University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Pinckney, as he went to the theatre, was arrested
by the glare of a fashionable jewelry-shop near by,
and it occurred to him to step in and select a present
for Fanny. The shopman busied himself to please his
customer. Pinckney remarked that he wanted a locket,
but that he did not like the fashion of those presented to
him, when the shopman said:

“I have one, sir, though not for sale, which I
think is the handsomest thing of the kind I have ever
seen. It was brought here by a person to have the
hair taken out, and altered; and I wonder at his taste
in wishing any alterations—but we must please our
customers.”

As he spoke, he opened a drawer, and, to Pinckney's
surprise, produced the very locket which had
been taken from him with his watch and pocket-book
on the night of the robbery.

“Ah!” said Pinckney as he took it in his hand,
“may I ask where you got this?”

“It was brought to me, sir, some time since, by a
jockey-like looking man, who gave directions to have
it altered and other hair inserted, as I have told you.
I have delayed altering it, I can scarcely tell why—

but the man did not come for it when he said he would,
and I have not touched it.”

“Sir,” said Pinckney, “look at it—can you discover
any secret spring about it?”

The jeweller took it, and after a close examination
owned he could not.

“There, sir,” said Pinckney touching a spring,
which flew open and disclosed a beautiful little miniature
of a lady. This must convince you that I
know something of the locket. Coming in from
Mr. Fitzhurst's—”

“Mr. Paul Fitzhurst's?” asked the jeweller.

“The same.”

“He is one of my best customers.”

“I was robbed of this among other articles. This
article I did not mention in the advertisement. I lost
a watch and pocket-book besides; be so kind as to
describe, as nearly as you can, the individual who
brought it to you.”

“He certainly was not a gentleman,” replied the
jeweller; “he was good looking, but, as I have said,
jockey-like. I took him for a gambler.”

“Would you know the man if you were to see
him?”

“I think I should, sir.”

“Do you think I could get a constable at this time
of night?” inquired Pinckney.

“No doubt of it, sir; the theatre is within a few
doors, you can get one there; and if you think you
can trace the individual I will gladly go with you and
identify him. I will go for one to the theatre. What
time do you shut up?”

“Not until ten, or half-after, sir; above is my dwelling,
sir: at any hour, though I should have retired,
you can have me rapped up. I had a vague suspicion at
the time the man came to have it altered that all was
not right. I could not see what honest motive—it

could not be a matter of taste, certainly—influenced
him.”

Pinckney bade him good evening, and entered the
theatre. Almost the first person he met was Colonel
Bentley. Pinckney took him aside, and told him the
circumstances.

“Egad!” exclaimed the Colonel; “Ross is here,
and he will be the very man for you. I'll look for
him.”

The colonel made inquiries about the theatre and
in the saloon, and learned there that Ross was always
in by ten or after. Pinckney waited very impatiently
until Ross came, when he was made acquainted with
him, and gave him the details of the robbery, remarking
that he suspected a certain person. “But, sir,” he continued,
“I have heard of your acuteness; and, as I presume
you know him, let's to the jeweller's, and see if
you can guess from his description.”

As soon as Ross heard it, he asked—

“Had he a quick step?”

“Think he had.”

“Hat a little on one side?”

“I don't know that—yes, yes; I think so.”

“Did you observe that he showed where he has
lost a tooth in the left jaw when he laughs?”

“I did not.”

“Talks a good deal?”

“Yes.”

“I know the man, sir,” turning to Pinckney; “his
name is Gordon.”

“The individual whom I suspect,” replied Pinckney.
“I wish you could find him.”

“I can, sir; and this very night. Mr. Whitman
(to the jeweller), will you go with us?”

“Certainly, sir,” replied Whitman, putting the
locket in his pocket, and telling his assistant to shut
up.

“He's carousing now at Benbow's, the magistrate,
with Benbow, and Jessop the constable,” said Ross.

