University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

R. H. Dana.

It was late at night, before Nathaniel Munson
was informed of the disappearance of the young
man. He was evidently uneasy. Had the youth
have disappeared satisfactorily — that is to say,
forever, all would have been well; but as it was,
he had a prophetic feeling, which told him that
something was going on, not altogether according
to his wishes. Therefore, he drew his weather-beaten,
broad-brimmed hat very low over his forehead,
plunged into the street, and following his first
impulse, hurried along to the residence of Fitful.
Paul had already learnt enough of the villainy of
the Quaker, to turn the feelings of gratitude and
respect, that he had hitherto felt for Munson, into
deep hatred, if not indeed into a spirit of revenge;
but there was still a dark mystery involving all.
He had no reason to doubt the assertions of Fitful,
or the woman; nor yet could he understand why
he should be the object of such infernal plans, as
the one of which Munson was accused. But he
had promised Fitful to follow his injunctions for the

present, in lieu of which, Fitful had agreed to disclose
to the youth, as soon as practicable, which,
perhaps would be in a few days, all the circumstances
of the case, and satisfactory evidences to prove
them. They had just arrived at this state of affairs,
when Munson, unceremoniously thrust himself into
the apartment. Paul felt, for a moment, an uneasy
twitching in his fingers to grasp the Quaker by the
white cravat, and give it a few smart twists, much
to the discomfort of that shrivelled, lying throat;
but he suppressed his feelings, and only gazed on
the old man with a look of stern defiance and contempt,
which so disconcerted the Quaker that Paul
felt doubly assured that what he had heard was
true. The poor woman recoiled with a shudder
into the farthest corner of the room; but Fitful,
with clenched fists and flashing eyes, confronted
the Quaker, and bade him, if he valued his head,
to depart. Nathaniel Munson endeavored to look
bland; he smiled a grim smile, and observed to the
young man, paying no attention to the threat, that
he had better take leave of those good people, and
without further delay, go on board the vessel, which
was about to be hauled out into the stream, ready to
sail early in the morning.

“I shall do no such thing!” cried Paul.

“Thee won't?” ejaculated the Quaker, with
astonishment.

“No, he won't!” thundered Fitful, grasping
Munson by the collar.

“He do n't mean —”

“Yes, he does mean!” cried the other, “he
does mean to mar your infernal plot!” and with
that, Fitful dragged the Quaker, or rather lifted
him bodily to the door.

“But he 's got my money!” urged the little man.

“And will keep it!” was the answer.

“No, no, not keep my money!” screamed the
Quaker.

“I say he will keep it, and take that, as my acknowledgment
for the sum!” replied Fitful, as he
thrust Munson down stairs, with an accompanying
kick.

“But I will have my money!” cried he, from
the bottom of the stairs. “Help! murder! help!
thieves!” Fitful listened till the cry of “help!
murder! thieves!” &c., died away in the distance,
and then turning to Paul, exclaimed, “There is no
time to lose; I know this old hell-hound too well
to trust him; therefore, prepare to leave; and Mary,
for a little while longer, betake yourself to this old
scoundrel's house, only for a few days more, for
the girl's sake!” and saying this, he led her to the
door. Now hurriedly he grasped those two old
rusty pistols from above the mantel-piece, and
thrust them into the breast of his coat; but as he
was gathering some papers from a private drawer,
and stuffing them into his pockets, he heard the
sound of clumsy footsteps on the stairs; and without
farther delay threw open a window, and bidding

