University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

On the following morning, Affidavy presented
himself at the prison, and demanded access to his
client.

“Client!” said the jailer, with a stare. “Why
now, Affidavy, man, (begging your pardon for
being familiar,) there's none of your birds roosting
in my hen-house.”

“A smaller on that, Lingo,—come, what will
you lay?” said the man of law, seizing upon the
official's hand, and shaking it with great apparent
friendship. “Come, stir about, Lingo; clink, clink,
stir bolt, clash key, and open. It's long since we've
had a crack together; but we'll have a jolly rouse
yet. Ah! that knotty old Schlachtenschlager! my
head is in a reel yet; must have something to steady
my nerves.”

“Well, squire,” said Lingo, a coarse-featured,
shag-headed personage, with a fist like the butt of
an oak-tree, and altogether a low and mean look
which might have been supposed to sink him below
the notice of the attorney, had not Affidavy's
habits made him long since a fitting associate for
even a meaner man; “Well, squire,” he said, with
an air as if even he regarded his visiter with some
little contempt, “I don't care if I treat you to a

drop; though my whiskey's none of the smoothest,
neither.”

“Curse your whiskey!” said the man of law,
pulling a guinea from his pocket. “Do you see
this yellow boy, my lad of knuckles? Botheration
upon you, I came here to spend the day with you,
and I intend to treat you royally. So, call your
boy, Hanschen, and let him fetch me a quart of
cognac from old Brauntweinpunsch's, for he keeps
the best in all Hillborough. And do you take care
of the change for me, and help yourself, if you
like, while I am holding counsel with the prisoner.”

“Icod,” said Lingo, balancing the coin in his
hand, “I never stick at a good offer; but I should
like to know where this little feller came from.
Howsomever, 'tis none of my business; and so
Hans shall go. But, who's your client, squire?
I'm glad you've got a job, for you're a devil of a
feller at a speech,—I always said that for you.
Which prisoner do you wish to see?”

“Why, the young Hawk of the Hollow, to be
sure.”

“Odds bobs, squire,” said Lingo, “scratching his
head, “you're too late for that cock-robin, I'm
thinking.”

“Too late! He ha'n't broke jail already! cried
the alarmed attorney.

“Broke jail already!” echoed Lingo, with a
grin. “I dunna what you mean by that; but if
he breaks jail at any time, while I'm king of the
ring, you may call me Jack Robinson. No, the
matter's not so bad as that: but he sent yesterday
for young Pepperel”—

“God bless our two souls!” ejaculated the
lawyer.

“And they say,” continued Lingo, “he is to

have old Timberkin likewise; for, it seems, the
younker has money.”

“What! old Long-tongue Timberkin? Zounds,
we'll have the whole crow's-nest at the picking!
Oons, man, let me in to him.”

“Well, I dunna,” muttered Lingo, leading the
way, however, to the prisoner's cell; “I reckon,
'twere as well to save his money for something
else; for it's a clear case with him, eh, squire?”
And as he spoke, he made a gesture with his finger
around his throat, the meaning of which was not
to be mistaken. “Howsomever, here you are.
When you're done with him, just knock at the
door, and I'll let you out.”

The next moment, Affidavy found himself alone
with the prisoner. He sat, apparently half stupified,
on a low bed, beneath a grated window,
from which a silvery light fell upon the crown of
his head, his shoulders, his knees, and his hands
that were clasped upon them, while his visage, and
nearly all his person, were lost in dusky shadow.
A little table with food and water was at his side,
but both were left apparently untouched. His
limbs were unfettered; and this circumstance Affidavy
might have referred to the humanity of the
jailer, had he not perceived at a glance how unnecessary
was such a precaution with one whose
bodily powers were as much enfeebled as those of
his spirit. Indeed, there was a look of such utter
wretchedness about the unfortunate youth as might
have softened a harder heart than the jailer's; and
even Affidavy began to survey him with a touch
of pity. He raised his eyes, when the door was
opened, but cast them again on the floor; for indeed
there was so little in Affidavy's appearance
to excite attention, that he supposed him to be
some assistant of the jailer, or perhaps a common
officer, come on some errand of duty, with which

he would be soon made acquainted. This suspicion
was dispelled by the attorney; who no sooner
heard the bolt shoot back into the stone door-post,
than he advanced, declaring his name and character.

