University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.

Proceeding to his store, and giving a hasty order
to his clerk concerning certain goods which he expected
to arrive from the city, Bronson, with hasty
strides, left the village and hastened to Elwood's.

“Yes,” he soliloquised, “this Gordon knows what he
has heard his comrades say, and something himself
besides; but, I thank God, there's nothing they can
bring home to me. If this fellow had a character,
and his comrades had ditto, they might do it—but—
that was a lucky thought of mine about Robert Gammon,
the little rascal; but as it is, suppose I did sell
them goods at a high price—I've the right to put my
own price on my own merchandize. They can't
prove any passing on me; no, no, I took care of that;
but I did pass it, though, and if I did, who can prove
the intention the `quo animo,' as Squire Lupton says.
Yet it's gathering round me; it's gathering round me.
My prospects are darkening—the respectable here
don't receive me as they use to—no, Bronson, they
don't. I have made my mind up to it; I must, and
will have that girl; Elwood dares not refuse me—he
would if he dare; but I hold him with a grasp of iron.
Sarah was not half so civil in her reception as she
used to be—not half so civil the last time I saw her.
I shall have no more dilly-dally in the matter with
her; she must, and shall marry me, and Elwood shall

see to it. It was lucky, lucky—I thank God I saw
him—hey, Bronson? very lucky.”

Thus communing with himself, and turning the
same thought over and over in his mind, Bronson
reached Elwood's door almost unconsciously. He
found Elwood in, who received him with forced cordiality,
and invited him to a seat.

“No! no!” exclaimed Bronson, impatiently; “I
wish to speak privately. I suppose your neice is
well?”

“Tolerable. She has been quite unwell.”

“Is she here?”

“Yes, in the house; won't you see her?” asked Elwood.

“No! not now. Come, walk out with me,” said
Bronson.

“Can't we speak here?” asked Elwood, seemingly
averse to leaving the house.

“No, I tell you—no! Will you walk out with me?”

“Don't be in such a heat,” expostulated Elwood,
and taking his hat from the floor at his feet, where
he was in the habit of placing it when he took it off,
Elwood followed Bronson to a secluded spot behind
the barn, some three hundred yards or more from the
house. As they walked along each was so occupied
with his own thoughts as to make no effort to keep
up a conversation. Bronson walked with dogged determination;
and Elwood, as if he feared an interview
which he had not the courage to deny. When they
reached the spot, Bronson broke silence, by saying,
firmly.

“Elwood, you promised me long ago your neice.
I returned last night—almost the first words I heard
from my clerk were that she was attached to that
infernal—the Lord forgive me—to that aristocrat,
young Fitzhurst. We must he married to-night.”

“To night!” ejaculated Elwood.

“To night, or you must take the consequences.”

“The consequences—the consequences!” muttered
Elwood to himself, and then he said aloud: “I've
told you. Bronson, that she should and would have
you. I had talks with her since you have been away,
and she is not so averse to it. It's a lie—a damned
lie, about Sidney Fitzhurst and her being engaged.
Such a thought never crossed my brain; and I've
seen them together. It's a lie.”

“Sir, I tell you its the truth; Peg Gammon and
Bob say so, and they got it from that hag Agnes.”

This remark did not produce the effect upon Elwood
which Bronson intended—for his face brightened,
and he said:

“The girl's of age, and if she will have him how
can I prevent it?”

“Will have him! prevent!” ejaculated Bronson,
literally gnashing his teeth. “Do you know your
fate?—do you know the hemp is spun for you?”

Stung, if not startled by the remark, Elwood rejoined
with courage unexpected by his companion:

“An alliance with that family would prevent the
consequences of any alleged cr— deed done so long
ago, and of doubtful proof.”

“Doubtful proof! I like that. What I saw with
my own eyes—doubtful proof!—that's something new
under the sun. You'll find out whether the proof is
doubtful or not.”

“Bronson,” said Elwood, “I've been thinking much
over this matter since you have been away.”

“So have I,” ejaculated Bronson.

“Hear me, hear me!” said Elwood. “Your manner
this morning has determined me to speak out plainly,
because the crisis has come. God knows you have
hush-money enough; you've a mortgage on my place
for which I never got a cent; I have lent you money
repeatedly which you have never paid me; and not

content with all that, you would have me compel my
neice to marry.”