The three entered a hack at the theatre door, and
in ten minutes were let out at Benbow's. They could
hear a merry conversation within, and Ross sans
ceremonie opened the door, and bade them enter.
Sitting cosily around the table enjoying their segars,
and with the brandy bottle nearly empty, they found
the worthies. Gordon pushed his chair involuntarily
back, as if he meant to rise when he saw
Pinckney, but kept his seat.

“Don't be disturbed, gentlemen; don't be disturbed,”
said Ross, politely; “pleasure is pleasure, but business
is business. Squire, I am about to try the virtue
of one of your warrants again.”

“Mr. Gordon, I am sorry to disturb the festivities
of this convivial occasion among friends where I was
myself lately a joyous partaker; but, sir, I arrest you
for the robbery of Mr. Pinckney, the gentleman before
you.”

“Me!” said Gordon, jumping fiercely up.

“Mr. Gordon, allow me to remark, sir, like one
gentleman to another, that that is in bad taste—
always take things coolly, sir—'Tis what your lawyer
would advise you to do if he were sitting beside
you.”

“Let him prove it,” said Gordon taking his seat
and the hint together, and looking at Pinckney with
malignant defiance.

Benbow, much against his inclination, resumed the
magisterial chair, and swore Pinckney and the jeweller.
The former gave a detailed account of the robbery,
and swore positively that the locket was his, and that
he was then robbed of it, but could not identify the
robber. He was followed by the jeweller, who gave
the account of Gordon's bringing it to him to be
altered: he swore further, positively to his identity.

Gordon drew his watch from his pocket as the examination
proceeded, and his countenance was relieved,
apparently, of all care.

“There, sir,” said he to Pinckney, scornfully, as he
took from the inner seal of his watch-chain a locket
which could not be distinguished from the one Pinckney
claimed. “I suppose your oath is broad enough
to let you swear to that, too?”

“Let me look at it,” said Pinckney.

“No, not out of my hands,” cried Gordon.

“The reason, sir,” said Pinckney, “why I know
this locket, as he touched the spring and disclosed the
likeness of Miss Atherton, is because it has the likeness
of a lady concealed in it whom I well know.”

“Ha! is that it?” said Gordon; “then examine that,
and tell me if it hain't the likeness of a gentleman that
you know better still.”

Pinckney received the locket as Gordon offered it,
found it in every respect like his own, and, touching a
spring, disclosed his own likeness. It was one which,
in fact, he had given in Italy to Miss Atherton, when
he had received her's.

“Where did you get this?” exclaimed Pinckney, in
amazement.

“Maybe from the lady who gave you that, ha! ha!
ha!—what do you think of that, my buster—won't
you swear to it?”

“I would swear to it, undoubtedly,” said Pinckney,
showing it to the magistrate; “it is my own likeness,
and a good one—I had it painted myself by a celebrated
Florentine artist when abroad, who took this
of a lady that I knew then, and now, at the same time.
What were you doing at that lady's to-night?” he
asked of Gordon.

“What were you doing there, and be-hanged to you?”
replied Gordon. “You're much of a gentleman, ain't
you, to be dragging a lady's name up here. The

tailoring about you is all of the gentleman that belongs
to you.”

“Sir,” said Pinckney to Benbow, “this individual
must have stolen this from Miss Atherton to-night
when I saw him there. I hope that you will place him
in the safest custody to-night. Miss Atherton lives at
Mr. Langdale's, and, disagreeable as it must be to a
lady to appear against any one, early to-morrow, as
early as you say, I will conduct her thither.”

“It won't do, my lark,” said Gordon. “I know
more about you than you think I do; I've had my eye
on you in other countries. Has that lady been here
a month?”

Pinckney at first disdained to reply, but in a minute
he reflected how foolish it would be, and answered,
“No! she has not.”

“Has she been here three weeks?” interrogated
Gordon.

“No!”

