University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Let us return to the shed room in the shop of
Hawkins, where we left our quondam friend the soi-disant
actor, carousing with his new companion,
Saxon. Hawkins had left the two for awhile, and
during his absence employed himself no less busily
than did they, and possibly to more useful purpose.
The good liquor, aided by the arts of Saxon who
had his own policy in it, had been productive of its
customary effect upon the erratic youth, who was
now plainly in the seventh heaven of theatrical hallucination.
He treated his comrade to the choicest
selections of the old fathers of dramatic literature,
and mouthed in the becoming style of the best
modern artists. Now he gave imitations of Kean,
practising even the wry twist of his deformed visage
—now the lugubrious whinings of Cooper, when declining
towards the fifth act; and now the guttural
growl of Forrest, when, with singular bad taste, he
imitates even the death rattle in the throat of the
obese Vitellius. With much talent, and a good deal
of taste for the profession to which he so desperately
inclined, the want of a proper education in
schools furnishing intrinsic standards, left Horsey

entirely open to that worst of all misfortunes to
talent in any country—and one which is the particular
evil in ours—the formation of his style and
judgment upon models essentially erratic, and unr
gulated by any just principle. To make a point,
rather than to act well the part, was too much his
desire, as it seems the prevailing ambition with all
our Daggerwoods; and in the course of a brief hour,
Saxon was helped to a dozen different readings of
all the disputed passages in Macbeth, Hamlet,
Richard, and the rest. It was curious to see with
what industry the youth had accumulated authorities
on Shakspeare. He had Gifford, Malone, Steevens,
Seymour, Rowe, Farmer, and some thirty or forty
more at his finger ends, and could we look at this
moment into the little closet which was assigned him
as a sleeping room at his father's house, we should
see the works of all these persons, accumulated on
the table by his couch; he being also one of those
erring persons who read by night in bed. These
books were all he had left to show for the thousands
he had dissipated of his father's income; and whether
his outlay had been a profitable one or not, would
have been of no difficult decision, were the father
chosen to resolve the question. To do the youth
justice, however, it may be added, that he had learned
something of good from the schools, however erring
and even vicious, through which he had gone. A
knowledge of books, and even of men, infinitely beyond
that usually in the possession of persons in his secluded
home, had been the result of his wanderings;
and the roughness of the country clown had been
fortunately exchanged for a manner, which, though it
might be sometimes swaggering and obtrusive, was
seldom rude, and never brutal or insolent. As a
farther set off to his deficiencies, Tom Horsey was
a good natured, generous fellow, who readily forgave
injuries, conciliated friends, and took the world always,
as the world is required to take its wives, for
better or worse. “It's a damned bad world,” Tom
was in the habit of saying over his cups, “that would
not be content to take him too on the same terms.”

He did the world injustice, however, as Saxon
strove busily to convince him. The cool, wily outlaw,
for such he was, listened patiently to all the
youth's recitations, and even encouraged him to continue
them by suggesting the quotations, but, at
decent intervals he would contrive to insinuate a
side question touching other matters and in relation
to persons, by which he contrived, in the overflow of
the youth's garrulity, to get from him every thing
in his knowledge in relation to his father's concerns,
and those of Carter his lodger and Vernon his
guest. Some particular interest seemed, in his mind,
to hang over the probable proceedings of the latter,
and all his remarks, even when he spoke of playing
—the topic on which Horsey could always be commanded—were
calculated to fill the latter with the
persuasion that Vernon was about to go up the
country.

“If he does then, Saxon, by the pipers, I must pay
for the music; that is to say, I must treat according
to the bet between us—for then, I shall take it for
granted it is as you say; and he's going up to join
that booby Tilton's company—though he's but a
poor codling if he does. That fellow, Tilton, is the
merest dolt and dunderhead, if you believe me, that
ever bowed to an audience. What the devil can he
hope to play himself; and as for his management—
management indeed! `A fico for the phrase'—the
thing can't answer, Mr. Saxon.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Horsey, yet what is the poor
fellow to do? `Young ravens must have food,'—you
know the quotation?”