“Affidavy?” muttered the youth, with a dejected
voice: “I thought it was Mr. Timberkin, that Mr.
Pepperel was to bring me.”

“Pshaw, botheration,” said the lawyer, “you
were a goose to send for such ninnies; we can do
better without them. And what can these fellows
do for you? Where will you find them riding
about of a stormy night, picking up evidence, laying
plans, and so on? However, we can find them
something to do: I'll sort them; I know what they
are fitted for. You stare at me—Very well; I
understand what you mean. I come from your
friends, sir, and”—

“From my friends?” cried Hyland, starting up,
wildly: “from whom? I have no friends here—
none, at least, but one; and, oh God of heaven!
they tell me I have killed her too!”

“Oh, you mean old Elsie,” said the attorney:
“hang her, (that is, poor old soul!) she's not dead
yet.”

“But Catherine?—Miss Loring?—Captain Loring's
daughter?” cried the youth, with a voice
and countenance of despair; “what news of
her?”

“Aha! I understand,” muttered Affidavy. “But
don't be alarmed; there's no death there.—A little
fright and grief, sir,—that's all; they never kill
one.” Hyland clasped his hands, and buried his
face between them; and the lawyer continued,—

“Quite a small matter, I assure you, and will
blow by, when we get you safely off.”

“Get me off!” cried Hyland, again starting to
his feet, in the greatest agitation. “Is there any

hope of that? No, there is none!” he exclaimed,
vehemently: “I am a blood-stained man, I have
taken life, I am a murderer”—

“Tush and botheration, hush!” said Affidavy,
clapping his hand over the prisoner's mouth; “why
need you be blabbing? That was confession
enough to end the matter, without plea or witness:
`tis just a charge to the jury, a verdict in the box,
and then a long face and the hangman.”

“Misery! misery!” cried the unhappy youth:
“and to this I have brought myself! the death, the
ignominy, of a felon! I know it, I see it very
clearly,” he added with indescribable emotion, “I
see how it must end—good God, upon the gallows!
But it shall not be; I will die first—thank heaven,
I am dying already! Put but the trial off—they
say the court opens this day!—put it off but a
week; you shall have an hundred guineas, five
hundred, a thousand, all that I have!—only put off
the trial a week, that I may die before they drag
me into the light again! I deserve to die, I am
willing to die, but not, oh heaven! not upon a
gibbet!”

“Zounds!” cried Affidavy, who strove in vain
to interrupt this burst of frenzied feelings, “you
are taking the best way to reach a gibbet, notwithstanding.
You are mad, I believe; botheration,
sir, if you talk this way, there will be no saving
you”—

“Saving me! Can I be saved? that is, not from
death, but from ignominious death? Hark you,
sir,—they have taken away my money, but I have
enough more. Get me a knife, a pistol, a rope, a
dose of poison”—

“Tush; if you do not cease this mad raving,
and let me speak, I will be gone; you are making
the case desperate. Be silent, and listen. Your
case is bad, sir, very bad, I must confess, sir. But

you have friends, sir; and you may hope; yes, you
may hope—if you are wise, sir, you may hope.
—You have—Now don't start, or cry out, or I'll
leave you—Ehem, sir, I must whisper—you have
relations,—a brother, sir”—

“Oran!” cried the prisoner, who would have
again started up, had he not been held in his seat
by Affidavy: “oh, heaven be thanked! he has not
deserted me! Have you seen him? where is he?
what can he do for me? will he rescue me?”

