did he become a frightful picture.—
With his hand raised in an attitude of horror—his
eyes apparently starting from his
head—his hair fairly standing on end—his
mouth wide open—his breath suspended—
every feature of his countenance distorted
with fright and rigid as marble—with cold
drops of perspiration pressing through the
pores of his skin, and a slight tremor running
through his frame—he remained, for
a brief time, the perfect embodiment of
guilty fear. At length he found his voice,
and fairly shrieked:
“Man or devil—living or dead—of earth,
heaven or hell—I'll speak to you! Who
are you?”
“Whom you cast Into the sea,” replied
the apparition, in a deep, hollow, sepulchral
voice.
“Great God!” shouted Wesley, springing
up frantically: “can the sea give up its
dead before its time?” Have you come to
drag me to judgement?”
“Do you own to the horrid deed?” was
the sepulchral rejoinder.
“Yes! to any thing—so you'll quit my
sight forever! Hell can't have more terrors,
and I'd rather be hung than see your
ghost again.”
“Then behold me your accuser in the
living flesh,” replied the figure, advancing
into the room; “and thine above all others,
thou man of crime!” he added, turning
to Goldfinch, who was by this time almost
as much a picture of horror and dismay
as Wesley himself.
“This, your Honor,” said Morton, addressing
the magistrate, who was all
amazement, “is another witness whom I
have taken the liberty to introduce in this
manner, for the purpose of observing what
effect it would have upon the guilty. This,
sir, is Alanson Davis, the lawyer who drew
up the original will of Ethan Courtly.”
The reader of course has not forgotten
the invalid, whom Edgar found and had
conveyed to the hospital, although for some
time he has been apparently overlooked.
His malady, as the physician stated it
would be, was for some days very severe,
so much so that his life was despaired of.
But good medical attendance and careful
nursing turned the important crisis in his
favor, and from that moment he began to
amend even more rapidly than was anticipated.
This was doubtless much owing
to his strength of will and desire to be
abroad. So fast did he recover, that just
previous to the murder of Ellen, Morton
and Edgar were admitted to see him, when
he was able to state concisely what he
knew of the forgery of Goldfinch. This,
combined with Wesley's disclosure, which
he had made on the morning he was closeted
with the lawyer, was evidence sufficient
to proceed against the hypocrite; and
Morton had only waited till Davis was able
to leave the hospital, before making the
arrest.
With this explanation we will again
proceed.
As soon as Wesley had sufficiently recovered
from his fright to understand that
Alanson Davis stood before him in propria
persona, his look of fear changed to
one of joy; and springing forward, ere the
other was aware of his purpose, he threw
his arms around him and fairly shouted:
“Imprison me—hang me—do what you
will with me—I don't care for consequenses
now; for though I'm a villain, I'm no
murderer; and since I've told all I know
of my dark deeds, which he (pointing to
Goldfinch) put me up to, I've got an easy
conscience again, which I wouldn't exchange
for the wealth of the Indies. O,
sir! (to Davis) if you only knew how I've
been troubled day and night in thinking
over what I did to you, you'd may be have
some compassion. But you don't know
any thing of it; and can't till you do
something like it yourself; and so I don't
expect any leniency, though I throw myself
on your mercy.”
His plain, common-place, earnest, impetuous
words, produced an effect on Davis,
which, in all probability, a strain of
polished eloquence would not. It showed
that the attorney was sincere in his repentance,
and not, as he had expected to
find him, totally depraved. There was the
germ of something better in his nature
than the fruits had thus far given evidence
of; and being a man more ready to forgive
an injury, than do a wrong himself, he thus
replied:
“Far be it from me to press too hard a
repentant man. What I have suffered
through your misdeeds, though, God and
myself only know. But as I hope to be
forgiven for my own errors, I am willing
to forgive those of another when I can
justly do so. You, Nathan Wesley, have
been a bad man—a man of guilt and crime!
But as, unknowing of my existence, you
have taken the preliminary steps to bring
the guilty prompter of all (here he glanced
at Goldfinch, who was grinding his
teeth in rage and despair,) to punishment,
I will take it as evidence you intend to
become a better man. Only convince me,
by subsequent acts, that your repentance
is sincere, and I solemnly promise never
to bring an accusation against you.”
“You do?” cried Wesley, with a look
of cestatic delight. “Well, if I don't do
it, then, may I be hung higher than Haman,
and the carrion-eaters tear off my vile
flesh piece by piece.”
The statement which Davis made, under
oath, before the magistrate, in substance
confirmed the evidence of Wesley. But
there were some dark matters, which his
own inclination and the promise he had
made to the latter forbade him to touch upon,
which we hasten to lay before the reader.
It has been said that Davis overheard a
conversation between Goldfinch and Wesley,
which placed them both in his power.
It occured in this wise: Goldfinch had
procured Davis to draw up a will for Courtly,
in the presence of the latter; and as
soon as it was done, he (Goldfinch) had
taken possession of it,and,under the pretext
that proper witnesses were wanting, had
delayed its being signed at the time, but
had requested the lawyer to call again at
Courtly's office at a certain hour after
nightfall. Davis, mistaking the hour, called
previous to the time mentioned, and
finding the door ajar, and no light within,
entered and took a seat to await the parties.
