George Balcombe a novel |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. | CHAPTER IX. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
 | CHAPTER IX. George Balcombe |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
The lion preys not on carcasses.
A quiet night and a day of rest ensued, which
would have been delightful but for my impatience
to reach home. Yet that feeling had begun to
give way to one of an opposite, but more painful
character. The critical posture in which I had
left affairs there, made me dread my return almost
as much as I desired it. I felt myself borne on
and on to my fate, by an impulse irresistible as
fate itself, and the very sense of which weighed
on my spirits as ominous of a fearful doom. Such
a feeling in its deep strong current, sweeps us
along like the suck of a cataract. We listen in
vain for the roar of the water, but though we understand
not the impulse, a dread presentiment of
evil accompanies it. We would turn and fly, we
know not whither or from what, but are powerless.
We sink down and close our eyes, and yield to the
current that may bear us to bliss or to destruction.
I was now near enough my journey's end to experience
all the wretchedness of this condition. I
was impatient of rest, incapable of repose. But
whether to move onward or backward was most
yielded to every impulse, I might have traversed
and retraversed the same ground a hundred
times.
In the morning, John made the most of a sick
man's privilege, and lay in bed perhaps later than
he had ever done in his life. At last he made his
appearance, trying to assume an air of languor,
which the shrewd twinkle of his keen black eye
strongly belied, and contrived to limit himself to a
moderate breakfast, by which, however, he professed
to be mightily refreshed. Soon after, a rude-looking
fellow stepped in, and sitting down to the
table, began to eat of what was left on it. At the
moment the landlord (who was also the contractor's
agent) entered, and expressed surprise at seeing
him there. I soon discovered that he was the
driver who had driven us the night before, and
would have returned that morning. I had observed
him cast an inquisitive look at John, who
received it with an answering glance of intelligence;
but neither spoke, and John left the room,
after looking at Balcombe, and cutting his eye at
the other with an expression not to be misunderstood.
“Tom,” said the landlord, “how is this? Why
are you not with your horses?”
“I had business the other end of the road,” said
Tom; “and I got Bill to drive for me.”
“You're a pretty fellow,” said the landlord, “to
get such a chap as that to manage your team. Do
month, if a fellow we could get for eight would do
as well? You are getting above your business,
sir, and such another trick will throw you out of
our service.”
“For the matter of that,” said the fellow, “I don't
care how soon you discharge me.”
“Don't you?” replied the landlord; “then, sir,
you will drive one more trip, and by to-morrow I
can get another in your place.”
“Not another whip do I crack in your service,”
said Tom. “You talk about discharging me to-morrow,
and I'll discharge myself to-day; and
you must do the best you can.”
“Well,” said the landlord, “I suppose Bill will
do to drive to-morrow as well as to-day.”
“Oh yes,” said the ruffian, “he'll do well enough,
only just when you want to find fault with me.”
“None of your insolence,” said the landlord;
you are discharged, and your board is out; so
take yourself off.”
“I guess this is a tavern,” said the fellow, “and
I'll stay here just as long as I please, and call for
what I want. You've got money enough of mine
to pay for it.”
There was no gainsaying this, and the fellow
kept his seat in all the triumph of brutal insolence.
To make it more complete, he adjourned from the
breakfast table to the bar, to enjoy the privilege of
drinking without responsibility to any one.
In the mean time, Balcombe, turning over the
questions concerning persons whose names he
saw, and with whom he was acquainted. At last
he came to that of Montague. The landlord remembered
him well. He had been there a month
before; arrived Saturday night, and lay by for
the Sabbath, being unwilling to travel on that day.
He was a mighty quiet, good sort of a man; had
spent the day in reading, and had very little to
say, except when he heard the drivers swearing;
and then he talked to them so reasonably, and with
so much benevolence, that they seemed to take to
him, and he to them.
“I don't think this fellow profited much by his
lecture,” said Balcombe.
“No,” said the landlord; “but he was the very
one that he had most to say to, for the fellow
played me the same trick then, and staid here all
day; and ever since he will check himself in his
oaths at times, and speak of Mr. Montague's good
advice.”
