University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

The cellar in which these men were assembled was in the rear
of a porter-shop on Centre street, which led by a back flight of steps
into an alley of old wooden tenements, the innermost of which,
overlooked the back of Jacob Goldschnapp's premises. The alley
was dark, narrow, and little frequented at a late hour. At eleven
o'clock the burglars, headed by Duncan, leaving Paul in the cellar,
stole out of the den, and skulking along the alley, came to the last
low building, which had become unoccupied that day by a ruse of
Duncan's, practised upon the tenants, for the purpose of making
the ground clear; better to secure which he had himself hired it
of the landlord, and now had the key. Entering the door of the
miserable tumble-down building, aided by a dark lantern, which he
sprung within, they ascended the second story, which overlooked
the Jew's yard. They then descended, by means of a rope ladder,
and took their way to a rear window, which Jakes and Butcher
Bob soon released from its frame. They entered, one after another,
the low sink room, and took their way, guided by Duncan, towards
the front. Each intervening door was locked, and the lock had to
be picked. Yet they worked silently, and with the steadiness of practised
burglars. At length they came to the hall, at the foot of the
stairs; and Duncan showing them the door to the Jew's `office,'
swiftly and noiselessly ascended the stairs, accompanied by Clendemen.
He took his way past a sleeping room he knew to be Jacob's
and his wife's, and came to that he believed to be his daughter's.
The door was ajar, and he entered! He was not mistaken!
The beautiful Jewess was lying with her cheek in her hand, in
deep sleep. He gazed upon her, with his lantern open, for a few
moments, with admiration, and then waked her! As she opened
her eyes and stared wildly around, he said in a low, menacing tone,
while he held a knife over her bosom,

`Make no alarm, Ruth, or you die!'

`Mr. Powell,' she screamed, and, overcome with terror, fainted!

He hastily bound a handkerchief round her mouth, and took her
in his arms, while his companion was gathering up the jewelry
from the toilet and bureaus.

`This is fair booty,' said Clendemen, as he placed her watch-guard
about his neck, and put the valuable watch into his fob.
`You may have the Jewess, and I will be content with the jewelry!'

`Do not delay! Let us leave at once! Follow me!' cried Duncan.
`I have all I came for!'

`But I have not! Let us below and help Jakes and Bob!' said
Clendemen, elated.

`Softly, or we shall wake the Jew!' said Duncan, bearing in his
arms the form of the insensible Jewess, down the stairs!

At the bottom, they met the two others, who had broken open
the Jew's chests and strong box, and found nothing but papers.

`This is a poor business,' said Jakes angrily.

`Let us make no dalay,' entreated Duncan, in a deep whisper,
`The girl will rensom high!'

`All in my eye,' growled Butcher Bob, doggedly. `But there is
no use standing here. Isn't there plate—up-stairs?'

`No—come, or we shall be in trouble,' cried Duncan, moving on
through the hall! `The girl has come too, and is struggling!'

`I am not going without seeing the inside of the Jew's parlor,'
said Jakes. `They always show rich on their side-boards!'

And, without listening to Duncan, they left him below, ascended
the stairs, and entered the parlor. The display of plate astonished
them, as they brought a dark lantern to bear upon the side-board.
In their anxiety to get possession of it, Butcher Bob let a tea-urn
fall upon the floor!

`How—ho! hullo!' cried the Jew, from his inner chamber!
`Who is there? Robbers? ho!'

The sound of his voice caused Duncan to lay Ruth upon the
lower stair and fly to the scene, with the resolution, at once to have
the Jew gagged, if he resisted—for, if he was suffered to give
alarm, he well knew, his object, so near its accomplishment, would
be defeated.