“You'll die a dog's death yet, my gentleman; yes,
a hanged dog's death. Here's the squire and Jessop
saw me have that locket six months ago—I'll have
you in jail, my visiter to the `big house' before we
have parted; you're friendly to Peg Gammon too,
ain't ye?”

“Jessop,” said Ross, “did you see that in Gordon's
possession six months ago?”

“Let me look at it,” said Jessop, and he took it in
his hand, and, after examining it, said, “Yes, this certainly
is the locket—he did not disclose the miniature
then, but now, when I close it and examine it, I don't
think I can possibly be mistaken.”

“Let me look at it,” said Benbow, and after examining
it also, he remarked—“I never knew it held a
likeness, but I've seen this in Jack's—in Gordon's—
possession six months ago, I'm certain.”

Pinckney concluded that the three companions were

all rogues together, and whispered so to the jeweller,
who replied, that he knew nothing of Gordon or Benbow,
but that Jessop bore the highest character as an
honest officer, for he had spent a summer in Springdale,
and there learned it.

Pinckney took Ross to the far end of the room, and
asked him what he thought of it.

“I don't know what to think of it,” replied Ross—
“and when I don't know what to think, I don't say
much. That Jessop brought me a letter to-night, from
which I understand he is trustworthy and honest. I
have been at fault to-night most damnably—it is perfect
hocus-pocus.—I wish I was Vidocq—the greatest
man that ever lived, sir—O! that we had him here.”

“Well, gentlemen!” exclaimed Gordon, triumphantly,
“there's one thing certain, that though you may set a
rogue to catch a rogue, there's none of you can catch
an honest man. I want this Mr. Pinckney held to
bail to answer for false imprisoning me. Here, fork
over those lockets—I believe I'll take the two of them;
you need'nt (to the jeweller) make them alterations I
ordered.”

“I hope, sir,” said Pinckney to Benbow, “that you
will retain the lady's locket—the one which bears my
likeness, until she shall be seen upon the subject.”

“It's no go,” said Gordon, filling himself a glass of
liquor. “It's no go, my ruffled-shirted cock; I've been
in the law before. The lockets are mine, and Benbow,
who knows the law, knows it.”

“You'll certainly keep them,” said Ross to the
squire.

“Ahem!” said Benbow, rustling in his chair. “I
incline to think not. About this gentleman looking as
Mr. Pinckney, I know nothing—he may be, and he
may not be anything—what do you know of him?”

“Nothing,” replied Ross, “but that Colonel Bentley

introduced him to me as a gentleman who had been
robbed—and I see that he is a gentleman.”

“Very—very sorry, indeed,” said Benbow, stammering,
“that I can't see as you do—no harm meant,
Mr. Pinckney—but with my own eyes I saw Gordon
have that locket six months ago, so did Jessop; one
he had then, even before this alleged robbery; the
other, the match to it, because he happened to have
after the robbery, and take to a jeweller to have altered,
that's no reason that he robbed Mr. Pinckney,
no more reason than that he robbed the lady; and
Mr. Pinckney is willing to swear that this is the lady's.
No! there may be more painters an' one, and lockets
may look as like as two peas. This is a case in which
I would not advise; but Mr. Gordon can do as he
pleases. I decide, however, that he has the right to
both the lockets, and decree possession accordingly.”

“Not only possession!” exclaimed Gordon, “but I
want this individual,” pointing to Pinckney, “held to
bail in the sum of ten thousand dollars for malicious
prosecution—I'll show him what the law is.”

“Ahem! well,” said Benbow—

“Benbow,” exclaimed Ross angrily, interrupting
him, “let me see those lockets a moment, Gordon,” he
said, curbing himself, and turning pleasantly to Gordon,
who handed them to him. “Benbow, this gentleman
goes as he went; there shall be no virtue in any process
of yours in relation to him to-night. Jack (to
Gordon), you'll have to bring your action of replevin
or trover against me for this jewelry, for you shall
not have it until you do.”

