University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

It was Christmas night. The cold
wind whistled through the streets,
heaping the light, icy snow into drifts
and blocking up the passages into the
narrow lanes. But few persons save
the well-clad watchmen were abroad,
though the nine o'clock bell had not yet
rung. Here and there only, a passenger,
muffled to the eyes, hurried on his
way. The street lamps burned dimly,
the glasses being nearly coated with a
stratum of fine snow, through which the
rays came feebly. The windows that
faced the streets were closely curtained,
and those which had blinds were closed
by them as if the inmates would exclude,
in the sense of comfort within, the consciousness
of the storm that was raging
without.

Near the corner of a street with a
broad, open space at his left, stood a
watchman nestled under a door-way.
He was a tall, heavily-built man, and
his naturally large size was augmented
by the huge buffalo skin overcoat and
cap which enveloped his form and came
down about his ears and eyes. The
shelter he had sought did not protect him
from the snow, which, whirling and eddying
around the corner, fell upon him
and covered him with so thick a white
coat of it, that he resembled more a
huge polar bear standing upon his hind
legs, than a human being. His arms
were folded upon his chest, and beneath
one of them was visible the handle of
his weapon of office, a short, heavy
staff of white oak, shod with a spear
head and hook of polished iron.

He had been standing there for some
time, like a statue in a niche,—so long,
indeed, that the fast falling snow had
obliterated upon the pavement the deep
track of the last passer-by. The part
of the city where he was stationed was
the most ancient portion and intersected
by numerous narrow and crooked streets
and alleys, built up on either side with
closely-crowded wooden buildings, mostly
with their gable ends to the street,
and seldom more than two stories in
height. The house in the door nook of
which he sought shelter, was one of the
oldest in the town. It was built not unlike
an ancient block-house, the lower
story being many feet less in breadth
and length than the second, thus leaving
the floor of the second projecting tar
over the first, giving room for many
persons to stand underneath its piazza-like
ceiling. This old building stood on
the corner of a street and a square, and
its second story projected several feet
over the sidewalk on both sides. Above
the second story the house towered sharply
into three separate gables, on one of
which was the date of its construction,
1689. The front was rough stuccoed
and painted a dark blue color. The
lower story was much sunken into the
earth by age, and the support at the
angle seemed ready to yield and topple
the whole quaint old pile over into the

street. But the watchman from his
composure and air of security did not
seem to feel any such apprehensions. It
was a good shelter for him and doubtless
had been for his successors for full
a century and a half.

The prospect from his position was
by no means a very interesting one. Old
buildings congregated in odd groups
were faintly visible by the fitful glare of
the street lamps; and to his left, down
the square, towering darkly to the skies
till its cupola was lost in the gloom of
the atmosphere, stood Faneuil hall, solemn
and stern.

`It's a tough night to stanb watch, or to
move abroad either way,' said the watchman,
talking to himself by way of beguiling
the time and cheering his loneliness.
`I hope I shall get through my
beat without being disturbed by rogues
breaking in. What is that? Oh, only
a shutter of this old three-cornered house
creaking in the wind. It sounded like
the creaking of a man's shoe. Confound
these snow-storms! they get up all sorts
of sounds, At one moment I hear some
chap a whistling. I listen, and it's the
wind. Then, by-and-by I hear a whispering
as if two thieves were planning
together. I creep along to surprise 'em,
and it's the wind again, sighing, perhaps,
between loose shingles. Then I hear a
buzzing of gruff voices, and when I
think they are just upon me, I find it
has been the wind. Then again I sometimes
think I hear a baby crying, and
then a distant shriek like a woman hollering
murder. So the wind keeps it up
and gives a poor devil more trouble than
all the rogues in the city put together.'

Here an unusually heavy blast tore a
loose shutter from a window of the old
house, and hurled it with violence and
great uproar, to the ground at his feet.

The watchman at first startled, in a
moment recovered himself, and was leav
ing his nook to pick it up when, the wind
lifting it, turned it over two or three
times and left it in the street.

