 | ROBERT STEELE. The Down-easters, &c. &c.
&c. |  |
25. ROBERT STEELE.
There had been a heavy shower. But the clouds
were hurrying away, the sun was breaking out with a
warm lustre, and the whole earth was smoking with
incense. I never saw a more beautiful sky—every
cloud was a picture, every shadow a new transformation
of the landscape. We were sitting together on
a little wooden bench, at the door of a one-story-house,
which had been white, with a high dark roof
and projecting windows—formerly a cottage, or the
nearest approach to one we ever see in this part of
the world,—now the porch of a country tavern, the
anti-chamber of a grog-shop. I was leaning back
with my arms folded, and eyes half-shut; now
wondering at the beauty and freshness of our New-England
scenery; now looking out over the broad far
common, as level as a floor, besprinkled with miniature
tents and booths, and all alive with groups of
boys and girls, hardy, but rough and awkward militia,
in caps that were too large and coats that were too
small for them, a corps of artillery, a circulating
troop of wheelbarrows, and a squadron of horse;
now studying the far sky through a glimmering
curtain of hop-leaves, vine-leaves and flowering creepers,
that hung between me and the low sun, a part
of the transparent foliage overlaying the rest with
shadow, changeable, burnished, and dripping with
large rain-drops—a shower of `barbaric pearl and
play about the floor, and over the white-washed wall,
and the wreck of what had been the prettily-contrived
and the prettily-painted trellis-work of a flower
garden, at my elbow, as the live drapery broke and
fluttered, and swayed this way and that with every
change of the wind; now trying to make out the
familiar history of what I saw on every side of me—
neatness gone to decay—white pillars written all
over with lead pencil, spattered with slops and stained
with tobacco-smoke—the very windows, over which
the wild rose yet clambered in large ragged masses,
covered with a grog-score—green blinds utterly cast
away and half-buried in the dirt, or hanging by one
hinge a piece and ready to drop at a touch or a
breath, every creak appearing to be the last—the
insignia of idleness and mischief cut and carved all
over what had been the portico of a tasteful habitation,
wretched caricatures, bad poetry, and worse whittling
(where whittling is a trade), profiles of nobody, with
a brush-wood or juniper wig, verses that rhymed
everywhere but in the right place, and great staggering
initials, no two of which were of a size or shape,
though all appeared to be looking for partners, and
five or six of a somewhat similar type for each other,
though one half were built with the wrong end up,
and the rest were shadowed contrary to law; and now
hearkening to the roar of the water-falls, which as it
grew quieter and quieter abroad, began to draw near,
with a heavier and more sea-like noise.
We were sitting together, I have said; that is, we
were sitting back to back on the same badly contrived
bench, myself a stranger, and my companion—I
saying that he was a very small man, who chose to
wear a cocked hat, a leathern waistcoat, a pair of cowhide
shoes with silver buckles, and blue yarn stockings
rolled up over his knees in the dog days. How
he contrived to occupy so much as he did, was always
a mystery to me. More than half the bench did he
take up, and that half—as some people do their part
of a loaf or a bed, right out of the middle. Perhaps
thought I, he may be one of our native New-Englanders
who value themselves on their sprawl, as they term it.
If so, you may track him through life, by the chairs
he has wrenched or split, by the walls he has worn
the paper off, and by the holes he has bored through
every carpet he was ever allowed to work his chair
upon, like a centre-bit, or a gouge. For my own part
if I am ever able to furnish a house for the habitation
of thorough-bred he-yankees, much as I love and respect
them for their disregard of idle courtesy, and
for their doing as they would be done by, in every such
case, it shall be with chairs that are built into the very
wall, or screwed to the floor; and if—I only mention
the thing—if a scraper, a hat-rack and a spit-box, were
slyly shoved in their way, the moment they opened
the outer-door, perhaps there would be no harm in
that, and perhaps they might be led to perceive by
and by, that wearing a hat in the house of a friend, or
tilting back in a chair which is none of the strongest,
though it may be of the costliest, or spitting holes
through a carpet, is after all, no proof that a man is a
man, a lover of liberty, a despiser of kings, courts,
and every other sort of outlandish trumpery, not worth
having here. Allow what you please for the native
sense of a New-Englander, I do not perceive that boorishness
or nastiness are virtues; or that, although it
is better to be thought superior to, than ignorant of
the usages of the world, and better therefore when
you are in doubt, to carry it with a high hand, still—
I was interrupted here, by my neighbor of the yarn
stockings and cow-hide shoes, who lifting himself up
and fetching a long breath—as long as from here to
the head of the street—and puffing a gill or two of
tobacco smoke athwart my face, begun to hum a part
of old hundred, beating time as he did so, with a large
ivory-headed cane, just by the side of my hurt knee,
with a vigor that made me jump at every turn of the
tune. I retreated inch by inch, and he pursued me
inch by inch, but whether intentionally or not, I never
knew. What I do know however, is, that when he
had got me fairly penned up in the corner, and when
I was just ready to cry out, he perceived the danger,
and stopped, and stared at me for a moment or two,
and then without a word of apology, slipped into
Yankee Doodle, and puffed the rest of the smoke into
the face of a fat man who had dropped asleep with his
mouth open at the other end of the bench. A moment
after this, he stopped suddenly and rose half up out of
the seat, as if to call to some body afar off. I thought
something was the matter, for the hand in which he
had pulled away the torn foliage, was not over steady.