Gordon gazed on the resolute countenance of
Ross, and, changing his tone, burst into a laugh, saying:
“Ross, you're a case. We're friends, and friends
can take liberties; besides, you're an honest man,
and I am not afraid to trust you with them: as to
the matter of that, take them—I make you a present

of 'em both. Now, don't say I never gave you
anything.”

“No, I won't,” replied Ross; “and in requital of
your gift, as one good turn deserves another, I will,
some of these days, present you with some jewelry
myself; for instance, a pair of bracelets. Good night
to you.”

As Ross spoke, he opened the door through which
Pinckney and the jeweller passed, followed by the
baffled theif-catcher. They walked together some
steps in silence, which Ross broke by saying, in evident
chagrin—

“And I'll keep my word. I never was so at fault
in my life. Accidents will happen: Napoleon was
not always successful, and even Vidocq has been as
foully foiled as this. Lord! how fate is bearing and
forbearing with that scoundrel. Some of these days
I'll astonish him even more than he has astonished
me. He's a good deal in liquor.”

“Who is this Gordon?” asked Pinckney.

“A sportsman, sir, as the phrase goes. Mr. Pinckney,
here are the lockets, sir,” said Ross, as they got
opposite to the door of a restorateur, where the light
shone forth; “they belong to you, sir, and they are
better in your custody than mine.”

As Pinckney took the lockets, he slipped a bank
bill in Ross's hand, in requital for his trouble, and
bade him and the jeweller “good night.” He proceeded
to Langdale's, where he lodged when in town,
and found that gentleman, with his guests and Mr.
Bradley, late as the hour was, at a game of whist.

“Ah! Pinckney, welcome!” exclaimed Langdale,
as they all arose from the card-table; “I had a present
of delightful game made to me to-day, and I have
ordered the cook to wait until you came.”

“I am sorry that you did so,” replied Pinckney,
“for though I cannot resist the temptation of these

night suppers, I am persuaded they are prejudicial to
one's health.”

As they proceeded to the supper room, Pinckney
whispered, unobserved, to Miss Atherton:—“Oblige
me by making an opportunity for me to say one word
to you before you retire—I must leave in the morning
early.”

The lady threw a bright glance on him, and said,
in a tone of tenderness—“I will, Howard.”

“Fair coz,” said Langdale to Miss Atherton, bowing
across the table to her, as he took with her a
glass of wine, “you make me proud of my dwelling.
How true that scrap of verse is:

“Coz,” replied Miss Atherton, “for I will call you
coz, too, after that, do you know that I think you
were meant for a knight of other days, instead of a
merchant? I quere whether you are as agreeable in
your counting-room as you are here.”

“O! sink the shop. No, indeed, I am not: I have
not at least the attractions there to tempt the effort.
But I would not change my vocation for either of the
professions; all the variation I ask, is a little of political
bustle now and then. As for medicine, I don't
see how any man of the least sensibility could practice
it; and as for the law, the counsel is so often the
criminal, that there is as little difference between
being at the bar and in the bar, in phraseology as in
fact. The merchant is the great controller of commerce,
and the world is indebted more to it for civilization
than to aught else. It was the commercial

spirit which reclaimed this continent from the savages.
Somebody called England a nation of shopkeepers;
they should rather have said a nation of merchants.
No, as far as my vocation goes, I am not only content,
but proud.”

“The law,” remarked Bradley, “is the great profession
of this country.”

“That and counterfeiting,” rejoined Langdale.

“We are, most of us, counterfeiters, one way or the
other,” said Miss Atherton, smiling.

“And few of us detectors,” retorted Pinckney.

“Upon my word,” said Langdale, looking at
Pinckney and Miss Atherton, “I should like to know
what were the continental relations between you two
abroad.”

“Like that of the mother country and her colonies,”
said Pinckney.”

“Ah!” rejoined Langdale; “and which of you
threw off the yoke—such rosy bondage would endure
with me for ever.”