As he entered the door, the Jew, in his night cap and drawers,
came in at the farther one, with a cocked blunderbuss in his hands!
The plunderers, in the mean while, had closed their lantern-slide,
and stood silent, in the dark. Duncan's figure was only visible, as
he came in relieved, against the light gleaming up from the hall
below, where he had left his lantern burning by the side of the
maiden. Jacob instantly levelled his piece and fired! With an indescribable
cry of anguish, rage, and defiance, mingled, the miserable
young man leaped forward into the middle of the room, in his
vindictive progress to reach the Jew, and then fell headlong upon
his face, dead! The Jew's wife rushed in, bearing a light, and with
a face pale with horror; and flying up the stairs and bounding across
the dead body—the next moment came Ruth. Her dark hair was
streaming, and her white night robes fluttering, and, with a wild
shriek, she cast herself into her father's arms!

The companions of the fallen young man, appalled by the loss of
their leader and the surprise, without waiting to carry off what
booty they had laid aside, fled precipitately from the room and the
house.

Great was Jacob's surprise on approaching the body, to discover
that the face was that of Duncan Powell. The thoughts that passed
through his mind as he gazed upon him were by no means
agreeable to his feelings, when he reflected how far he himself had
contributed to this wretched end. Watchmen were called and the
body of the slain burglar removed to the dead house, whence it had,
the next day, a felon's burial! Such was the melancholy end of a
young man who, conceiving money to be only the instrument of
pleasure; and who, born to expect a fortune, was brought up in
niggardly avarice, till circumstances pointed out to him a way of
gratifying his wishes by ruinous anticipation of his patrimony. To
inherit a fortune a young man should be educated to it! To a young
man of imperfect education, with false notions of the uses of money,

there can prove, as illustrated by the career of Duncan Powell, few
curses so great as a patrimony in anticipation! Large fortunes like
that of Beasely Powell are seldom all honorably acquired! and few
such that descend to the heir, for whom the poor has been ground,
the orphan wronged, the friend deceived, and the stranger cheated,
and all kindly charities locked up in the breast, have carried with
them a biessing! Better is an humble competence, honorably
earned by a useful, daily pursuit, than money unjustly hoarded, or
unwisely inherited!

Paul Tatnall was still in the den where he was secreted, when
the hasty entrance of the burglars with the intelligence of the death
of Powell, roused him from reflections in which he was indulging
upon his course of life. He had been going back to the period of
his childhood and recurring to all its scenes of innocence. He had
been, in thought, again listening to the words of piety, breathed into
his heart from the lips of his noble and pious mother. He knew not
that she had been now three months dead! Internally he resolved
to visit her, and, confessing his follies, seek her blessing and sympathy!
It was at this crisis of subdued feeling that the entrance of
the burglars interrupted him! He heard their account with horror;
and from that moment, lest his end should be like his wretched
friend, his determination was taken! He waited a few moments,
till he was unobserved, and then stole out of the hole of infamy.

It was nearly midnight! The sky was cloudless, and stars and
planets burned in the deep of heaven with sparkling brilliancy. He
stole along the streets until he came to the river side. Many a
vessel was anchored, or gently moving under sail, upon its dark
flowing bosom. He cast his eyes northward, and the spirit of home
invited him! Night as it was, he took his way along the river-street
and walked on, his heart with his Highland hearth, and his dear
mother beside it!

The sun rose and found him many miles from the city, where he
had, in three years, passed through such scenes! At noon he saw
a Newberg sloop near the shore weighing anchor. He hailed her
and was taken on board, for he had considerable money with him,
and offered to pay his passage.

It was evening when the sloop came to opposite his mother's
dwelling, and he was put ashore in the yawl. The young moon
was yet two hours high, and cast a pale, cold light upon the house,
as he approached it from the water. His heart throbbed with his
emotions as he came nearer! All was silent! No sound stirred,
but the croaking of a frog, or the sharp cry of a Katy-did, from the
neighboring thicket. He reached the little white gate, and here
paused, for his feelings overcame him! His knees trembled beneath
him, and his heart ceased to beat! The deep, deathlike repose of
the house appalled him! `Could his mother—' he could not
question himself further, but opened the gate, and approached the
door. The little flower-beds were neglected; the narrow gravelled
walk, once kept so clean, had been suffered to grow up with wild
grass; the shutters were closed, and the whole wore a look of desolation!
He paused and trembled!