I followed the direction of his little keen eye, and
found it pursuing a group of men who had collected
together a few rods off, and were probably waiting for
another body just about to issue from the crowded
bar-room at our back, the windows of which, running
view of what I had long wanted to see, the interior of
a country tavern on a muster day, without leaving my
seat, or appearing to observe with a curious eye. But
I saw the whole and remember the whole. Here was
one huge fellow trying to jump over a table backwards;
there another trying to hop over his own leg,
with the foot fixed to the wall, and there another, with
his coat off and shirt-sleeves rolled up, trying to spell-Andrewbigbaggington-Dollasee-dan-Hyocathmarine.
Here a party pulling fingers with each other, 'till their
eyes were ready to drop out of their sockets; and
there another, counted off in pairs, with their elbows
planted on a table, and pressing their palms together,
to see which would give way first. Within two or
three yards of me, just under the drippings of the bar,
sat a grey-haired man, with a flushed face, and a quivering
lip, trying to persuade a boy of twelve to draw cuts,
or clap coppers with him for a glass of high-colored
liquor just poured out, and gleaming in the live sun-shine
that flashed through and through the decanters
and glasses, and played about on the slippery edge of
the bar, and among the green branches that overshadowed
it, with the scented shadow of the wilderness.
A little further off, just on the border of the highway,
which was thronged to overflow with speculating and
swapping natyves, a large number of well-dressed
youth had gathered in a cluster, some standing a-tip-toe
and stretching away to overlook their neighbors,
some stooping with their elbows on their knees, like
players at leap-frog, or holding on by each other in
pairs, or dodging about hither and thither to get a
peep, and some sitting or lying stretched out, with
prodigious weight from above—the weight of mirth
and curiosity; two or three of their number I saw
with six-inch native cigars in their mouths, learning to
draw smoke with an air (as if that were an accomplishment
for any thing but a flue or a stove-pipe) two
with their shirt-collars open, the third with his hat
pulled over one ear, and all three growing paler and
paler and sicker and sicker at every whiff. Others of
the party were betting, and swearing, and chewing
tobacco, or throwing off brandy-and-water, glass after
glass, the winner because he had won, and why
should'nt he swallow what he had won, though it made
him sick? the loser, forsooth, because he had lost, and
having to pay for the stuff, why should he not have
his lawful share, though he loathed the very smell of
it? and others, the centre of the group and the seat of
attraction for all, were pitching four-pence-happ'nies[1]
with a large, powerful, good-natured, yellow-eyed
nigger, who in the triumph and joy of his heart, gave
them the advantage of all the ties, and lent to all that
lost, and yet was lucky enough to win every pitch, 'till
being over-persuaded by the boys, and overpowered
by the flip they flooded him with, he began to talk
paw-aw-ties with a stray representatyve o' the neighborhood,
after which he was robbed and cheated so
openly, that the very children saw through it, as they
lay on the grass, and whooped and hollowed for joy,
every time the poor nigger had to shell out; and the
very mothers and wives that occupied all the windows
overlooking the spot, and the glossy-haired, bright-eyed
so many colored apparitions, over the broad green
level before me, even they appeared to relish the joke
as often as they got a peep at what was going forward.
What a school for the brave youth of New-England,
thought I, rather above my breath I dare say, for the
stranger uttered a low growl in reply. Our mothers
and our wives, our daughters and our grown youth,
encouraging our little boys to rob a poor black, whom
they would not be allowed to associate with; of his
pocket-money. I turned away my head and shut my
eyes; but a growing uproar caused me to open them
again, and when I did, it was to see two middle-aged
farmers, both half-seas over, showing their wealth,
dropping it slowly from their clenched hands, held
high up in the air—cent by cent—and four-pence by
four-pence—eyeing each other like two tom-cats the
while (I expected every moment to see the feathers
fly) now leaning forward and gasping for breath, now
pulling back and wavering with fear, as it came, turn
about, to make the drop or wait the issue; for the
agreement was, that he who dropped most should have
all—with a plenty of abuse, a cuff o' the ear, and a
quarrel to boot.
Hurra there, hurra! cried the party within the
house.
Hurra there, hurra! echoed the party without.
Who's chose? eagerly enquired a youth from below.
I made no reply, though I saw the question was
directed to me; for to tell the truth, I had not observed
what was going forward in the bar-room, beyond
what I have described. I had been lost in a
asleep where I was, with my head against the wall,
my mouth full of flies, and my poor leg stretched out
on the pillow before me, but for the breaking up, the
rush and the outcry of the multitude, as they swept by
me.
Plaguing critter, said the youth, as he turned away,
no speak to him, I 'spose, wont say a word more 'an
he's a mind to.
I say, you mister! ye haint got any more butter to
sell, have yer? cried somebody at the door, with a
voice like a trumpet.
A man who was riding by, drew up at the noise,
and looking over his shoulder, answered in the purest
New England fashion—Do you want to buy?
What d'ye ask?
What 'll yer give?
How much have yer got?
How much do yer want?