“Yet,” said Miss Atherton, in a tone of badinage,
“Mr Pinckney is a rebel.”

“Ha!” said Langdale; “tell me, Mr. Atherton,
what were the intimacies between this gentleman and
lady abroad?”

“That's more than I can tell,” replied Mr. Atherton;
“I see they are old acquaintances; but Clara's
tongue must have been pledged to silence, for I never
heard her speak of Mr. Pinckney, that I remember.”

“Oh! uncle, how can you say so!” exclaimed Miss
Atherton. “Don't you remember how I used to talk
of the gallant young Southerner, who resisted all my
powers?”

“Now, I remember me,” replied Mr. Atherton; “I
do; but, Clara, you had so many strings to your
bow, that I hardly think you can recount them yourself.”

“Come, uncle, that is unjust; you know it; I do
wish, nevertheless, I had the power of coquetry—it
must be delightful to use that only weapon a woman
has. But you gentlemen wish to smoke, I know,
and I have received a letter from a friend to-day who
makes inquiries about Mr. Pinckney. If he has any
curiosity he may see it, and I'll send him back to
you in a minute.”

So speaking, Miss Atherton rose, when Pinckney
offered her his arm, and they passed alone into the
withdrawing room.

“Miss Atherton,” said Pinckney, “may I ask who
that man, Gordon, is?”

“Gordon! what Gordon?”

“The person I saw here this evening.”

“Really you have a deal of curiosity—I am
an equestrian, as you know, and that person having
heard that I had the desire to exhibit my skill in that
way to the citizens here, came to boast of the qualities
of an animal he has, by way of effecting a sale—”

“Where is the locket, if I may ask, which I gave
you in Florence?”

“Where is the one I gave you?”

“I am not asking, Miss Atherton, an idle question.”

“Howard, you may take me through the whole
catechism,—I have it in my trunk?”

“Are you certain of that fact?”

“Now I remember—maybe I have lost it—I know
I lost something which you gave me—”

Pinckney smiled.

“Two things, then, which you gave me, Howard,
and the locket is one of them—”

At this moment the gentlemen entered the room,
and a few minutes afterwards Miss Atherton left them
to themselves.

In the morning, with the dawn, Pinckney was on

horse-back. He reached Holly to breakfast. In a
tête-à-tête with Fanny he forgot Bobby's case, until
Pompey, who had been fidgetting in and out of the
room, reminded him of it. He instantly repaired to
the court and heard the crier at the door calling the
name of John Gordon; but no John Gordon answered.
He entered the court, and found the judge on the
bench, and the jury in the box, waiting the coming
of the witness. Bobby was seated near his lawyer
with Peggy beside him. At this moment Jessop, who
had just arrived from the city, entered the bar, and
held a hurried conversation with Mr. Mason, who
arose, and, addressing the court, said:

“May it please your honours: I apprehend Gordon
will not be here. In consequence of the information
which I received from the black man whom I examined
after the court adjourned yesterday, I despatched
Mr. Jessop to the city last evening: what he
learned or discovered it is not for the purposes of
justice proper to be narrated publicly. Suffice it to
say, that I understood from him that he met Gordon,
the prosecuting witness, in town last night, and left
him at an eating-house at two o'clock this morning,
when Gordon told him that he should not be here to-day:
perhaps your honours had better have Jessop
sworn as to that fact.”

Jessop was accordingly sworn. He stated that he
met Gordon at Benbow's, whither he himself was
despatched on business, and that he afterwards fell in
with him at an eating-house, and that, as he was
leaving it, Gordon called him back, and told him to
present his compliments to their honours, and say
that if he should not be here in time to-day they
need not wait for him, as he had business of his own,
which was of more consequence to him than the
State's.

Here the prosecuting attorney arose, much against

the wish of Mr. Lupton; and stated that he did not
think it was proper for him to press the case any further,
as from circumstances which had within a few
minutes come to his knowledge, and which he meant
to place before the grand-jury at their next sitting, he
was satisfied that the prisoner was entirely guiltless,
and a much injured person.