Something on the door, glistening white in the moonlight, like a
placard, caught his eye. He flew towards it. It was a paper, on
which was simply written, `To BE Let.'

Few as the words were, they were significant of the most painful
meaning to the prodigal. He knew that something had occurred,
and that his mother was no longer there. His heart smote him for
his long neglect. There was a favorite jassmen of hers lying
broken on the door-step. He knelt, and gathering up its tendrils,
propped them by the lintel from which the winds had torn them,
and then, shedding a tear of remorse and grief, turned away.
A farmer was riding by at the moment, and, with a sinking heart,
he asked him what had become of the `widow Tatnall.'

`She has been dead this three months,' said the man, looking
with curiosity upon the inquirer. `You must be a stranger in these
parts.'

Paul made no reply, and as the man rode on, he turned away and
wept. At length he walked rapidly along the road; he run! he
flew! He stopped not till he came to the rude gate, near the
entrance of the Rock Hall grounds, which led into the little rural
cemetry where his father and a younger sister were laid. He
paused at the gate, over which a dark pine grew, casting beneath a
heavy shade. He removed his hat, and slowly walked forward.
The spot he saw was in the further corner, sheltered by a weeping
willow, which his mother had planted besides his soldier father's
grave. As be came near, he felt as if he could not breath. He
shuddered lest his dread fear was about to be realized. The moonlight
fell upon the sacred spot. It gleams white upon a headstone,
by the side of his father's. He rushes forward, with a choking sensation,
casts himself upon his knees, reads his mother's name, and,
with a groan of unutterable anguish, sinks insensible upon her
grave.

When he came to himself, he found he was lying upon a bed in a
handsome chamber; that the morning sun was gilding the summit
of `Old Cro'nest,' and that before his window flowed the majestic
Hudson, bearing upon its bosom a score of white-winged barks.
Leaning from the window was Catharine Ogilvie!

His exclamation of surprise caused her to turn round. Her
father, at the same instant, entered, and Catharine, smiling upon
the surprised young wanderer, in a few words explained to him,
that she and her father, walking out in the evening, and passing
near the cemetry she had entered to see how a `Forget-me-not' she
had planted on his mother's grave flourished, when they beheld
him lying insensible upon it.

`I instantly knew you,' said Catharine, `and from the spot where
I found you, and traces of tears on your cheeks, I knew that you
had, at last, become what I have been weeks praying for you to be,
what your sainted mother, for a year before she died, implored
Heaven earnestly for—a penitent! With this conviction I had
you removed here, and I assure you, my father and I will be happy
to have you our guest as long as your roving inclinations will
prompt you to remain.'

A few words will close our tale. The deep, holy influence of the
Christian maiden, her hours of conversation with him, as they
walked by the banks of the river, or stood bes de his mother's
grave, over which her piety had placed the snowy marble that
graced it, won upon his heart, already open to virtuous impressions.
Gradually, under her sweet teachings, he became a changed being,
and as Catharine had confessed herself a `Christian' under his dying
mother's eloquent and convincing words, so he, at length,
acknowledged himself to be a Christian.

A year passed by, and the Gypsy of Rock Hall became the bride
of the reformed Paul Tatnall, to whom her whole history was long
before made known. After their union, Mr. Ogilvie, having recovered,
in a great degree, from the depression into which his
superstitious murder had thrown him, proposed re-visiting Europe
with his daughter and her husband. The voyage was made; and
after passing a few months in England, the party proceeded to the
south of Italy, where Mr. Ogilvie died, leaving his immense wealth
to his son and daughter, who now both reside in Rome, she admired
and courted for the superb style of her oriental beauty, for her
accomplished wit, and the fascinating grace of her manners. Of
her husband little is known, as he goes little into society; but it
is generally thought, that, though devoted to his wife, who fondly
reciprocates his attachment, he is a prey to some brooding melancholy.