“Ay, ay, `mine ancient,' are you there? But let
that humour pass! It is my doubt that this chap
Tilton is but a crow;—and will never get his corn in
this field. If he can, God speed him, I say, and help
him to a better mind and finer figure—matters in
which he needs all the help that God and man can
give him. As for the figure, I would not be his tailor
for all the cloth—there would be more cutting to be
done on the man than the stuff. What I chafe at is
his chance of failure, which is so great,—for failure
in a new scheme, throws back the period and the
prospect of success; and the thing, which in good
hands might, nay must, be successful, would, I am
free to take another bet, be sure to fail in his.”

“But if he gets good actors to begin with, Mr.
Horsey.”

“Ay, that alters the case, but when did you ever
know a fool choose wise help? It is scarce a thing
to be hoped for, however much desired.”

“What of this young fellow, Vernon; if he be
one of the company?” insinuated Saxon.

“You know my thought on that point. Dad
says he's a lawyer, and he as good as told me the
same thing himself. I'll look into the business when
I go home. But, let him be as you think, and still
I can say nothing of Tilton's choice. Harry Vernon
may be a smart chap enough, and certainly
looks like one, but the stage requires something
more than that. Is he a reader, say you; has he
discretion of points; knows he his author; knows
he his audience; and to sum up all in little, has he
the divine gift, the born intelligence which makes the
actor a born actor, as completely as the poet is a
born poet, if one at all? These are the requisites,
Master Brook, and a fellow may be smart at law
and smart at physic, who would show but a dull ass
upon the stage; as I have seen a chap make a fine

speech at muster grounds from a stump, who sat a
horse like a jackdaw. To speak plainly, though I
would not have it reach Harry's ears, my best reason
for doubting his being an actor is that I believe
he has no turn, no talent for the stage. I like Harry
so much already, that I should be sorry to see him
fail.”

“But why not join Tilton yourself?”

“Ah, Saxon, your question takes me all aback.
If it were not this d—d fool Tilton, who will spoil
every thing, and like others who are as great fools
as himself, though probably better actors, he will be
casting himself in all the first characters. If I could
be sure—”

The sentence in which he was probably about to
show the weakness of his heart in its yearnings towards
the old vanities which he had so recently and
solemnly renounced, was cut short by the sudden
entrance of Hawkins.

“Horsey,” he cried on entrance, “I am afraid we
shall lose that bet with you. I have just got away
from the court house, where I left your friend Vernon
in full argument.”

“The devil you did. Said I not, said I not! But
what's the business—what's the cases—murder,
rape, burglary, battery?”

“Battery, battery! He defends old Shippen against
Watson, whom he drubbed for insulting little Bella,
his daughter. Watson got no more than he deserved,
and your man Vernon's serving him like all
the world. I think the jury will hardly singe Shippen's
skirts, though Watson thought to smoke him
to the tune of two or three thousand dollars. Vernon's
put a new colour on the colt, and people who
thought him rather black when he was first carried
into court, now look upon him as a rather pretty

cream. He'll get off slick and easy; that Vernon's
a smart fellow.”

“By the ghost of Cæsar, but I must hear Harry,
I must. What say you, Mr. Saxon, will you go
along? what say you, Hawkins?”

An expressive glance of the eye, which the latter
gave to Saxon, led him to decline the invitation, and
Hawkins pleading business, the actor set off alone.
He had scarcely taken his departure when Hawkins,
in a hurried and somewhat agitated manner, taking
Saxon farther into the apartment, and closing the
inner door, remarked—

“Would you believe it, Saxon; the Governor has
just got in from below.”

“Ah, indeed; he comes alone?”

“Yes, and has gone to mother Baxter's. But you
take it very coolly. Will you not be off?”

“Why should I take it otherwise. I know not
that I have any thing to fear from his coming;” was
the calm reply.

“How! said you not that you knew of advisers
having gone to him from Alabama of that d—d
ugly business of Grafton; and of your course from
the Black Warrior, across to Mississippi.”

“Yes! But this is no trouble to me here. These
advisers tell of my aiming for the Yazoo, but nothing
of my being so low as this. Raymond is the last
place where he would think to find me.”

“What can he come for then?”

“That is a secret I should like to fathom. Can't
we contrive it, Hawkins. You have a room at this
old woman's?”

“Yes: but it's monstrous dangerous. It is risking
every thing.”