I looked up in astonishment here. The parties
were perfectly serious. One had butter to sell—that
I knew; the other wanted to buy, that I could see.
How much do I want? said the purchaser, drawing
a long breath, and then making a full stop, as if determined
never to commit himself.
Why don't you say? said the other.
And why don't you say?
Say what?
Botheration seize it, how do I know? If you want
to sell your butter, why don't you answer my question?
Well—why don't you answer mine?
Why—don't I?
Why, do you?
Do I—darn and set fire to sich a feller as you are,
did ye ever answer a question in your life?
Well—did you?
Be quiet fools! Why don't you answer each other?
Zounds and death, are we never to have an end of this
eturnal see-saw, said a voice at my elbow—the deepest
and lowest voice I ever heard, though every whisper
went through me. I looked that way. There was
the pipe, and the three-pronged hat, and there the
cow-hide shoes, and the buckles, and the yarn stockings
rolled over the knee; and the firm, sharp, sensitive
and healthy lips—but there was no motion to
them.
I was about to speak, when my attention was called
off by the approach of a young and somewhat superior
looking man, who appeared to hold himself aloof
and apart from the multitude, though his eye was fixed
upon the door, with a look that made me watch him
in spite of myself. Shoes were bandied about, and
he smiled, as they passed him, but with no such smile
as the others welcomed every, even the rudest and
silliest. He appeared above such mirth; and his pale
fierce look had a show of something, that when I
think of it now, makes me tremble. I wonder now
that I was not alarmed by it at the time. The people
knew him, but they passed him, with an air that galled
his proud spirit, I do believe—for the next moment,
as the newly elected officers came forth, he turned
away, and walking hastily up to a booth near me,
threw off a tumbler of what appeared to be very strong
brandy-and-water—dashed a piece of silver upon the
earth, and was turning to go away, when a troop of
saw, with their sashes and feathers flying in the wind
and their heavy cimitars ringing as they trod, came
near the spot, and as their horses were brought up
one by one, mounted and rode off. As they did so,
however, I heard somebody say, God help thee, boy!
—and then I heard them laugh and look toward the
booth; and as they did so, I saw the stranger who
had interested me so much, strike his heel into the turf,
grasp another huge goblet of liquor, and throw it off
with his face upturned to the sky, so directly before
me that I could see the writhing of the lip, the heaving
of the chest, and the mortal flashing of the eye, and I
thought I could see—perhaps I deceived myself—a
shadow of loathing and self-reproach go over his broad
luminous forehead, like a convulsion.
Robert Steele! cried the stranger at my side, starting
up, and smashing his pipe on the floor. Robert
Steele, I say!
But Robert Steele, for that was the name of the
other, would not forbear. He saw me, and I believe
he saw my companion, but I do not know; for he
turned away, and flinging the goblet he had just emptied
against a large rock that lay in his path, went
away toward the subskirts of the wood, with his arms
dangling at his side, and his eyes fixed upon the earth,
as if pursuing, step by step, some invisible creature
that kept near the ground.
For God's sake, lend a hand here, said my hitherto
speechless companion, grasping me by the arm.
With all my heart, said I, trying to get up as I
spoke: but you see what a cripple I am. Here Smith,
—Harry Smith I say, lend a hand here, will you!
strength and courage, and I wanted him to give the
elder a lift, for I had, I know not wherefore, a secret
apprehension of something terrible which would require
all my fortitude before long. But before Smith
could arrive, my man was off, and I hobbling after
him with my one crutch. I had not gone far, when
seeing the multitude give way on every side, I looked
up and saw Arthur Steele pursuing his way directly
across the common, the elder trying to cut off his approach
to the wilderness, and a very awkward, heavily-mounted
trooper, spurring and whipping toward him,
flourishing a sword in the air and shouting to him,
not to go that way.
But Robert Steele kept on.—
The horseman rode up, directly in his path, and
swore, if he took another step that way, he would cut
him down.
Robert lifted his eyes and strode on—I shouted—
the trooper struck at him with the flat of his sword,
but—instantly—before I could throw up my arms, or
utter a cry—Robert snatched the bridle; the horse
reared, and the rider was tumbled to the earth, an uplifted
sword flashed in the air, as if wielded with the
strength and fury of a maniac; and I do believe the
overthrown trooper would have been put to death on
the spot, if the outstretched arm had not been arrested
by a shriek, and the sight of an officer dashing at full
speed over the plain. A moment more, and Robert
stood in the way of that officer, who tried in vain to
stop his horse—a cut appeared to be exchanged between
them, as the creature passed—and before the
troop could be put in motion, or the videttes leap to
reeled in the saddle—dropped the reins—pitched
forward with his arms in the air—and the next moment,
I saw his cap on the turf, the horse galloping
away at full speed for the river, and the poor fellow
dragging, with his foot in the stirrup. The shrieks of
women were now heard from every quarter—the confused
trampling of horses—two or three pistol-shots
in quick succession—and then the roar and the rush
of a great multitude sweeping by me with irresistible
power;—then followed a momentary stillness like
that of death—then, a long, long shriek, as from the
agony of a mother's heart—and then a loud, vast,
overpowering outcry, that a man was killed.