Balcombe now proposed to me and James, that
we should amuse ourselves with shooting our pistols
at a mark. So said so done. A target was
set up. James fired with such precision as belongs
to a good eye and a steady though unpractised
hand; and I, in the martinet style of one
who has learned to fire at the word, as part of the
education of a man of honour. Both were pretty
good shots. As to Balcombe, his ball obeyed his
will. He did but look at the mark; and raising
was lodged in the mark.
Meantime John and the driver had come to the
place, the former leaning on his rifle, the latter
flourishing his long whip, and blurting out an occasional
oath, as if to show that he felt his independence
and his grog. His attention was soon
attracted to what was going on, which seemed to
have a sobering effect upon him. I observed a
growing uneasiness in his manner, and he began
to draw up to John, who took little notice of him,
but seemed lost in admiration at the skill of Balcombe.
Addressing him at length he said,
“I say, stranger, it an't no match at all between
you and these gentlemen; suppose you let me try
you a shot.”
“Agreed,” said Balcombe; “will you take a
pistol or your rifle?”
“I don't much care which,” said John; “but I
should like to try my rifle against your pistol,
sixty yards to twenty, for a drink of grog.”
The match was soon made. Balcombe fired
with his usual success. John snapped; and examining
his pan, found the powder wet. He now
put down the wiping stick, and, withdrawing that,
pronounced it to be wet too. The driver was near
him at the moment, and some words passed between
them which I could not hear. I only saw
that John's countenance was accusing, and the
other's deprecatory. The rifle was soon put in
order, and then the match began. The trial of
except that once when Balcombe's pistol made
long fire, he left room for John's ball between his
and the mark, so that John was proclaimed victor.
We now returned to the house and dined, when
Balcombe, going to his room, ordered up the forfeited
liquor, and sent for John to join us in drinking
it. As soon as we were seated,
“Well, John,” said Balcombe, “how did the
physic work?”
“Oh, prime sir!” said John. “That fellow
don't think there's your match upon earth, except
it be me.”
“Well, what does he say to it?”
“Oh, I've been honeying him up all the morning,
and talking about what business he'll go at next,
and I sorter put him in mind of what he was talking
about last night; and he seemed sorter so, and
sorter not so; like he wanted to talk and was
afraid. So when he seed you a shooting, maybe
it didn't make him open his eyes; and every now
and then I could see him scringe, like he thought
the bullet was in him. And when I told him I
could shoot as well as you, he pretended to make
light of it, but then he followed me and looked
mighty anxiouslike. The creature had forgot about
wetting the powder, and when the rifle snapped he
looked right innocent till I found out what was the
matter. And with that I looks right hard at him,
and says I,
“ `I'll tell you what it is, stranger; you don't
load in my gun.' Lord! if he didn't look guilty I
don't know. `And I reckon,' says I, `you think I
don't know what you were after down the road
before day this morning.'
“ `Hush! hush!' says he, `don't say a word and
I'll tell you all about it.'
“So with that I cracks away, and he thought I
beat you, 'cause you did not say your pistol blowed,
and just gave it up so. So then we goes to the
stable together, and says I,
“ `What is that you are going to tell me?'
“And he sorter hummed and hawed about it,
and says I,
“ `Stranger, you see it's just so: if you've anything
to tell me, tell it; if not, its all one to me.
I can take care of myself I reckon.'
“Then he looks right dubious, and says he,
“ `Did you hear me and Joe talking last night?'
“Says I,
“ `If I didn't, I reckon my gun did when I set
it there in the stall. And I reckon,' says I, `it will
take a smarter fellow than Joe to manage me, and
I with both eyes wide open.'
“And with that says he,
“ `I wish Joe was here, 'cause I haven't got no
right to speak too plain without his leave, especially
after he told me not; but,' says he, `you
come down to the stable after supper and we'll
see about it.'
“So I agreed, and then I come away.”
“Well, John,” said Balcombe, “now go to sleep
if you can, and sleep till supper, and I'll do so too,
because we must not sleep any more afterward.