“Yes, sir, that's the word—compel!” exclaimed
Bronson, who, nevertheless, was evidently surprised
at the tone of his companion; for though sycophantic
enough where he was compelled to be, Bronson preferred
the bullying style when it suited his purposes
as well. “You must do it—you're mine, body and
soul. I'll deal plainly with you since you're so plain.
She's your heir; her property you have used; a lawsuit
if she were to marry another might deprive me
of this ground!” exclaimed he, in a rage, stamping
his foot upon it—“of this ground, which is and shall
continue mine. Why should you escape the consequences
of crimes which have given others to the
gallows. You think you must go scot free, hey?
This ground and all you're worth, had I came out upon
you, would have gone to fee your lawyers—every
cent to fee your lawyers—and my testimony would
have hung you as high as Haman, notwithstanding—
Aye! and it can do it! Change your tone, or it will
do it. The prospect of this aristocratic marriage
makes you blind as a post to the risk you've placed
your neck in.”

“I'm not certain of the risk,” said Elwood, but in
a tone that began to falter.

“Run it, then!” exclaimed Bronson, taking advantage
of it. “Run it; many a man has run it before.
Did I not give you myself the life of Eugene Aram to
read; see how long he trod the earth with impunity.
Look at that general—a general, sir, high in authority,
in British authority, who whipped a soldier to death.
I shall add another to the catalogue of such trials.”

“But the proof—the proof was strong against
them,” rejoined Elwood, “and their acts were premeditated;
mine were not—God knows mine were
not.”

“But how'll the jury know it!” exclaimed Bronson,
exultingly. “Not from my testimony, I assure
you—I could save you now if you were on trial—I
could hang you now if you were on trial. You're a
man proverbially cruel to your slaves—that's the point
to start from—I appear before the grand-jury—I say
that I am a religious man—that all the world knows,
of unimpeached and unimpeachable character; I
state that a feeling of mercy towards one I hoped
would become a useful member of society prevented
my making the proposed development before—but he
is not, I continue, a useful member of society—reports
say that his unkindness as a master increases. My
conscience, therefore, compels the development. I
circumstantially narrate how twelve years ago, this
very month, I was passing through your woods to the
mill.”

“You need not speak so loud,” said Elwood,
glaring round, but fascinated by the desire to hear
what Bronson could prove, though he had heard him
recount it more than once before.

“I was passing through your woods to the mill, it
was an early autumn—I think I have observed, gentlemen
of the jury.” Bronson continued, speaking as if he
were giving testimony, to produce the greater effect
upon his listener, “and I have been led to observe our
autumn from this murder—I think I have observed
that they are earlier now than formerly. As I was
saying, passing through the woods of the prisoner at
the bar in a hollow about a quarter of a mile behind
his house, I saw him, the prisoner, with one of his
slaves, named Jessee; I knew him well, a weakly, gentle
creature.”

“He was not weakly or gentle neither, by G—!”
ejaculated Elwood.

“Hear my testimony,” continued Bronson, taking
advantage of the other's emotion, and emphasizing

what he said with his first right-hand finger in his left
hand, while Elwood seated himself on a log for a
moment and jumped up again. Hear my testimony,
“in my opinion, and I knew him well, gentlemen of the
jury—I am speaking as if I were under oath—a
weakly, gentle creature, loading his cart with firewood.
He, the prisoner, ordered Jessee, poor fellow!
to lift an immense log in the cart—it was an ox-cart,
gentlemen, and the log was so large that it would take
three of you to lift it;” here Elwood looked up as if
he were making a mute appeal from the falsehood.
“Yes, gentlemen, I feel satisfied it would take three
of you to lift it—Jessee could scarcely move it—his
master, the prisoner, leaped from the cart, and commenced
whipping him most unmercifully with the
horse-whip.”

“I never struck him but one blow,” exclaimed
Elwood, and you said, yourself, at the very time I
gave the mortgage, that you believed it was done in
sudden passion without any design to kill.

“First impressions are almost always roving,” continued
Bronson, coolly; “my testimony, as I now remember
the shocking event, will make out a case
against you of murder in the first degree—a wilful,
deliberate, and most cruel murder on a harmless and
unoffending slave. After, gentlemen of the jury, the
prisoner had beaten him as I state, he ordered him
again to lift the log: he couldn't move it—again he
was beaten.”

“Why didn't they hear him at the house,” cried out
Elwood in a frenzy.

“His master telling him, all the while he was striking
him,” continued Bronson, “that if he dared to utter one
word, he would kill him on the spot. When, gentlemen
of the jury, the prisoner at the bar grew wearied with
beating Jessee, he ordered him again to lift the log.
How the poor slave exerted himself—but in vain.