I stood where I was, giddy and sick with horror—
motionless with fear. And the first thing that awoke
me to a full perception of the truth, was the sight of
Robert Steele, not five yards from me, holding a horse
by the bridle, with one foot in the stirrup ready to
mount. He saw me, and perhaps recognised me, for
he stopped and said to me with a smile—yes a smile—
You see that I could escape if I would,—as he spoke,
he leaped into the saddle, and sat adjusting one stirrup
to his foot, with his head bent over the creature's
neck; I never saw a more beautiful, nor a more spirited
animal.
If I could have stopped him there—if I could have
reached the bridle at that moment, I would have given
the last dollar I had on earth. Yet I am no friend to
capital punishments; and if I were to betray a fellow-creature
to death, I care not how, I care not why, I do
believe that I should never sleep soundly again.
But I shall not escape, said he, throwing himself
sir! And the creature, frightened at the voice, backed
for a moment upon his haunches, threw up his main
in the air, and set off at full speed, with the rein
flying loose and the stirrups ringing in the wind.
How wonderful is the nature of man! I would now
have given the last dollar I had on earth, yea my right
arm, to secure the escape of Robert Steele, as he stood
before me now, within reach of that very arm—with
no possibility of escape now—for the multitude were
gathering and concentrating about us now, from every
part of the field, and the troopers were riding hither
and thither, and every living creature was hurrying to
the spot—he was pale now, very pale, and speechless;
and the sweat stood upon his forehead in large drops.
At length a man touched him on the shoulder—it
was the man with the cocked hat—and without
speaking a word, pointed to the highway, as I should
have pointed to the grave.
Robert Steele turned toward him at the touch, but
when he saw who it was, he started—and his dry lips
moved, but no sound reached my ear, though I was
not a yard off.
No, no, said a bystander, pressing through the
crowd, that won't do, Doctor Farrer. That young
man must be put into safer hands than yours; we
know you, I rather guess, a little too well to trust any
murderer—
Robert Steele gasped for breath.
I beg your pardon, Major Steele,—much less a
nephew in such hands.
That's true! that's true! whispered several that
were nigh.
The man with the cocked hat made no reply; but
lifting up his ivory-headed cane, stretched it forth to
the full length of his arm, and making a slow, steady,
sweep with it, so as to keep off the multitude from before
his path, pursued his way, with a firm grip on
the collar of his nephew.
Ah, Major Steele is that you? said another voice
afar off.
Here comes the high-sheriff! cried twenty voices
from the heart of the crowd.
Sorry to see you here; always afeard o' somethin'
o' the sort you know; your head wont bear much.
The next moment, a tall, rough-looking man rode up
to my side; ah, Doctor Farrer—how d'ye do, how
d'ye do; how goes it.
Why—cleverly, said the imperturbable man, without
looking up, or turning his head, or altering his
step.
Mr. High-Sheriff, said the speaker, who had previously
objected to leaving the nephew in the custody
of his uncle; it is your duty to take charge of that
young man.
No more'n 'tis your'n though, neighbor Jeddy.
But I say 'tis though; and I say 'taint; and that's
all you know about it; and I'll leave it to the rest o'
the company, broke from the lips of another and another
of the crowd, 'till thirty or forty were disputing
together.
Silence! cried the Doctor, at last, worried out of
all patience by the growing uproar. Silence, I say!
What are you made of? Is it not enough that a fellow
creature is charged with murder, but you must pursue
him with your obstreperous howling to the grave?
child—my name is Joshua P. W. Farrer—You
see that I have him fast (his large powerful hand was
relaxed for a moment here, as if to show what a tremendous
gripe it had.) Was I not the first to take
him by the throat?
So he was—true enough—so he was! muttered several
voices in reply.
—Yet he was my own brother's child.
I heard a low suppressed breathing on every side of
me.
But for me, continued the strange man—but for me,
perhaps, he might have escaped.
Very true, whispered several.
Yet he was my own brother's child.
An audible groan; a shiver that could be felt on
every side of me, through all the pressure of the crowd,
was the reply.
Are you afraid to trust him with me now?
No, no—no, answered a number of voices.
Very well. That's enough. I am satisfied now.
Joshua P. W. Farrer, son of Timothy W. P. Farrer,
of Yarmouth, would have lived to little purpose indeed,
if his pledge were to be refused now for the life
or safety of any thing. As for you Mr. High-Sheriff;
it is your duty sir, and is the duty of each and all of
you, to arrest any body, at any time, whom you see in
perpetration of wrong. Do your duty as I did mine—
put forth the strong hand of a fellow-citizen, though
it be to gripe the shoulder of your own child, whenever
you see such a thing done, as this unhappy
nephew of mine has done this day. Why do you stop
my path—we are now at the threshold of a door, over
to me,) shall pass. But the other day, not a
twelve month ago, Robert Steele was in safety—in
more safety than you are now—or you—or any of you.
Now he is charged with murder. Why? Because
he did no more than most of you have done this day—
he meddled with the betrayer. Look up Robert, look
up my poor boy, and show that if you grow pale—
and shake and falter in your tread, it is not so much
the fear of death, as the going over that threshold—
Robert I say.
The wretched man locked his hands, with an audible
prayer, and held them to his heart, with convulsive
strength.