Paul to follow, leapt out on to a shed, in the rear
of the house and disappeared, just as a couple of
coarsely cloaked figures, followed by Munson, rushed
into the apartment. But it was no use; Fitful and
Paul were nowhere to be found; and the Quaker,
bursting with rage and disappointment, bade his
myrmidons seize poor Mary, who had loitered at
the door, and now stood looking on in stupid amazement.
They laid their coarse hands upon the
woman and dragged her away. How meekly and
willingly did she go! Yes, poor thing, it mattered
little to her, whether they led her to a palace, or a
prison! But where was little Edith, all this time?
She was pacing a solitary apartment in the house
of Nathaniel Munson, altogether unconscious of
what had taken place. She little dreamed that
Paul was not ensconced on board the ship ready to
depart; no, she almost sighed to think that such
was the case, and then reproached herself for
having a wish that would deprive him of so much
pleasure. She wondered what could detain poor
Mary so long, it was past eleven o'clock, and she
was not accustomed to keep such late hours! Vex
not thy sweet brain, dear Edith, get thee to thy
quiet pillow, while yet it invites thee; let there be
one to-night who shall sleep untroubled! Let us
look for a moment to Fin; he is walking the deck
of his vessel, uttering strange words, and curses
mingled with fits of jeering laughter. But wherefore
should he curse? he is thinking that a beardless
victim hath slipped from his hands, carrying in
his possession five hundred dollars! And the ironarmed
captain laughs, for he carries as great a
sum of the Quaker's money in his own pocket,
which he has not had the trouble of earning, and
which the Quaker may not again easily reclaim.
Thus the evil man may laugh and curse alternately!

Fitful and the youth threaded the quiet streets of
the Quaker city, and passed unmolestedly over the
long bridge that crosses the Schuylkill. Now,
having gained the open country, they could walk
more leisurely, and mature their plans. Fitful's
pace was quick and nervous, so much so, that Paul
with difficulty, at times, maintained his place at the
side of his companion. The night was clear and
still; it was just such an hour as suited well the
romantic feelings of the youth; but, under the
present circumstances, his brain whirling with the
excitement of surprises not yet explained, he saw
not, felt not, and cared not for surrounding objects,
so long as he felt assured of his companion's and
his own safety. The stars above him seemed
dizzy, and the shadowy hills rolled like the billows
of ocean away, and others rose to view as they
passed hurriedly over the uneven road. The milestones,
grim and ghostlike, one after one greeted
them through the long, silent night, and the pedestrians,
like two shadows moulded from the surrounding
darkness, passed unnoticed over the dusty
white turnpike. Daylight found them far on their

way; and, at ten o'clock, the long line of white
houses that constitute the pleasant village mentioned
in the early part of our story, greeted their
sight, to the no little gratification of both parties.
They were fatigued, bodily, with their march, and
mentally, by anxiety and the late occurrences.
Therefore they gladly hailed the old swinging sign-board
of the “Half-way House.” Numerous
wagons of every description filled up the stable
yard, and occupied the space before the inn door.
A crowd of people were moving back and forth
from the bar-room to the porch, some laughing,
some swearing, others boasting and bargaining,
and not a few calling out in the most uproarious
manner for liquor. Dutch, Irish, and English, and
bad enough English at that, made a most unintelligible
and unharmonious compound of human voices.
Paul and his companion elbowed their way into the
bar-room, without much difficulty, since even the
bravest, (which means, when speaking of such
people, the strongest, as a matter of course,) even
the stoutest fell instinctively back to make a passage
for that strange man whom they all had seen
or heard of before, and who, they verily believed,
was the devil himself, or one nearly connected with
his sooty majesty.

Mr. Samuel Spatter, encircled by a crowd at
one end of the porch, related how he had seen that
same strange individual under very suspicious circumstances.
How he (the mysterious man) had

walked one night, during a thunder storm, into that
same bar-room, filling the place with a strong smell
of sulphur; and how he (Mr. Spatter) saw something
very much resembling a horn sticking through
a hole in the old man's beaver; and he was not
quite certain, but thought that he saw the devil's
tail switching about from beneath the skirts of the
stranger's long overcoat. This dreadful intelligence
sent a thrill of awe through the gaping
crowd, and served not a little to make the distance
that they maintained between themselves and
Fitful, very respectful. The more superstitious
members of the company were suddenly reminded
of all the mysterious things they had seen and
heard of during their life, and, on comparing notes,
concluded that the stranger was the agent of them
all. One big, bony, half Dutchman, related how
he was sitting at his door one evening just at twilight,
and how all at once he saw a big black ball
roll round and round in the yard, and how he ran
and got his gun and shot at it, but at that very instant
it vanished in a cloud of dust; and how just
then he saw this same dark man dash wildly down
through the orchard and disappear behind a big
tree; and when he (the Dutchman) ran up to the
place he only found a dead 'possum; but concluding
that it was a bait left there by the devil, he
did n't dare to touch it, but went to the same place,
the next morning, and it was gone! The latter
circumstance placed his suspicions beyond a doubt!