I'll kill you, then,' cried out Elwood, `you're not
worth your salt;' and, so saying, he struck him to the
earth with a billet of wood; and beat him till he was
stone-dead. I could see all this through the trees, as
I was advancing towards the prisoner, while he was
so determined in his purpose that he never even looked
round, as I discovered. After the prisoner was satisfied
that his unfortunate and unoffending slave was
dead, he dragged him by the feet to a hole a short
distance off, formed by the roots of a tree which had
been blown down by a whirlwind, and covering the
body carefully with leaves and sticks, he drove his
cart home.”

“I never hit him but one blow in the world,” exclaimed
Elwood, wiping the cold drops from his forehead,
“and that was in a passion, with a stone. You,
yourself, helped me to cover him up, for you come
up at the moment—and God knows that I have suffered
enough in mind for it, and how much did I pay
you then, and since, to say nothing about it: it has
kept me a poor man.”

“I have a memory most distinct for some things;
some things I cannot remember. What will be the
further testimony in this case, corroborative of mine?
That some boys—this accounts from not opposing
persons gunning on your place—that some boys, in
hunting in your woods, discovered the skeleton of
Jessee. A coroner's inquest was held over it—it was
pronounced by Dr. McVittee, to be the remains of an
African; such was the verdict of the jury of inquest,
also that the skull was fractured. They concluded
by giving it as their opinion, that the bones were the
remains of an African, who had been murdered by
some person or persons unknown.”

Elwood sighed heavily.

“Furthermore,” continued Bronson; “another point

which you never thought of, sir, and in which you
overlooked yourself. You advertised Jessee as a
runaway.”

“'Twas by your advice,” said Elwood,

“Such will not be my testimony—you advertised
Jessee as a runaway, and you described the clothes
he had on at the time. The buttons were peculiar,
you stated, of his jacket; they were taken from an
old regimental coat of the revolution and had an
eagle on them. Among the bones of Jessee, in corroboration,
it will be shown that buttons were found,
and on their being brightened, they turned out to be
continental buttons—ha! you forget these little things
in all such cases fix the facts in the jury's mind, and
fasten upon the prisoner the verdict of—Guilty.”

“I will see her—you shall have her if I can content
her!” exclaimed Elwood, in agony; utterly appalled
at the array of facts and falsehoods, which
Bronson was so able, and expressed himself so determined
to bring against him.

“Then we are friends,” said Bronson, taking his
hand, “as we have ever been, with but this little interruption,
which arose on your part. I will not call
on her this morning. Go, forthwith—you are in the
right peace of mind to extort the definite promise—
let the marriage take place to-morrow at farthest.
I'll see her this afternoon. Now—now's the time—”
so speaking, and leaving Elwood transfixed to the
spot, Bronson drew his hat over his brow, and
taking a pathway through the woods hastened to the
village.

The facts of the killing of Jessee were simply these:
Elwood was a man of uncontrollable passions. He
was in the woods with his ox-cart, accompanied by
Jessee, whom he ordered to lift a certain log into the
cart. Jessee, who was a stubborn, self-willed negro,

did not choose to exert the strength which he was
capable of, to lift, at which his master damned him.
Jessee answered him back impudently, and without a
moment's reflection he lifted a stone and felled him to
the earth a corpse. Bronson was passing through
the woods gunning—it was at a day before interest
had taught him the policy of joining the church; he
was a needy adventurer, and he availed himself without
scruple of Elwood's fears. For the sum of a
thousand dollars he promised to say nothing of the
matter, and assisted Elwood in hiding the body. It
was afterwards discovered, as he has asserted. By
his guilty knowledge, he held a control over Elwood,
which grew at last to be absolute.

He had obtained large sums of money from him at
different times, and had got him to mortgage his property
for a small sum to a third person, once when he
had not ready cash, which mortgage Bronson had
paid, thereby obtaining an assignment of it to himself.
Elwood never had had the courage to offer to forclose
it. The thought that there was a possibility of
allying himself through his neice, to the Fitzhursts,
had never entered his mind, and on its being alluded
to by Bronson, who had strong suspicions to that
effect, he summoned up the short-lived resistance
which we have recorded.

Elwood repaired instantly to his house, and to the
chamber of Sarah. Utterly unnerved by the threats
of Bronson, he revealed to her the facts of the case,
and the perjury which Bronson was determined to
commit, to make him a victim, if she would not consent
to be his wife. Throwing himself on his knees
before her, he implored her to save him by marrying
Bronson on the morrow.

Horrified at the disclosure, and at the fiendish guilt
of the man who was willing to commit perjury for

revenge, and consign her relative to the gibbet, unless
she would wed him, she could only say; “I will,”
when she fell from her chair as lifeless as the body
of Jessee under the deadly blow of her suppliant.