University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.

Sidney with his wounded friend reached Holly
with less difficulty than he had imagined. Pinckney's
loss of blood, though, was considerable; and on
being placed in his chamber, it was with great difficulty
he was kept from fainting. Pompey was immediately
despatched to the city for the best medical
aid. It was not until after daybreak that the surgeon
arrived. After examining the wound he expressed
himself uncertain as to the extent of it. He thought
it critical, if not dangerous; and said he believed
that the patient had received some inward injury
from the violence of his fall from his horse. By his
advice, and for the sake of his frequent attendance,
Pinckney resolved to remove to the city as soon as
practicable. Another consideration which induced
this resolution, notwithstanding the pressing invitation
of Mr. Fitzhurst and his family that he would
remain with them, was the fear of the trouble he

should give. A week had elapsed, however, and the
patient was not yet in a state to be removed. In the
meantime every exertion was used to discover the
robber. A description of the stolen watch and
pocket-book was left at the pawnbrokers, and published
in the public prints, with an account of the
contents of the pocket-book, so far as Pinckney could
recollect them; but as yet it was without avail. A
source of great annoyance to Pinckney was the loss
of a peculiarly-formed locket, containing the hair of
the same lady whose miniature he possessed. From
a feeling of delicacy, or from some other motive, he
did not mention it in enumerating the contents of the
pocket-book.

As soon as Sidney could spare the time from his
friend, he turned his attention to Bobby's misfortunes.
The boy, after many internal struggles, had called on
Sidney the morning after his escape from Benbow's,
and narrated to him the circumstances attendant on
the loss of the money, just as he related them to his
grandmother and cousin. Sidney asked Bobby if he
could find the way to the squire's where he had been
confined. He said he thought he could not, and evidently
had no wish to try. Sidney then sent word to
the tavern in the village at which Gordon stopped,
for that person to call at Holly. In reply to the message,
he learned that Gordon was not there; that he
had said, on leaving, he should be absent a week or
more.

At the expiration of that time Gordon returned to
the village; but without waiting on Sidney sent, by
Joe Hitt, with apologies for not calling in person, the
name and residence of the magistrate from whose
house Bobby had escaped. Gordon asked Hitt to say
that he would have gone in person to Holly, but that
he had pressing business that took him away. That

day as Sidney was proceeding to the city, for the
purpose of seeing Benbow, he stopped at the village,
and there saw Gordon himself, who gave him a full
account of all he knew of the matter, as he asserted,
making, as he did, so many protestations of his friendship
for Bobby.

Gordon offered to accompany Sidney to the magistrate's;
but Sidney said it was not worth while, and
proceeded thither alone. Benbow gave him no clue
to the mystery. He exhibited from among his papers,
where he had it carefully placed, the counterfeit
money which had been found on the boy; and told
Sidney the name of the tavern-keeper who lived
nearly, at whose house Bobby had been arrested.
Thither Sidney repaired, but not before Benbow had
repeatedly told him what a friend Gordon was to
Bobby, remarking at the same time—as Bobby was
young, that the affair had better, on his account, be
dropped.

All that the tavern-keeper could inform Sidney of,
was, that a man offered a note at the bar which was
counterfeit; and on being told so, he said he got it
from Bobby, who was a stranger to him, and that he
had changed it for the boy. The man grew angry;
the tavern-keeper asserted and insisted that Bobby
should be searched. The search was accordingly
made, and the counterfeit money which had been left
at the magistrate's was found on the boy. The next
day, the man who had changed the note, according
to the tavern-keeper, went to Benbow's to appear
against Bobby, and returned and said that the magistrate
told him the boy had escaped. The witness,
after much fault-finding, said that he could not stay and
throw more money away, that he lived in the country,
and he departed.

For the mere loss of his money Sidney cared not.

He was provoked at the villany practised on the boy;
but he discovered that at present any effort to find
out the perpetrators of it would be fruitless.

Poor Bobby's troubles arising from this matter were
not to stop here. The whole village and neighbourhood
received with various exaggerations the history of the
affair, and somehow or other the majority of them—
particulary those in Bobby's own sphere, were disposed
to look upon him in a different light from that
which the facts warranted. Divers persons had been
busy in putting a dark colour on his conduct. Among
these, if not the most open, at least of the busiest, were
Bronson and Thompson. The consequence was, that
whenever Bobby went to the village, or met the villagers,
either in groups or singly, he was sure to be
questioned on the subject; and had often to undergo
the infliction of no very delicate hints with regard to
the matter. Once he was required to give an account
of the manner in which he obtained his gun, and the
powder, which it was asserted, he wasted by the
pound. Colonel Bentley happening to pass by at the
very moment, Bobby appealed to him, and put their
fears as to his integrity on that score at rest at once.
If the majority were disposed to think ill of the boy,
he, nevertheless, had many well-wishers, not only
among his own class, but among the wealthier portion
of the neigbourhood. Mr. Fitzhurst and family were
his fast friends. Indeed the old gentleman felt many
misgivings as to the effect which the misfortune at the
horse-race might eventually have on the boy's character.
Not that he believed him at all a bad boy now,
but he began to fear the result of idle habits upon him,
and he resolved to send him to school by way of
weaning him from his ways, and give him a liberal
education if his capacity proved superior. Perhaps
push him forward in some profession. When this

idea struck the old gentleman, he wonders at himself
for not thinking of it before.