All this made a confusion that Paul could not
well understand; nor did the figure of the little
host, seated upon the top of an old rusty beer-barrel,
“beating time to nothing” with his heels
against the sides of the cask, serve to explain the
mystery. When he beheld the young man approaching,
he shook his head in a most melancholy
manner, as much as to say it could n't be helped,
then cast his eyes again to the floor, and heaved a
long sigh that ended with, “Ah, mine Got! mine
Got!”

“What's the matter, my good friend?” said
Paul, laying his hand on the Dutchman's shoulder.

“Go vay, go vay!” sighed the landlord; “der
aint no Half-way House no more — der aint no
Gotlieb Speckuncrout no more, der aint! No, no!
all going, going, gone! to der tivel!”

“But tell me,” cried the youth, “what does all
this mean?”

“Vell, vell, suppose it does n't mean notting!
All I got to say is, der Half-way House is going to
der tivel and pe—” he swallowed the last word,
but expressed his meaning by dealing a very severe
kick on the side of the cask.

Mr. Spatter, where he found that any information
was wanted, kindly tendered his services, and soon
explained to Paul the whole mystery. How that
Captain Cutlass, the warlike gentleman, had come
very near fighting a duel with the Hon. Timothy
Littleworth, and how that he was only appeased in

his wrath by the loan of two hundred dollars from
the honorable gentleman, and how that Mynheer
Speckuncrout, like a darned fool, as he was, had,
at Mr. Littleworth's suggestion, gone security for
the amount. That the warlike gentleman turned
out to be a great rascal, just as he (Mr. Spatter)
had said he would, although he did n't remember
under what circumstances he made the remark;
but that was no matter; he knew that he had said
it somewhere to somebody, and his prophecy had
come true, as usual. He went on to say that when
some handbills appeared, offering a reward for a
certain notorious swindler, the captain very suddenly
disappeared, and emigrated to parts unknown.
Consequently, Mr. Littleworth, knowing
Mynheer to be a political opponent, pounced down
upon him for the money; which the landlord was
not able to pay just at the time, since he himself
had been fleeced of all of his ready cash by the
same military gentleman. The consequence of
which was, Mynheer Speckuncrout was about to be
sold out at vendue by the constable.

At the conclusion of this piece of intelligence,
Fitful and Paul held some conversation apart, in
which the latter seemed to make some proposals
that met with the approbation of the former; then
stepping up to the landlord, he whispered something
in the Dutchman's ear that made him open
his eyes and mouth very wide; and, on hearing the
same thing repeated, he jumped down from the top

of the barrel, and snatching his little red cap from
off his little bald head, threw it with great disrespect
at the form of the Hon. Timothy Littleworth,
(who had just entered the bar-room and was standing
in Napoleon's battle attitude,) and then, in a
delirium of pleasure, threw his arms around Paul
and embraced him; then went through the same
operation with Mr. Spatter, and his joy knew no
bounds till he found that he was embracing Fitful!
The cause of this strange proceeding was only
explained when Paul drew from his pocket the
money that the Quaker had furnished him, and
passed the necessary sum, two hundred dollars,
into the hands of Gotlieb Speckuncrout, who, with
an air of unbounded triumph, paid the amount over
to the astonished prosecutor, and requested that the
company would call for what they pleased to
drink! That was a great day at the Half-way
House! When the landlord found that Fitful was
Paul's friend, he no longer held him in dread, but
placed him in estimation next to the youth. Every
delicacy that the place could afford was thrust
before these two wayworn travellers; and the best
bed in the house was at their disposal, which,
perhaps, was the most welcome of any thing that
the grateful host could have furnished.