Even so, my poor boy.—We had now reached the
door; the doctor set his foot on the step, the culprit
shuddered and held back, and the crowd gave way to
the recoil that ensued, and left a clear space about the
door: Even so; they who are now shivering with
terror when they touch you; they who are ready to
cry out for joy that they are not as you are, a man
accused of murder—a manslayer—a drunkard—even
they are not so safe as you were a twelve month ago,
when you first broke your oath—went to a review—
was elected a major, and emptied the goblet of death.
Come in, sir.
The next moment, we were in a room together—
all three of us—the people outside, awaiting in silence
for the return of somebody with a warrant—and yet
there was a low continual murmur, as of a pent up
sea, eddying about the four walls of the house. I had
leisure to observe the room; for the doctor went away
into a far corner and stood there with his back toward
had been a superb sofa; all the rest of the furniture
was in keeping—all rich, tasteful, and apparently
heaped together into a place never intended for it.
Were I allowed to speculate on the appearance of
what I saw, I should say that it resembled a magnificent
shipwreck; for the room was far too crowded,
the articles far too sumptuous, though chaste;—they
had evidently been wrenched away from their appointed
places in a larger and better house, and huddled
together here, it was not for me to conjecture
why. There was a worth, and a strength in everything
too, and a sobriety, such as we are not accustomed
to see in the dwellings of power, much less in
the low-roofed habitations of earth. A connoisseur
would say at a look, that feeling and study had been
at play here, wealth of the better kind, a secret luxury,
that would never trust to fashion for the style or
shape of its familiar household things, a love and a
taste far superior to the borrowed fancy or imported
relish of the cabinet-maker, or the upholsterer, the
ungifted, or the unthinking. The secretary, the
sofas (there were two), the mahogany chairs, and the
mahogany framed glasses to correspond, were all instinct
with the spirit of wholeness, companionship and
foresight. Every thing corresponded with every other
thing, even to the color of the curtains; the walls,
and the carpet—yea, even to the patterns of each.
So gratifying was the quietude experienced here,
from the repose of color and shape, that I had nearly
forgotten, for a moment, the terrible catastrophe
which had just occurred, and my more terrible proximity
to the manslayer. But he brought me to myself,
stood near each other, and saying, with a voice and
a look that frightened us both—I heard a scream!
I heard nothing, said the Doctor.
But I did—I do now!
My poor boy, said the old man, laying his right
hand upon the shoulder of the youth, for he had a
youthful air even yet—my poor boy, compose yourself.
I understand you—I know what you mean—
She is fifty leagues from you this moment, if she is
one rod.
Then she is not one rod; for if I live, sir, I heard
her voiee not an hour ago, and it has been ringing in
my ear at intervals ever since.
Robert—Robert—said the aged man, losing all his
self-possession, at the look and speech of his nephew,
who stood before us like a bewildered creature—
Robert, I tremble for you.
Did you not hear a shriek, sir, at the very moment
when—God forgive me—I hope the poor fellow is
not dead, absolutely dead, is he sir?
I do not know, Robert; I—I—will you be so kind,
sir, (addressing himself to me), as to stay with this
unhappy young man, while I go to enquire about poor
French; and perhaps—pray sir, did you hear any
thing of the shriek?
I believe I did, sir.
A long, terrible, sharp cry, sir, added Robert, eagerly.
Yes, even what you say, a long, sharp cry.
God bless you, sir! and the tears gushed into his
eyes.
I leave Robert with you, sir. I know you, though
on the nature of his extraordinary case; and remember,
sir, if you please, I hold you answerable for his
safety, and for his forth-coming at the word of the
law.
You have nothing to fear said I; your nephew
would not escape, this moment, if you were to fling
the doors wide open to him, and show him a horse
ready saddled and bridled at the door. I then related
what I saw.
I believe you, sir; for I know that young man
well, better than you do, and but for one thing, I
would trust him anywhere—everywhere—and sleep
as soundly, though my own life were at stake, if I
had but his simple word for a pledge, as I would
with the security of the law—bolts and bars—
fetters and chains,—though they were fastened by
the array, or guaranteed by the faith, of a whole nation.
I shall not say what that one thing is now—
not now, Robert; for now we have nothing more to
do with the past. The future, my boy, the future, is
what we have to look to now; bear up—his voice fell
with a deep quaver, as he continued; bear up, therefore,
and hope for the best; and—and—he spoke yet
lower, as he laid one hand upon the latch of the door,
and bit his nether lip, and grasped the arm of his
nephew, as if to encourage him, in spite of his own
conviction—be prepared for the worst. Saying which
he left the room.
His words fell with a stunning, stifling, overpowering
weight upon his nephew; and for five minutes
or more, not another word was spoken.
At last, however, I thought it my duty to say,
I did not look upon the affair as desperate. He did
not appear to heed me. He sat on the sofa, with his
knees drawn up and his head resting on his hands—
his shoulders heaving at long intervals with prodigious
throes—and his breath rattling fiercely in his
throat.
I went up to him; I sat down by his side—I spoke
with him as a lawyer—as a man—I told him what I
saw and what I was ready to testify to—I did not reproach
him for swallowing the strong drink—I did
not even allude to it; but he understood me nevertheless,
and groaned aloud, and the sofa shook under
us; but I reminded him, that he might have escaped
and did not—his breath grew quicker—that perhaps
the blow he gave was not a mortal blow—he shook
his head violently, and a quick shudder followed
through every part of his body, and every limb was
convulsed. I then reminded him that the other had
struck at him as he rode up.