“True; and there are cases where every thing
must be risked, if any thing is to be saved; and this

is one of them. It is important to know how much
of our secret they know. If they have a list of
names in Mississippi, the owners of them must take
tracks for Texas without more delay. There is no
saving them else, and I misdoubt that this fellow
Vernon is employed on some business above against
us, which, it is absolutely necessary that we should
gain a knowledge of.”

“But this pleading speaks against it. The youth
seems really nothing more than a young beginner
at the law on his first circuit.”

“That may be, and there is no good reason why
a young lawyer should not now and then try his
hand at a more profitable business. A governor's
proclamation, with a reward of two or three thousand
dollars, is no bad inducement to a confident
youth to try the capture of an outlaw. I must see
more of this youth and more of the Governor before
I leave them; and the long and the short of the matter
is, that we go to your room at once. He is even
now, you say, at mother Baxter's.”

“Even now,—and more,—another matter of which
I forgot to speak—Carter has been with him ever
since you came.”

“And Vernon lodges with Carter! see you not;
can you doubt, Hawkins? If I do, it is only the
more resolutely to see how far they are linked together,
and to ascertain their objects truly. We
must see to it. I will leave you and take the right
hand side of the way towards the court house.
Send Jenkins round to the crooked oak with my
horse, that he may be conveniently in readiness. I
may have to scud on short notice. That done, take
your way to Baxter's, and meet me at the entrance.
Perhaps it would be quite as well to send the old
woman into the kitchen, or on some wild goose errand,
that the coast may be clear. See to it now,

Hawkins, with all your eyes; for we are in no sort
of danger here; nobody suspects us, unless we blunder
through stupidity or haste.”

Saxon looked carefully to his pistols, which were
well concealed in the bosom of the overcoat he wore.
Nobody would have suspected under the calm,
cool, dignified movement, the doomed outlaw, standing
on the brink of danger, and thoughtful only on
the means of extrication from perils that environed
himself and comrades on every hand. His bowie-knife,
that dreadful instrument of summary and sanguinary
vengeance, whose edge, sharpened to a
razor's keenness, was rendered still more terrible by
the condensed weight of a sabre thrown into its
back, was adjusted in his breast so as to answer the
first movements of his hand; and, with the confidence
of one who has prepared himself at all points for
the worst, the bold man, who must already be recognised
by the reader of our previous work, as an old
acquaintance, left the shop of his comrade and
emerged calmly into the thoroughfare

Proceeding with corresponding boldness, he went
forward where the throng was thickest, entered the
court-house, looked on and listened for a brief space
to the proceedings, then took his way slowly to the
house of Mrs. Baxter, where he had appointed to
meet with his comrade. Hawkins had so contrived
it, as to keep the passage clear. He led him through
it with slow and cautious footsteps, up the narrow
stairway, and thence into his chamber, which lay on
the left hand, being the room opposite that which the
governor occupied. The little landing course at the
head of the stairs—a sort of platform, some five
feet wide, was the only space that separated the two
chambers. When Hawkins had closed his door, he
gave Saxon to understand that but a few moments
had passed since Carter, accompanied by Vernon,

had gone into the governor's room, and this intelligence
quickened the anxiety of Saxon to inquire into
the purport of their business. Though scarcely governed
by so keen a motive as the outlaw, let us,
however, go forward more boldly than himself to
procure the desired knowledge, and at once enter
the chamber in which the three are now assembled.
We shall lose little by our delay, since the preliminaries
of introduction—those little formalities without
which the world does no business civilly—occupied
the brief space between the entrance of Vernon
to the conference, and the beginning of our own and
the outlaw's espionage upon its progress.

“Our mutual friend, Mr. Carter, assures me, Mr.
Vernon, of your perfect capacity to do for me a certain
business which is important to the interests of
the state, and which requires as much secrecy and
courage as intelligence. Can I hope for your assistance?”

The youth answered him briefly, that any service
not inconsistent with that upon which he was at present
engaged would be cheerfully undertaken by him,
which would subserve the interests of the state, and
oblige his excellency.

“But your excellency is not aware, perhaps,” he
continued, “that I am to leave Raymond, possibly
to-morrow, for the Yazoo neighbourhood.”