Soon after Wesley and Goldfinch
came in together, and locking the door,
proceeded to discuss their plan of operation;
from which it appeared that a copy
of the will, drawn up by Davis, had just
been made by Wesley, and was to be presented
to Courtly for signing previous to
the appearance of Davis, who was to be
met by Goldfinch and informed that Courtly
had altered his mind in regard to the
original instrument, and had had another
drawn up since that suited his purpose
better. By this means the lawyer was to
be deceived in regard to the whole affair,
and his testimony rendered worthless in
case the forgery should ever have a judicial
investigation.
Having at last arranged every thing to
his satisfaction, touching the alteration of
the will, and how Courtly was to be prevented
from returning, &c., Goldfinch
struck a light, and, to his horror and dismay,
discovered that his dark secret was
case he escaped, be sure to betray him.—
Great evils require powerful remedies; and
a cold, calculating man of crime is in
general prepared for all emergencies. It
was so in the present instance; for drawing
a pistol, Goldfinch placed it to the
head of the lawyer, threatening his life if
he stirred or made the least noise; and
then, in a tone too low for the latter to
overhear, held a hurried conference with
Wesley. This over, the scheming man
turned to Davis, and informed him his
choice lay between instant death and his
secret and sudden departure from the
country.
“There is a vessel,” he said, “outward
bound, which sails to-morrow morning at
daylight. If you will consent to be blind-folded
and conducted on board of her,
swearing solemnly to keep our secret till
a thousand miles are between us, you shall
have life, liberty and a fortune. Refuse
this, and a speedy death is yours!”
Davis was not long in deciding, and of
course chose the least of the two evils. To
be brief, a bandage was instantly passed
around his eyes; and completely muffled
in a cloak, with the point of a dagger
resting on his heart, and the assurance
that an attempt to call for aid would cause
it to be buried to the hilt, he was escorted
by Goldfinch and Wesley to the water,
where a skiff being procured, he was placed
in it, and rowed away by the latter,
while the former returned to town.
For a couple of hours he was thus borne
along upon the waters, until the noise of
the city had died away in the distance, and
the steady strokes of the oarsman, and the
ripling of the light billows against the
boat, were the only sounds audible. Suddenly
the oars ceased; and thinking himself
near the vessel, Davis was on the
point of addressing Wesley, when the latter
careened the boat, and with a vigorous
shove plunged him headlong into the water.
As he fell, the bandage slipped off,
and he could just see the other rowing rapidly
away, and the lights of the town far
in the distance. He called to Wesley,
and begged him, for the love of Heaven,
not to leave him thus to die—but of course
his entreaties were in vain. Being a good
swimmer, Davis now struck out boldly for
a small island about a mile to leeward; but
ere he made two-thirds of the distance, he
found his strength failing him rapidly. For
tunately, he espied a log floating near
which he managed to gain in a state of
great exhaustion; and clinging to this, he
floated away on the current, which was
setting hard toward the open sea. In this
manner he passed the night, and the next
morning found himself at least ten miles
from land, and still floating seaward.
But it is not our design to detail his adventures,
which of themselves would fill a
volume. Suffice, then, that ere another
night set in, he was picked up in a state
bordering on unconsciousness, by a vessel
bound on a trading voyage to the coast of
Africa. This vessel was afterwards wrecked
on that coast, and all aboard of her
save Davis and another, perished. These
latter might as well have been dead; for
they were made prisoners by the blacks
and subjected to the most brutal treatment.
In fact, the companion of Davis was after
wards murdered before his eyes, and his
own life only preserved by a whim of the
chief of the tribe, who fancied it would
become his dignity to have a white slave.
In this captivity Davis remained for
three years, when he effected his escape
and fortunately got on board a vessel bound
for the Indies. Thence he sailed to Livverpool;
and finally, after a great many
perils and viscisitudes, landed in New York
where, being seized with a fever and thrust
out of doors, he was found by Edgar as pre
viously related.
On examination of the Courtly will, the
alternations mentioned by Wesley were
readily discovered; and notwithstanding
the original writing had been extracted in
the manner stated, still, on very close in
spection, here and there a word, or a part
of a word, faintly traced, could be detected.
This, combined with the testimony
of Davis and Wesley, was overwhelmin
evidence against Goldfinch, and he was
accordingly committed to the Tombs to
take his trial at the next sitting of the
criminal court.
Incarcerated in the gloomy cell or
abandoned by all who had once fawned
around and flattered him; his previous
deeds viewed alike with horror and contempt
by the virtuous; his reputation and
prospects in life blasted forever; his own
children withdrawn from him by the strong
hand of fate—the one a murderer, within
the same strong walls that barred his own
liberty, and about, it might be, to end his
career on the gallows—the other a poor
invalid, now left to the protection of strangers,
perchance to finish her days in a
mad-house; without a single hope to cheer
the heavy hours that now rolled by more
tardily than ever years had done before;
the pale, thin specter of his deeply wronged
and almost murdered sister continually
before his mental vision: with all this to
oppress him, Goldfinch now gave himself
up to the wildest despair, a thousand times
wished he had never been born, and would
have put a quietus to his own existence,
but that his guilty conscience trembled at
the solemn thought of what might be his
final doom in the great Hereafter.