While Mr. Paul Fitzhurst was indulging his benevolent
imaginings in Bobby's behalf, the lad one day, as
was much his custom of late, proceeded to the village
with his gun on his shoulder. It was the day of the
election for members of the legislature, and as the
polls were held in the village of Springdale, there was,
consequently, a large concourse of people assembled.
It being in the afternoon, the political excitement,
assisted not a little in its throes by the stimulus resorted
to on such occasions, had reached its height.
Groups, containing many noisy and drunken men,
might have been seen wrangling about the corners,
and before the polls, which were held at a tavern
window.

In the midst of one of these stood Lawyer Lupton, the
gentleman who had formerly been fond of talking
with Granny Gammon about certain boundaries
while he glanced at Peggy. Mr. Lupton was shaking
hands and making friends with might and main. To
the groups that encompassed Lupton, Bobby stepped
up just as the village politician and pettifogger was
pressing the hand of Joe Hitt, who had not yet voted,
by way of squeezing a vote out of him. The night
before Hitt had been to see Peggy, who, having no
other person to play off upon him, had been prodigal
of the repetition of “Cousin Bobby” in her tenderest
manner. The memory of this fact had added to the
cups in which Hitt had toasted his political sentiments.
As Bobby approached, Hitt cast a lowering brow on
him, and exclaimed:—

“Here, squire, here comes a case; a full blown
chap—if he ain't I'm blowed—he thinks himself a man
any way you can fix him; though they do say that he
did the thing that some men wouldn't. Get him to
vote for you.”

“He's but a boy, Mr. Hitt, he's but a boy,” said
Mr. Lupton, with dignity. “It is the universal law,
sir, throughout our whole country, even, I assure you
in those states where there is a property qualification
—a principle which I am opposed to, gentlemen,
ab initio, root and branch, as being totally anti-democratic—it
is the law, I pledge you my professional
reputation—the law in every state that no person is
entitled to a vote who is under twenty-one years of
age. I approve of it—I go for it—I sanction it heart
and hand. I would not have the Constitution altered
in that respect, though I could get thereby the vote
of every child in Christendom. I have no doubt were
such the law here that my vote would be considerably
increased; don't you think so, Bobby, my boy?”

“Why, squire, I haint got a vote yet,” said Bobby,
“so it's no use to ask the question—though I'm not
so far off, neither.”

“Not so far off,” exclaimed Hitt, contemptuously,
“why, you blasted little runt, you—you'll never be
a man.”

“Joe Hitt, speak when you're spoken to,” said Bobby,
angrily—“I didn't say I was a man, and I don't
believe you're much of a one either.”

“Hush up, `Cousin Bobby,' ” said Joe, scornfully, and
making at the same time a gesture suited to the word,
“or I'll serve you as they serve a naughty baby, you
can't call on Granny, or `Cousin Peggy' here.”

“You'd better keep away, and not call on `Granny'
or `Cousin Peggy' either,” said Bobby, significantly,
as he walked away.

Hitt was not an ill-natured man when sober, but
he was one of those in whom intoxication awakens
the worst passions. This taunt of Bobby maddened
him. As the lad walked off Hitt stepped into the
middle of the street and, picking up a stone, threw it

at him. The first missed; but a second took effect,
and struck Bobby so forcibly on the back that it
nearly knocked him down. As soon as Bobby recovered
himself, he turned round and faced Hitt, who
was in the act of hurling another stone at him. They
were by this time thirty or more feet apart. As soon
as Bobby turned, he clapped his gun to his shoulder,
exclaiming, “I can't stand every thing.” Hitt had
scarcely time to change his position, and save his
front, when the whole of the load of Bobby's gun,
luckily it was small, bird shot, took effect in the most
fleshy part of his person.

Hitt fell to the ground, uttering a yell that awoke
an echo from the hills. He rolled over and over,
calling out “murder! I'm a dead man!” in tones that
soon drew the crowd from the polls in a mass around
him. They bore him into the tavern. On an examination
of his wounds by Doctor M`Vittee, they were
pronounced not to be mortal.

Thompson, while they were bearing Hitt to the
tavern, called on the constable to arrest Bobby. That
worthy deemed it his duty to do so, and attended by
Thompson, and followed by the crowd, he conducted
the unfortunate lad to Squire Norris's. Here there
was a deal of confusion. Popular opinion, however,
notwithstanding Bobby had lost ground lately, set in
his favour. Thompson openly told the magistrate
that it was his duty to commit the rascal to save the
lives of the citizens, asserting that his own life was
once put in deadly peril by him. Bronson, who had
hurried over from his store as soon as he heard of
the matter, took the squire aside on pretence of especial
business, and advised him by all means to commit
Bobby instantly, and to refuse to take any bail.
The squire said he'd think about that, but in the meantime
he would commit him until Hitt's situation was

decidedly known. Deprived, therefore, of his gun,
powder-horn, and shot-bag, and attended by a gaping
crowd, Bobby was led to the jail, and locked up with
a care that certainly conveyed a high idea of the
jailor's notion of his prowess.