“It is that fact, in part,” was the reply, “which
prompts my application. It is in that very neighbourhood
that your assistance will be required. I
need not add, that, apart from the state's commission
which will be given you, an adequate compensation
will be assigned for the time which may be consumed
in the service, and the degree of labour and peril to
which you may be subjected.”

“It will give me pleasure, sir, to serve the state,
even without these considerations; but, I must remind

your excellency of one qualification with which
I prefaced my first reply. If the duties required at
my hands, shall, in any way, affect the object which
I have in view, and which I must, under existing
circumstances, esteem paramount to every other, I
shall be compelled to decline the service, though I
do so with extreme reluctance, as a loss of opportunity
for honourable employment. Will you oblige
me, sir, by suffering me to know the nature of the
business.”

“Certainly. Briefly then: we have advices by
express from the authorities of Alabama, which inform
us of a singular and extensive plan of outlawry,
which has its source either in that state or in ours,
and perhaps in both, and numbers no fewer than fifteen
hundred adherents in the two. This number
has, I doubt not, been grievously exaggerated. If it
be not, we are in very sad condition. Of one thing
these letters assure me, that many of our citizens,
hitherto held in good esteem, are sworn confederates
of these banditti, and in one disguise or another trail
through all parts of the state, and sometimes operate
in fixed places with even more effect, as they
appear under characters the more specious and imposing.
Then we have positive intelligence that one
of our justices of the peace belongs to this band, and
we are scarcely in doubt that a militia officer, of
whom the public has hitherto thought very highly, is
himself a leader among these outlaws. Their commander
in chief, one Clym or Clem Foster, made
his escape from certain citizens of Tuscaloosa county
about three weeks ago, and was reported to have crossed
over by way of Cotton-gin Port within the last ten
days. A man answering to his description was seen
in that neighbourhood about that time. Thus, you
have in brief the aspect of affairs. You see one of
the chief difficulties in our way. To move openly,

and with a force drawn from any other quarter of
the state, to act upon that in which these scoundrels
congregate, would be only to expel them temporarily,
and we should fail probably in taking a single prisoner.
To place a special commission in the hands of
any unknown person in that neighbourhood, would be
equally indiscreet, since it might be placing the whole
power of the state, for the time, in the control of
one of the very banditti whom we are striving to
subdue. We want a bold spirit, who will act vigorously
when occasion serves; but one who can keep
his secret, work himself so adroitly as to sound those
with whom he mingles, sift the worthy from the unworthy,
and embody them in the proper moment for
the capture or destruction of these wretches.”

Vernon heard the speaker with close attention.
We have summed up in short, what was only delivered
in a dialogue of some length, in which the
questions of the former necessarily led to the revelation
of many facts, of which, it is quite probable, the
governor spoke with some reluctance and with very
imperfect knowledge. When these facts had been
obtained, the answer of Vernon was immediate.

“Your excellency shall judge for yourself of what
service I can be to you in this business, and how far
it will prove consistent with my present objects to
accept of your appointment. While you will not
deem my reluctance to arise from any lack of desire
to do my duty to the country which protects me,
you will, at the same time, hold me guiltless of the
vanity which would assume me to be possessed of
those endowments which you esteem, and correctly,
to be necessary to the proper success of the person
you select. You are probably, in part, advised of
the mission upon which I go to the Yazoo. I am in
pursuit of one, also a criminal, who, for aught we
know, may be one of these very banditti. Will it

be my policy to undertake this trust, when its execution
may lead me into conflicts and necessities which
may defeat my present purpose?”

“Will it not?” replied the governor. “The capture
of one of the band, the discovery of the secrets of
one, and that one not the person whom you pursue—
will these not be rather more likely than not, to lead
also to his detection?”

“I am afraid not, your excellency. Apart from the
obvious consequence of taking upon myself an additional
employment, which must be, to a certain extent,
the diversion of my attention from, and my
pursuit of, the one object; these felons, according
to your own showing, are in possession of so complete
a system, that unless you strike them, by a
simultaneous blow upon every link of their operation,
you endanger the success of your whole project. No
one man, setting out as I do, with so little preparation,
and without concert with any other operatives,
can possibly hope to effect any thing in this double
business. It would give me pride to act in this matter,
as your excellency desires; believe me, sir, I
feel deeply this honourable compliment, but I am
perfectly convinced, that, unless it positively happened
in my way, to act upon the information you give,
I should esteem it unwise to go aside from my
path, and jeopard the success of that other purpose,
which, as it is of vital importance to Mr. Carter, is,
I assure you, of little less importance to me.”