True, sir, very true—poor French!
And therefore, continued I, whatever may be the
issue to him, you are probably safe.
Safe!—how—how—cried he, starting up, and
throwing his arms abroad like a maniac. Safe, sir!
think you that I am afraid of death! Coming close
up to me, and planting his feet and setting his teeth,
and looking at me for a moment, as if he would tear
me into a thousand pieces, and then gradually relaxing
the horrible determination of his look—wavering—
faltering—and finally bursting into tears. No, sir, no,
he continued, I am not afraid of death; I have no fear
of anything now—hardly of Him that made me—have
instinct of my nature—become like the brute that
has gorged himself upon the wine lees. Have I not
slain a fellow man? true, he was my rival with the best
and fairest of God's creatures, and though I prevailed
over him, I could not bear it. He saw my overthrow—he
struck me too—and he derided me, with a
look of joy—and he triumphed a moment before his
death, over my abject nature. Has he not watched,
and made others watch her whom I had enslaved, with
pity, and sorrow; her whose heart I broke, within
three years after our marriage; her, who went crazy
not a twelvemonth ago, her, whose unearthly cry you
heard this day. Sir—that was my wife—the voice of
my poor wife!—Who cares for the wretch I have
slain? Who for the prophecy of her father on our
wedding-night, or the marriage-gift—the mother's
deadly gift, only three months after,—these things I
regard not. I have destroyed her; I have degraded
the most glorious image that ever a loving woman
built up for herself in the sanctuary of her own heart,
for worship—and what is there on earth to trouble me
now? I have killed her; I have degraded myself, beyond
hope—altogether beyond the reach of hope.
There—there! that is her cry! I should know it any
where, every where—in a desert, in the midst of the
ocean; I shall hear it forever—to the last breath I
draw—forever and ever—I am perfectly sober now:
I know what I say—
While he was yet speaking, the door flew open with
a loud crash, and a woman rushed forward with her
garments and hair flying in the wind, and threw her
self with a scream of joy upon his bosom—
O, Robert, Robert, have I found you at last! Oh,
my husband, my husband! that ever it should come
to this—O, my poor husband!
I looked about me, with a design to escape; totally
forgetting my pledge; but as I moved toward the
door, saw the large entry crowded with men, among
whom was the high-sheriff I had seen before. He held
an open warrant in his hand; but where was the uncle?
I was afraid to ask—the deep, deep silence about
me, awed me. Here were the ministers of the law
waiting for their prey—there was indeed no possibility
of escape now—there was the wife, the young and
beautiful wife I thought, by the glance I had of her,
the distracted and heart-broken wife, I knew, as she
lay cold and lifeless upon the bosom of her husband.
I went up to her—I spoke to her—I spoke to him;
but she lay there like a dead creature, and as for him,
he sat with his mouth pressed to her forehead, as if he
never—never would breathe or move again.
At last the officer drew nigh, and was about to whisper
something in the ear of the offender; but the hair
of his beautiful wife—she was beautiful—I could see
that now—stirred for a moment, probably with his
breath, and the officer and I both drew back affrighted
at the aspect of the man.
Be still—I know your errand, said he, after waiting
a minute or two longer; be still I am ready to go with
you, whithersoever ye will; but I cannot leave her—
she must go with me—dead or alive, we go together,
this body and I, this flesh of my flesh; we never part
again.
The look with which this was said, the piteous,
though determined look, and the voice of unutterable
the poor creature hardly spoke above his breath, yet
every body heard him—went to our very hearts; there
was not a dry eye in the room.
But where is Doctor Farrer? asked the sheriff; it is
already four minutes over the time.
No such thing, sir. It is exactly the time, said the
Doctor, entering with what I regarded at first, as a
look of dismay, and then as a terrible counterfeit—I
wondered at the change; he was altogether a different
man, cold, austere and peremptory now.
Do your duty, Mr. Sheriff, said he, I have done
mine. He is in your custody now.
Good God, sir! you will not leave your nephew,
said I, astonished at his aspect, so different from what
it was when he left us but a little time before.
And why not sir?
Uncle Joshua, said his nephew laying what appeared
to me to be the body of his wife, calmly and reverentially
upon the sofa; Eleanor is no more—as he
spoke, he held up his right hand; it was tinged with
blood—
A smothered cry broke from the crowd at the door—
a fierce tumult ensued—and for a moment I do believe
the supposed murderer of his own wife, might
have walked away from the very midst of the recoiling
crowd; but it was only for a moment—the next
they were ready to trample him to the earth—to tear
him limb from limb in their ungovernable rage.
But they were arrested by the loud commanding
voice of the doctor, who having gone up to the body,
and lifted the head, saw, or fancied he saw, signs of life.
Throw open the window! cried he—open every
that bell, sir. The crowd withdrew and left us together,
and after a moment or two, a middle-aged respectable
woman entered. He whispered, earnestly
to her, and as he did so, I watched his countenance,
and I saw, as plainly as I ever saw any thing in my
life, a smile of subdued triumph, almost of joy, flit over
his rugged features.