“I knowed it!” shouted old Pompey, who had followed
Pinckney into court, and who could not contain
himself; “I knowed it, and now everybody
knows it.”

“Silence,” exclaimed the judge. “Sheriff, take that
man into custody, and put him in jail—”

Here Mr. Mason rose and said:

“It is so seldom, may it please your honours, that
any debt is paid here, saving that which is set down
`in the bond,' that when the spontaneous one of gratitude
breaks forth from an honest heart, and from one
of a race, too, on whom ours does not often impose
such claims, that I hope the acknowledgment of it
will not be demurred, and will be forgiven, though
it is not filed according to law. This boy once saved
his humble friend from unmerited punishment, and it
was the noble impulse of gratitude in the bosom of
the African which led us yesterday to the inquiry
which established the innocence of the youth. I
therefore move your honour that the African be forgiven
his unintentional breach of decorum.”

The court countermanded their order to the sheriff,
and the jury, after a short address from the judge,
instantly pronounced the prisoner Not Guilty!

Poor Peggy threw her arms round Bobby, and burst
into an ecstasy of tears; her sobs of joy were heard
throughout the court-house above the tumult of approbation
which his acquittal occasioned. It is a curious
fact in human nature to know, that the sternest censurers
of Bobby, as he was conducted from the jail the

day before, were now the loudest in their approbation
of the verdict.

When Bobby, attended by Peggy and Pompey,
passed from the crowd, the old coachman observed:

“Mister Bobby, the proceedings o' this day has
given me Pompey, as old master would say, satisfaction
beyond measure—but there's one thing I didn't
like no how: that great lawyer from town, who
pleaded to keep me out of jail—can't he plead, though?
called me an African; now I is not an African—I is
an American born and bred, and old master can prove
it—he must ha' been thinking o' Nat Ramsey.”

Mr. Mason dined at Holly that day, and was eloquent
in his account of the trial, dwelling with deserved
praise on the conduct of Pompey. When the
company had retired from the table Mr. Fitzhurst remained
behind in his gouty chair, and ordered old
Pompey and all the servants to be called. When
they entered, Mr. Fitzhurst said to Pompey: “Pompey,
I have been listening to Mr. Mason's and Mr.
Pinckney's account of Robert's trial to day. I rejoice
to know that the lad is innocent, and I am highly
gratified with the feelings which you exhibited.
It was certainly wrong in you to interrupt the court,
but the impulse under which you did it was the very
noblest of our nature. I respect and honour you.
You have always been a faithful servant, and I now
find you a noble-minded man, and I have sent for you
before my household to say, that I have got Mr. Mason
to make out your manumission papers; here they
are. I have settled on you what will make you comfortable
for life; besides which, I have given you a
spot of ground, and will build you a house on it.
Henceforth and hereafter you are a free man. Give
me your hand.”

“Master!” exclaimed Pompey, “I takes your hand
too proud, but I won't take your free papers. I objects

to it; who'll tend the coach horses when I'm
tending that ground; who'll care for me; who'll take
care of the coach. It would break my heart to see
another coloured person in Pompey's livery on the
coach-box when I ought to be there myself; for I'll
like to know, master, now, who but old Pompey can
drive you over the ruts when you've got the gout, and
not hurt you. You've said that yourself before to-day
when old mistress talked about another coachman.
You see at once, master, it won't do at all.”

“Well, well, Pompey,” said Mr. Fitzhurst, pretending
to feel a severe twinge of the gout to hide his
emotions; “just as you choose, just as you choose. But
I say this to you, that I want you to understand that
henceforth you're your own master.”

“But, master, I wants you to understand that
you're my master, too. We played together when
we were boys; I waited on you when you grew up;
I've waited on you ever since; and I'll wait on you
till I die.”