`Let it lay. It is not worth the going
after. I dare say it is a hundred years
old. If people can't keep their shutters
fast it is none of my business to pick 'em
up for 'em if they are blown away. Hulloa!
here comes some one through the
storm, who looks ae if she would blow
away in earnest. I wonder what can
bring any body out such a night as this
is. Nothing but death or the doctor.'

The watchman ceased speaking, and
watched the person who was approaching.
It was a female, and by the faint rays of
the lamp she was scantily dressed. A
small hood and a thin dress that the wind
entwined about her limbs was all her
covering. She seemed scarcely able to
struggle against the storm, yet still held
on her way with perseverance. She came
nearer and nearer the watchman, when
her eyes fell on the shutter already halt
buried in the drift. With a sharp, glad
cry she sprung towards it and drew it
from the snow, and raised it in her arms.
The force of the wind bearing upon it
overthrew her with it; but with a struggle
she rose again, and placing it edge-wise
to the wind, she turned back the way
she had come, and hurried like a spectre
across the dark square.

`That poor woman has got only what
is God's gift,' said the watchman. `I
will let her go off with it, even if I have
to pay old Jarvey for it myself if he
should ask me what became of it after it
was blown off.'

`Thief! stop thief! Ho, watchman?
ho! Where are you?' cried a shrill,
cracked voice from the window which
had parted with the shutter. `Stop her:
stop her. There she runs across the
square with my shutter. Stop thief, stop.'

The watchman sprang out from his
shelter into the street, and looked up to

the window, at which, with a lantern in
his hand, that shot its feeble glance out
into the snowy atmosphere, stood a little
shrivelled old man with a white worsted
night-cap on, covering his ears, and an
old green baize wrapper gathered by the
fringes with one hand close about his
throat. The snow was beating into his
sharp, thin face, and the wind sweeping
his long, coarse, gray locks about his eyes.

`What is the matter, Uncle John?'
cried the watchman.

`Matter? Thieves! Robbers!' cried
the old man in the same sharp, angry
tone, sharper and more angry than the
winds that howled about his domicile.
The wind has torn off one of my shutters.
I heard it go. I got up to look, and what
should I see but a woman—a thief carrying
it off—running away with it as fast
as she could go. Stop her, watch! stop
her! She has gone up Flag Alley. She
went in that direction. Thieves, I say!
thieves! Why don't you run after her,
and bring back my shutter.'

And the little man danced up and
down with furious excitement, shook his
lantern at the watchman, and then his
fist, and sputtered unintelligible words
which the storm drowned.

`Let the woman go, Jarvey. She, I
dare say, wants it for fire-wood.

`Wants it for fire-wood. Wants my
shutter for fire-wood! Yes, yes! a pretty
how to do. Because people want, they
may steal. A pretty pass. I'll complain
of you. You connive! You are an
abetter! What are you there for if not
to catch thieves! and here you let one
go without moving a foot.'

`The shutter is not worth a ninepence,
Mr. Jarvey,' answered the watchman.
`I'll pay you for it.'

`A ninepence! It's worth two dollars.
Well, well, I'll report you, sirrah. I'll
break you. If you don't do your duty
I'll do it for you.'

With these ominous words uttered in
a tone of the bitterest rage, and in a voice
that sounded more like the creaking of
a rusty hinge than human articulation;
John Jarvey, the miser, and dealer in old
iron, rags and feathers, shut down his
window and disappeared from it.

`Now, I shall get into a scrape,' said
the watchman, just for being good natured
and having pity on that poor woman;
for poor she was I know by her scanty
dress; poor she was I know by her picking
up a shutter; poor she was or she
would not have been abroad in this cold
storm; and I saw her pale thin face was
full of sorrow. How it brightened at the
sight of the old shutter. But if I don't
go after it I shall lose my place, for old
Jarvey is merciless, and I am too poor
myself to lose the dollar a night I earn.
He is stumbling down stairs. I will tell
him I will go after the woman and get
his shutter.