“Tush, you must be quiet. If you will speak,
let it be in a whisper. As for the trial, why we
will stop that if we can. A British officer, with a
king's commission in his hand, taken in arms, cannot
be shuffled into a cart by a civil tribunal, for
following his vocation, and slitting a throat or two.
Now, Mr. Lieutenant Gilbert, you understand me?
You have a commission.”

“No, by heaven! I refused it: I am no officer,
and this will not avail me. I am no officer, I was
none; nor was I so much even as a volunteer. I
refused the commission up to the last moment, and
this is the end of it: I would not be the enemy of
what was my native country,—of my countrymen;
and now they are all enemies of mine! I was not
a member of the band; I never acted with it,—
never save that fatal once, and then I went not to
make war,—no, not even upon the poor wretch I
killed—Would to God the pistol had been turned
against my own breast!”

“Tush,” said Affidavy, interrupting what bade
fair to end in another violent paroxysm, that's
wide of the question. The band looked upon you
as officer; and unless that fellow, Sterling”—

“The villain! it is he has ruined me!”

“Unless he can swear to the contrary, which he
can't, (and, botheration, there's a way of stopping
his mouth altogether;) who will be the wiser?

Now if we could get Dancy Parkins admitted,
along with Sterling, as evidence for the commonwealth—However,
we can't; and we'll say no
moreabout it: the prosecuting attorney swears he'll
hang him. His mouth is, at all events, sealed. We
are safe enough. Here is the commission: Now,
sir, you will put a bold face on the matter, insist
upon your privilege, and”—

“Perjure myself with a lie? avow myself the
enemy of my native land? and so die worse and
more degraded than I am? Never! Duplicity
has made me what I am; a deception that I
thought innocent and harmless, has brought me
to this pass. Had I come without concealment,
then I had left without disgrace, without crime.
Oh fool, fool that I was! Talk of this no more: it
was on this ground Mr. Pepperel thought of defending
me; but on this ground I will not be defended.”

“Oho! and young ninny has been before me
there, too?” muttered the lawyer. “Well, botheration,”
he continued, falling into a deep study, in
which he held counsel only with himself,—“there
is but the one shift in which the rascals won't join
me,—but one path in which I can walk this goosehead
off alone. Well now, all depends upon Lingo:
the rogue has a head as thick as a mountain, and
a considerable deal harder. `Twere a shame to
waste gold upon such a clod-headed pig. Give
him fifty guineas! God bless our two souls! it
were a mere casting of pearls before swine, and,
in some sort, a robbing of my own pockets. A
shilling's worth of laudanum were a better fee,
besides being cheaper. But, we'll see.”

Having concluded his meditations, he turned to
the prisoner, who sat surveying him with an

anxious countenance, as if expecting some better
comfort from his thoughts, and then said,—

“Well, botheration, we'll have to think of another
thing. It is well you are not fettered.”—

The young man writhed as if struck with a lash;
but before he could speak, Affidavy continued,
though with an emphatic gesture for silence,—
“For that saves us all the vexation and danger of
sawing. You see this little instrument?” he said,
displaying a file. “Now, be quiet on your life, sir.
You will understand from this, that there is something
in the wind boding you good. You are sick
and wasted—you were hurt in the scuffle, too;
but put you beyond these stone walls, with a saddled
horse under you, could you ride him?—Why,
botheration, what makes you tremble so?”

“Oh heaven!” cried Hyland, “do not mock me!
Nay, I will whisper. Give me the file: I will cut
the grating through.”

“It does not need,” said Affidavy, “and I have
no notion of running any risk by leaving it in your
hands. But you must understand, sir, (hold your
ear close,) that this is a very ugly piece of business,
especially for me: if discovered, sir, I am a
ruined man; the penalty, sir, is the very next thing
to hanging; ay, sir, and in my estimation, somewhat
worse; but that's according as we think of
it. Now, sir”—

“I understand you,” muttered Hyland. “You
shall name your own reward—half of my estate,
if you will; nay, all—all, so you get me but to the
woods, where I can die in peace, and undishonoured!”