When everybody else is asleep, come to my room,
and then you can tell me all about it. As to you,
boys, new flints and dry powder, and wait for the
word of command. I don't want to weary you,
and you can trust me.”
I heard no more of the matter until next morning.
There happened to be no one in the stage
but our party and one other, whom I could not
distinguish in the dark. He had already taken his
place on the back seat, when Balcombe handed in
his wife.
“As we are going down the mountain,” said she,
“I will sit in front.”
She did so; and Balcombe placing himself by
her side, I took the opposite corner on the same
seat. The stranger fronted me, and James was
vis a vis to Mrs. Balcombe. John, as usual, rode
with the driver. We went off at a rapid rate, but
presently slackened our speed at a moderate rise.
Balcombe now said,
“Are your arms in order, James? and your's,
William? Is your powder dry?”
We both replied that we had examined all a few
minutes before, and all was right.
“Then,” continued Balcombe, “take each of
you a pistol in one hand and a dirk in the other.
Now if the carriage stops before we reach the end
the fellow that sits in that corner.”
Then dropping the little window at the driver's
back, which was just behind his own head, he
said,
“You can drive, John, and must be in readiness
to catch the reins if the driver falls from his seat.
And you, driver, take notice: I have a pistol
pointed at your back that never misses fire. If
any ruffians attack the stage, as was done yesterday
morning, and you suffer the horses to stop a
moment, I will shoot you through the body; and
do you, John, shoot down any man that attempts
to stop the horses, and drive on. And now, boys,
all of you remember the watchword, `Deliberate
promptitude.' ”
This formidable arrangement, which gave me
for the first time a precise view of our situation,
was heard in silence by the driver and his confederate.
“Move on quietly,” said Balcombe; “keep your
horses hard in hand until we come to the point of
attack, for your life depends on their having mettle
enough to break away from anybody who may
try to stop them.”
He was obeyed to the letter; and we descended
the mountain at a moderate trot. At one of those
short sharp rises, which everywhere break the
slope of the Alleghany, we fell into a walk, and
had not ascended a hundred yards before we heard
the driver say,
“Get away, you damned fools; will you never
quit trying to scare people?”
At the same moment the lash rung loud and
sharp, and the horses, after a momentary check,
dashed away up the hill at a gallop. We now
moved on with speed to the next stage, where
Balcombe, with a sharp reprimand, dismissed the
ruffians.
“I will not take the trouble,” said he, “to prosecute
you for conspiring against my life. I don't
belong to your state, nor care not for offences
against her laws, and I have no malice against you.
But tell me, before we part, what was that scoundrel
to have given you?”
The men looked at each other, and at last Tom
answered,
“I suppose it an't no use to try and keep it a
secret now. It was a thousand dollars a piece.”
“And did he agree to take your word?”
“No, sir; we were to carry the waybill, with
your name upon it. He said the newspapers would
tell him all the rest of the story.”
“Where to?”
“To Essex county, sir.”
“Enough,” said Balcombe. “I never thought
that wretch could make himself so formidable as
to be an object of anything but contempt. But his
craft and indefatigable malignity begin to entitle
him to my resentment. I hope it may have time
to cool before I meet him. I should hardly allow
now.”
As we pursued our journey, Balcombe told me
that Joe, at Tom's instance, had consented to take
John into the plot. Tom was to take his place by
Balcombe's side, and at a proper moment stab him
in the bustle, and escape. John was to wet our
powder; and Balcombe being out of the way, the
rest were to be robbed, and taken on to the end of
the stage.
“But what,” said I, “did you mean by what
you said about the stopping of the stage yesterday
morning?”
“I forgot,” said Balcombe, “that you did not
know that. The eastern stage came in after you
went to bed, and I learned that the passengers had
heard from those who went down yesterday, that
they had been stopped, as I suppose, at the place
where we were beset.”
This was the last adventure of our journey
worth recording. Passing by all minor occurrences,
I hasten to the scene of those events on
which the happiness of my future life depended.
| CHAPTER IX. George Balcombe | |