As he spoke the bolt inside of the door
against which he had been leaning was
drawn sharply back, and the old iron
dealer appeared, wrapped in an old black
short cloak and a battered fur cap pulled
down on his ears, so that only his little
grey, hard eyes and the tips of his nose
and chin were visible. Thick mittens
were on his hands. In one hand he held
a small bull's-eye lantern. His height
was about five feet and an inch or two,
and his thin legs were shrivelled to the
mere anatomy of the bones.

`You are a pretty watchman, sirrah!'
croaked Mr. Jarvey; `we'll see to-morrow!'

`I will go after the woman, if you say
so,' said the watchman.

`Say so! I do say so! You must
go, or I will—you can follow her by her
tracks in the snow.'

`I'll pursue her,—you go in again and
I will bring back the shutter.'

`Bring it back aint enough,—you must

bring her back,—you must arrest her!
To let the thief go is a criminal offence.
Bring back the thief too!

`I will try and catch her.'

`You must catch her—I'll go with you
and you shall catch her! Come, sir,
come! A pretty to do when a citizen
has to get out of his bed o' nights, and
such a night as this! to pursue thieves
that steal right under a watchman's
eyes!'

`Well, sir, I'll take her, you may be
sure,' answered the watchman, who felt
like pitching the little miserly old fellow
into the snow drift. He would gladly
have let the woman escape; but he saw
that unless he pursued her and recovered
the shutter, he should be reported by
Jarvey and lose his place, which he could
not afford to part with, as he had a large
family of his own.

He, therefore, prepared to go after the
wretched woman, but his heart burning
with resentment against the inexorable
cruelty of the man who would compel
him to arrest her. He felt too that he
must try diligently and earnestly to find
her and recover the shutter, and also take
her into custedy; for if he purposely delayeo
or slighted the pursuit to give her
time to get quite away, and the snow
time to cover up her tracks, he would be
blamed for not having caught her when
he could have done so, and so equally
be subjected to the censure of the city
authorities.

Therefore he felt that if he pursued at
all he must pursue in earnest; though
it was going heavily against his heart to
do it.

`You had best not go, Mr. Jarvey,'
he added, seeing the old man step out of
the door.

`Yes, yes—I'll go to! I want to see
that you do your duty. A pretty pass
when citizens have to watch the watchmen!'

As he spoke he removed the key of
his door from the inner side of the lock,
and placing it in the outer wards, locked
the premises and placed the key in his
pocket.

`Now, come—come! I'll follow the
tracks with my lantern. Look sharp
you too,—if she aint found you'll have to
answer for it to the city.'

`I'll find her, Mr. Jarvey!' answered
the watchman in a deep tone, as if he
spoke with strong feeling. `I'll find her,
sir, if she's above the earth!'

And David Dalton, the stout, honest
watchman, firmly resolved to execute his
purpose to the letter. He knew that unless
he arrested the woman, his own
hearth-stone would need firewood also;
and he had many little bodies to keep
warm, and many hearty mouths to feed.

The miser took the lead across the
square, with the lantern, holding it close
to the ground. They passed under the
lofty walls of Fanueil Hall, and so entered
the narrow avenue known as Flag
Alley. The foot-prints of the woman
were traced up the Alley, and once was
seen the imprint of the end of the shutter,
where it had dropped from her grasp into
the snow. Half way up the Alley the
footsteps were obliterated by the wind,
as if the same kind power which had unhinged
the shutter and cast it into the
street for her, would now favour her
escape, covering her foot-prints with
friendly fingers.

`I've lost 'em,' said old Jarvey, poking
about with his bull's-eye lantern close to
the ground.

`Perhaps you can't see without your
glasses—I'll find them,' answered David,
with a sort of stern sadness in his tones.
`I have a lantern brighter than yours.'

As he spoke he took a dark-lantern
from beneath his coat, raised the slides,
and cast a bright glare upon the snow in
the Alley. The faint trace of the track

was now visible, and following it a few
yards, they saw it turn into a narrow
passage, between a wretchedly old house
and a high board fence. David entered
the narrow way, closely followed by the
iron-monger, scuffling at his heels and
muttering,—

`To steal my shutter! I'll have her
put in prison for this, that I will—for life,
if I could! Bread and water and hard
labor—nothing less!'