“Tush, we'll not think of death: you'll live and
be happy. Then as for reward, why, sir, I would
not have you think me extortionate, or capable of

taking advantage of your distress. No, sir, by no
means; I am a lawyer, sir, but an honest man.”

“For God's sake, take what you will. Say nothing
more; you shall have your wish.”

“Oh, sir,” said Affidavy, “there is no hurry.
As for taking all your estate, or even half of it,
sir,—sir, do not believe I will think of that! No,
sir; I am neither a buzzard nor a niggur's dog.
But I must be indemnified for losses: I ruin myself,
sir,—I must sacrifice an excellent practice,
sir,—my reputation, sir, and my prospects. In a
word, sir, I must e'en take to my heels along with
you; for after such a prank as a jail-breaking, the
county will be too hot to hold me. Sir, I remember
your father: he was a wronged man, sir; and
my feelings will not suffer me to see his youngest
son too severely handled. I once knew your brothers,
sir, and I always thought they were badly
treated. Sir, I feel much grieved to see poor old
Mr. Gilbert's son brought to such a pass. Sir, my
regard for your deceased parent makes me do
what I do; and, (not to whip the devil round the
stump any longer, sir,) I must confess, sir, that
what I do is a very scoundrelly piece of business,
sir; which if any body had proposed to me in behalf
of any other person in the world, I should certainly,
sir, have knocked the proposer over the
mazzard,—I would, sir, botheration.”

“What needs more words?” said Hyland, too
much agitated to think of weighing the motives of
his new ally in the balance of conscience or interest.
“Make your demand, and have it.”

“Ah! sir,” said Affidavy, with a snuffle through
the nose, “it is a sorrowful thing to be driven from
home and friends, to wander an exile over the
earth! There's my poor Mrs. Affidavy,—the thing
will break her heart. However,” he added, for

the prisoner began to wax frantic with impatience,
“I don't believe in breaking hearts, after all,—
especially Mrs. Affidavy's. Sir, you are a rich
man, and a young man, and a man without family
or cares. I will not sell my humanity, sir; no,
botheration, I'm above that; but I will accept of
your superfluity what will indemnify me for the
losses I endure in your service. Your case is very
bad, sir; and indeed, if you were even a commissioned
officer, it could not be much better. The
indictment is already framed, and will this day, or
at furthest to-morrow, be returned a true bill by
the grand jury. You are a rich man, sir—had I
pleaded your cause and saved your life, I should
have expected a fee of five hundred guineas, (a
small sum for a rich man's life;) and there's old
Long-tongue and Pepperel would have demanded
as much more, each. But, sir, I'll save you five
hundred guineas; and leave these fellows to whistle.
We'll say a thousand guineas, then, and”—

“All, I tell you, all, all!” cried the unhappy prisoner.
“Take any thing, take every thing”—

“God forbid!” cried Affidavy, devoutly; “I
will not prey upon you. If you, from your own
generosity, should think of adding five hundred
more to the fifteen hundred, why sir, I should
thankfully receive them. But I leave that to yourself,
sir. At present, sir, I shall be content with
what I have named; and will take your note of
hand for the amount. You see, sir,” he added,
drawing from a huge and well thumbed pocket-wallet,
a slip of paper, which with an ink-horn,
he immediately deposited on the table, “I have
drawn this entirely in your favour, payment not
to be demanded unless upon the successful completion
of a certain service not mentioned, and
then in such way as will suit your convenience.