Now it was he saw and felt the fickle-heartedness
of worldly friends—of those
who fawn upon and hang around the rich
while fortune is propitious, as the bee clings
to the flower till its honey-sweets are exhausted—for
of all his numerous acquaintances,
including those he had looked upon
as intimate associates, only some two or
three called upon him in prison; and
these, with the exception of one, more
apparently for curiosity than friendship's
sake.
The exception was the Rev. Mr. Parkhurst,
the man of all others Goldfinch most
wished yet dreaded to behold. The clergyman,
good soul, was deeply grieved; and
though he was now aware he had been
grossly deceived in the prisoner—whom
he looked upon as a guilty being, who,
while enacting the vilest deeds, had doubly
perilled his soul by masking all under the
semblance of holy religion—still his was
a Christian spirit to overlook and forgive,
and humbly hope and pray to see the tree
give forth better fruits. He still urged upon
Goldfinch the importance of faith in
God, and reliance upon His mercy for par
don of his many sins and transgressions,
and begged him to seek that consolation
in sincere repentance, which now, in
every other manner, would be denied him.
Goldfinch listened him through, with
what patience his harrassed mind would
allow, and then, without attempting dissimilation
again, abruptly changed the subject
to his daughter, the one which now
bore the hardest upon his half distracted
senses. But it was little consolation he
received from the answers of the clergyman.
Arabella had heard of her father's
arrest, and that her brother was still a prisoner;
and the effect had been to completely
upset her reason. She was now
an unconscious guest of Mr. Parkhurst,
who, having no children of his own, promised
to look faithfully to her welfare; and,
in the event of her mind becoming sane,
would, with her consent, adopt and make
her heir to the little he possessed.
In the course of a month from his arrest,
Oliver Goldfinch was arraigned at the bar
of justice to take his trial for the crime of
forgery. Meantime a great sensation had
been excited throughout the city and country,
and the press in all quarters of the
Union, and even in Europe, was teeming
with details of the singular affair of both
father and son, from the highest circles of
aristocracy and fashion, being incarcerated
in the same prison, at the same time, for
two such flagrant outrages against the law
of God and man.
As the day of trial drew near, great efforts
were made, by interested persons, to
get the witnesses for the prosecution out
of the way, by heavy bribes and threats of
assassination—but all to no purpose.—
Both Wesley and Davis appeared, and
amid a court-room crowded almost to suffocation—while
thousands without were
forced to depart with their curiosity unsatisfied—gave
in their testimony. The
trial was not a long one; for the evidence
was direct and positive—the will showed
for itself—the prosecution summed up
briefly—and though the counsel for the prisoner
attempted to impeach the witnesses
and made a labored defence, yet so rapidly
was all carried through, that on the third
day the judge gave his charge to the jury,
in a verdict of “Guilty.”
The prisoner, pale, emaciated, and
breathless with fearful excitement, heard
the awful word of condemnation, and sank
down with a groan of agony that for a
time seemed to deprive him of consciousness.
The judge, after proper deliberation, proceeded
to make some very appropriate remarks
on the heinousness of his crime;
and winding up with the observation that
he considered it a very aggravated case,
sentenced Oliver Goldfinch to fifteen years
hard labor in the state-prison. He was
then, more dead than alive, remanded to
his cell, to await his turn to be taken
hence to serve out his term of sentence
among the vilest of criminals.
Before he left the city, the forger requested
an interview with his daughter,
who had, meantime, regained her reason,
but was still in feeble health. Arabella—
more like a specter than her former self—
accompanied by the Rev. Mr. Parkhurst,
who had done all in his power to restore
her, and soften, by Godly counsel, her overwhelming
affliction—waited upon him in
prison, where, for an hour, father and
daughter were closeted together. When
Arabella came forth, it was with a tottering
step; and being conducted to a carriage,
she was conveyed to her present
home, and again placed in bed, where she
remained, her spirit hovering on the verge
of eternity, for a period of several weeks.
Goldfinch was also, at his own request,
granted a parting interview with his guilty
son; and when the jailor came in to separate
them, he found both lying upon the
floor and locked in each other's arms.
They finally parted as two beings who
fondly love, but expect never to behold
each other again in mortal life; and the
separation was such, that, hardened as he
was in all manner of prison scenes, the
jailor could not restrain a tear of pity at
the awful doom they had justly drawn down
upon themselves.
The next morning, heavily ironed, like
a common felon, the once proud, courted,
opulent and philanthropic, but hypocritical
and guilty Oliver Goldfinch, was borne
from the city, a condemned criminal, to
expiate, according to the law he had violated,
his daring offence against the welfare
of community.
Farther, for the present, we shall follow
him not, but leave him to justice and his
fate.
| CHAPTER XXV.
THE FORGERY. Oliver Goldfinch, or, The hypocrite | |