Surely said I, to myself, that must be some mistake
here; we have judged too harshly—that cannot be
the body of a murdered woman. As I spoke, she
moved, and her husband was on his knees before her,
beseeching her to open her eyes, and speak to him—
But she heard not, she answered not, she moved not.
Oh my wife! my wife! cried he, holding both her
hands to his mouth and kissing them with insatiate
and frantic joy, O, Eleanor, open but your eyes once
more, upon your repentant and broken hearted husband,
and he will die in peace! Will you not dear?
He stooped over her, and waited awhile; and listened,
and by and by an audible breath escaped her, and
her pallied lips, when they were touched with a white
handkerchief, betrayed the source of the stain that
thrilled us with such horror. The unhappy wife had
probably ruptured a blood vessel.
And then he stood up, righteously and bravely up,
and said to his uncle with a voice like a man—As for
me, sir, I do not wish to live; I am ready to die—I deserve
death, and I acknowledge it for what I have done
this day; but save her—save your child—save her—
and I will bless you, and pray for you, with the last
breath I draw.
I see no use in it, even if I had the power, said the
charge, and have my house cleared of the people.
The officer prepared to obey; but he would have
had some difficulty, had not the uncle said—
Look you, Robert Steele; if you do not go without
another word—you know me—your wife, there, shall
never revisit this earth again, with my leave. Take
your choice—going to the door, and holding it open—
either you or I.
The wretched man bowed low in reply; went up
to his wife and kissed her forehead, her mouth and her
eyes—and then with a look of wo I never shall forget,
gave his hand to his uncle, who turned away his head,
to conceal a tear, I hope, and followed the officer out
of the room, without uttering a word.
You have no further occasion for me, said I, shocked
and terrified at the presumption of the rude old man;
I wish you a good night. If your nephew desires
my aid, however, professionally or otherwise, I shall
be ready, night or day, to speak a good word in his
favor—
Very like, sir; but I have need of you also—touch
that bell for me again, if you please.
I touched the bell.
Now don't be alarmed at any thing you see—the
door opened as he spoke, and another fine-looking
elderly woman came in, and went straightway up to
the sofa, and began chafing the arms of the pale, fair
creature that lay there.
Poor child, poor child—I hope you have not gone
too far, sir.
Pho, pho; I know what I am about. She breathes,
you see, and she has been breathing all the time, I dare
stoppage, no stagnation, you perceive. But then look
here, touching her mouth, and showing the sign that
so terrified me, she has either cut her lip very much,
or ruptured some blood vessel.
The good woman stopped and looked up in his face
with a sort of terror.
There, there, don't be alarmed child; take her away,
and put her to bed, and keep her still for twenty-four
hours, and with the blessing of God—taking off his
hat, and lifting the rim to his face, so that he could
just look over it—we may have occasion to rejoice
over the sorrow of this day, the longest hour we have
to live. Young man, this way—
I limped after him mechanically, cheered I know
not why, with the devout and benignant seriousness of
manner that followed his brief prayer. He led me to
a study, fitted up in very good style, though crowded
to the ceiling with books that were covered with dust,
and evidently out of their place and ill at ease.
Sit down, sir. These books, and the furniture below—I
see your eyes are of some use to you—saw
you looking about you—belonged a twelve month ago
to Robert Steele, one of the proudest and best, and
most gifted men of our country. That filthy tavern
porch where I first met you, was the best-furnished
house in New-England, a twelve month ago. You
see what it is now; That woman you saw on the sofa,
three years ago, married Robert Steele against the
opinion of every body—he was fifteen years the elder;
don't interrupt me sir; youthful as he may look to you,
what I say is the truth: he and she both have grown,
I dare not say how much older, within a twelve month.
Why don't you ask me what has led to this change?
I was startled at the abruptness and strangeness of
this; but I contrived to say, you will oblige me, sir,
by saying how it happened.
Then, sir, in one word, sir—It was grog. Yes,
sir, it was grog—beastly grog, that made a fool of
one of the most extraordinary young men of the age,
and a mad woman of one of the blindest and most
affectionate of God's creatures.
I suspected as much.
You did, hey? But hear me through; I have not
done with you yet. I saw you throw off a glass of
brandy-and-water, the first day of your arrival, as you
prepared to sit down to dinner; it was the same the
next day, the next day, and the next.
I blushed and trembled at the rebuke of the old
man's eye.
So was it with Robert Steele. And now—look me
in the face—prepare yourself—I know you, and I
know your family; and I tell you now, as I told
Robert Steele on the night of his marriage—before
ten years are over, you will be a drunkard.
I was thunderstruck.
You do not believe me. But hear me through.
When Robert Evelett Steele was a boy, he got fond
of strong drink, no matter why, no matter how—first
he loved to dip sugar into sweet wine and eat the
sugar; then he dipped into stronger and yet stronger
wine—after a while, he tried brandy-and-water—then
a little more brandy and a little less sugar; 'till he
drank as you do now, a glass of brandy-and-water
every day before dinner. But he was an extraordinary
youth, as I have told you before. Something
took place one day, after he had been toying with
face I believe in a mirror, and he started up, and
shook off the encumbering chains and serpents that
weighed him to the earth, and walked away free;
and for nearly twenty years not a drop of strong
liquor ever passed his lip; he had forgotten the taste,
and the smell was a horror and a loathing to him.