If I fail, sir, I am ruined, sir, and yet receive nothing.
Allow me to fill the blanks, sir, and then,
sir, you can sign. I will fill them first, sir, in
order that you may see I take no advantage of
you, sir. Two thousand guineas, sir, is a small
sum, a very small sum, when one thinks of a
gallows.—Sir, be not alarmed—your hand trembles,
sir; but I trust to your honour to recognise
the signature—yes, sir, I prefer your honour to
twenty witnesses, sir. You shall escape, sir; or
damn it, sir,” added the harpy, in the enthusiasm
of gratitude, “I will hang along with you!”

It was fortunate the worthy Affidavy had some
bowels of compassion; for had he filled up the
blanks of his villanous contract with an amount
comprehending the whole worldly wealth of the
poor prisoner, it would have been subscribed with
equal alacrity. What was gold in the balance
with life? what price could be held dear that procured
a remission from ignominy? Hyland
clutched at the pen as at the bolt of his prisondoor;
and, in the same frenzy, subscribed, in addition,
an order committing his good roan horse
to the disposition of his counsel, which Affidavy
declared to be necessary, Hyland neither asked or
sought to know how, to the success of the enterprise.
This accomplished, and the papers safely
deposited away in the wallet, the attorney wrung
his client by the hand, and that somewhat wildly,
giving him to understand that he was to hold himself
in readiness that very night to escape, and
recommending him to sleep a little during the day,
the better to support the toil of flight. He charged
him, twenty times over, to be silent and wary, to
look as wo-begone and despairing as possible, and
above all things to hold no conversation that could
be avoided, with his other counsel. Then wringing

his hand again, with the most convulsive sympathy,
he knocked at the cell-door, was let out, and would
have run into the open air without ultering a word,
so big was his mind with the conception of his
vast fee, had he not been arrested by the astonished
jailer.

“Ods bobs!” said Lingo, “have you forgot the
brandy, squire?”

“Botheration!” cried Affidavy, with a wild
stare.

“Ods bobs!” re-echoed Lingo, “is the man mad?
Why, Affidavy, what ails you? You look as white
and wild as the prisoner!”

“Oh! ah! ay! the prisoner? yes, the prisoner,”
said the attorney, rubbing his nose and chin with
great zeal, and recovering his wits. “Oh, ay, I
remember: the prisoner, poor fellow! Ah, Lingo,
Lingo! 'tis a hard case, a sorrowful case, a heartaching
case. I declare, Lingo, I could sit down
and blubber; I could, botheration, I could!” and
here the sympathetic counsel, to Lingo's amazement,
burst into a loud uproarious laugh, such as
he had never been known to give vent to before.

“The devil's in the man, sure enough,” said
Lingo. “But I see, I see,” he muttered, surveying
Affidavy sagaciously, “he has been blowing it
a little too hard, and now he's getting a touch of
the Horrors. Well, well, brandy's the best cure
for that; and he shall have a snap at his own medicine.”

So saying, the jailer poured out a glass of cognac,
the rich odour of which had no sooner reached
Affidavy's nostrils than his spirits became composed,
he stretched forth his hand, and the smacking
of his lips proclaimed the fervour of his satisfaction.

“Old Brauntweinpunsch for ever!” he cried.

“Ah, Lingo, you dog! you know what's what!
Ehem, sir, botheration and tush! God bless our
two souls, but I'm monstrous sleepy! Out all last
night, Lingo, in the rain; was upset in the brook
up at old Schlachtenschlager's, and half drowned,
and hadn't a wink of sleep. I believe, I was dreaming
all the time the poor fellow up there was telling
his story. Must go home and nap a little—
But no, I can't! Will finish the jug there, Lingo,
before the day's out, ehem. Can give us a bed,
here, Lingo, man, in case of necessity? What d'ye
say? Rather full at Mrs. Affidavy's, and a washday,
too. Oh, you dog, botheration, we'll have a
rouse under lock and key to-night, won't we?
Have something to tell you, and must be near the
prisoner. But mum, boy, mum's the word! We'll
have a rouse to the health of my client.”

With that, the attorney made another long face,
fell into a second roar of merriment, and went
flying from the prison.