The governor seemed much chagrined by this
answer, and strode the chamber with ill-concealed
disquiet. Vernon resumed.

“When, however, I decline the assumption of this
charge, as a distinct and responsible appointment,
your excellency, I do not mean to say that I would
not do any thing, if called on in a moment of emergency,

to promote the welfare of the state and secure
its peace.”

“You would confer on this subject with another,
should I send him to you—you would act with him
if it took you not off from your present business?”
demanded the other eagerly.

“More, sir; I acknowledge your right, in the state's
emergency, to call upon me to risk my life should
that be necessary.”

“Enough—you shall have blank commissions to
use at your discretion, and I will give you—Stay!
did you hear nothing, Mr. Carter?” And as the
governor put this question his finger pointed to the
inner door, leading to the stairway. A slight rustling
movement was evident at this moment, and instantly
approaching it, his hand was extended to the
latch, when it partially unclosed without his aid, as
if in consequence of the sudden withdrawal of one's
grasp from without. The dark outline of a man
was perceptible through the aperture.

“The outlaw himself, by heaven!” cried he, as
he beheld the indistinct outlines of the person without.
“It is Foster—it answers the description.”

With these words the governor rushed to the door
with the intention of pursuing, but his purpose was
defeated by a hand from without, which, grasping
the handle, drew it to, and held it firmly against all
his efforts. Meanwhile, steps were heard as of one
descending the stairs. The moments were precious,
and with that promptness of movement which was a
prime and distinctive feature in the character of
Vernon, and tallied well with his keen intellect, no
less than with his great personal strength, he threw
his weight with a bound against the obstruction, and
tore it with a single effort from its hinges. The frame
work was sustained only by the person from without
whose grasp had hitherto secured the door. In another

moment the arms of the youth were wrapped around
him, and, in spite of his exertions, he was hauled into
the room to answer for his essay at eavesdropping.

“What means this violence, gentlemen,” demanded
the eavesdropper, who was no other than Hawkins.

“Who are you?—what do you here, and where
is the other ruffian, your comrade, sirrah?”

“Hard words, sir, and you shall answer for them,”
was the reply of the fellow. “I am here because I
lodge here—that is my chamber, and by these stairs
I descend from it, and go to it when it pleases me.
Take your hand from my collar, young one, or I
will hurt you.” He accompanied these words with
a threatening action, which Vernon, to whom they
were addressed, only answered by hurling him to the
ground with as much ease as if he had been an infant;
setting his knee upon his bosom, and drawing
thence the bowie-knife, the possession of which he
suspected, as he saw the fellow unbuttoning his vest.

“But the greater villain must be secured. I saw
his person—I have seen him before, and I am sure
I cannot be mistaken. It is Foster—you heard him
descending,—he cannot be far,—let us take this fellow
forward till we can deliver him to an officer, and
set some in pursuit.”

“You carry me not from this house,” growled the
fellow from beneath the knee of Vernon. “This is
my house—my castle—and you shall answer for
this, or there's no law for a poor man in Mississippi.”

“You shall have law enough, my man,” replied
the governor. “Ben Carter—since this fellow will
give us the trouble to carry him,—run to the sheriff,
and bid him bring his posse. We shall provide him
closer lodgings for a time, and he may then play
eavesdropper to those who are more of his own
complexion.”

In due time Hawkins was delivered to the sheriff,
and pursuit commenced after the outlaw; but the
hounds were soon at fault; the buck had baffled
them, and was now out of reach—taking a zigzag
course within five miles of Raymond, as coolly as
if there were no sheriff within fifty. By night he
was back again, and lingered long enough to hear
from those who little suspected his interest in the
narration, a long story of his own escape, and of
Hawkins' commitment. The story went that he and
the governor had grappled fairly—that the governor
had got all the advantages, but that he had got—off.
Which was pretty nearly the true state of the case.