But still, I had my fears, and on his marriage-night,
I told him before his bride, her mother, the preacher
and all, that before ten years were ended and gone,
he would be a lover of strong drink.
A curse on your cruel prophecy! How know you,
man—man—how know you—but your words have
been pursuing him from that day to this, haunting
him with a perpetual fear? If so, you have much to
answer for.
You mistake, sir. So long as Robert Steele, or
you, or any body else in your condition—you are
angry with me, are you not?
Yes.
Never mind. I shall finish what I have to say,
nevertheless. So long as you are afraid for yourselves,
you are safe. But the moment you have no
fear, that moment you are lost. Would you believe
that the final overthrow of all this young man's prospects
in life, was wrought by his own mother-in-law?
Indeed!
Yes, sir, by my own wife—and with a bottle of
Noyeau, and a bottle of Old Jamaica?
I do not understand you.
How should you? You have not heard half the
story.
I thought he was your nephew.
So he is.
And yet you say, your own wife, his mother-in-law.
Are you not his uncle?
A sort of uncle; but I am his father-in-law too;
he married my wife's daughter.
Oh—ah!
You are satisfied now I hope.
I am.
Please to hear my story now. About three months
after their marriage, his mother-in-law—my wife—
an excellent woman she was too—she is dead now—
there never was any body, I dare say, with a heavier
detestation of strong drink. She entered the chamber
where he and his happy wife were sitting together,
he reading to her and she at her work, and setting a
sealed bottle on the table before him, said, there's a
marriage-gift for you; that creme de noyeau is very
old; it came out of the Dash privateer. Some talk
ensued, and she then added, that she had two or
three bottles of old Jamaica spirits, of a most extraordinary
flavor, but as he never tasted of anything
of the sort, she supposed it would be of no
use to him. Certainly not, he replied; he would
not have it in the house. It would be a treasure to
them that knew the worth of spirit so old—but for
him, it was no better than so much aquafortis. But
a moment afterwards, something happened to be
said about punch—punch is a very innocent liquor,
as every body knows—I dare say, you began with
punch yourself.
I bowed.
Or sweet cider.
I bowed again.
Or Malaga wine.
Precisely, said I. I began with all three, as every
body does.
And so, sir, it was concluded to keep the Jamaica
for punch.
Will you tell me, sir, whether the man is dead,
before you go any further, said I. I have been
longing, yet afraid to ask you, every moment since
you returned.
No, sir—he is not dead.
Was he dangerously hurt?
Yes.
Did he strike first?
No matter now. Hear what I have to say, and
then, you shall know the exact state of the affair.
Let us make short work of it now. At the christening
of Robert's child, his first child, a miniature
picture of his wife, he made the punch, and tasted of
it, nothing more. I don't believe he drank a wine-glass
full. His wife reminded him of what I had
said on the night of their marriage, and of what he
had said on the night when he received the bottle
of Jamaica. Mother! what if this should make a
drunkard of me! What if this should lead to the
fulfilment of uncle Joshua W. P. Farrer's prophecy
—he never called me father, nor father-in-law. Not
long after this, he became a military man. He rose
rapidly; and he took the more pleasure in it, because
he prevailed over a much finer looking, and
a much younger man, a former suitor of his wife's,
one that every body said she ought to have accepted,
instead of Robert, who was almost double
day. Then, for the first time for more than twenty
years, he got drunk—absolutely drunk. It was
partly treachery, partly joy, partly triumph; he was
elected to a majority instead of poor French (a cloud
flitted over his forehead as he spoke the name).
Gradually—step by step—he grew fond of it; neglected
his books—profession—friends—wife, child—
every thing. I had hopes; but I gave them up, one
after the other. At last, I persuaded his mother-in-law
to decoy his wife away. We succeeded—we
suffered the cottage to be stripped—his books and
furniture to be scattered everywhere—we suffered
him to be steeped to the very lips in poverty, and to
believe his poor wife insane, as she actually was at
one time when he saw her in a fever—in short,
sir, we have done every thing, 'till to-day—and to-day,
sir, you were a witness of the terrible catastrophe—mad
with the triumph of his old adversary,
elected major to-day in his room—galled and fretted
to death by the behavior of the mob—who knocks?
The door opened, and in walked poor French
himself! He had a patch over his temple and his
right arm in a sling. Are you crazy? How dare
you leave your bed, sir? The doctor said, and
then the mystery was explained. The new major
had come to beg Robert Steele's pardon, and give up
the majority. But no; his father-in-law would not
hear a word of it, 'till Robert had been worked upon
for at least twenty-four hours. I could have wept for
joy; I never was so happy in my life, and I wanted
to go directly to the jail, and say in a whisper to the
unhappy man—Be comforted! But the order was
His trial, said he, properly carried through, may save
him. Nothing else can. I have no other hope. If
we can terrify him into self-distrust for the future
(looking hard at me) we are safe.
He was right. Robert Steele is now a reformed
man—a good husband—a good father—a good friend.
The fright saved him.
| ROBERT STEELE. The Down-easters, &c. &c.
&c. | |