33. XXXIII.
THE WIZARD OF THE MASSINUTTON.
IT was not until late in the evening that the case
of the singular inhabitant of the Fort Mountain
came up for examination.
He was brought from the private apartment in
which he had been confined, into the main room in which
the array of justices were seated behind the long table, and
directed to sit down until he was called—“when,” added
the individual who had arrested him, “you'll have a chance,
my proud-looking old fellow, to say if you are guilty, or not
guilty, and I've got my opinion as to how it'll turn out.”
With these comforting words the vulgar officer retired,
and left his prisoner to himself. That personage seemed to
pay no manner of attention to him who thus addressed him.
Had no one been beside him—no voice sounded in his ears
—he could not have exhibited a more perfect unconsciousness
of being spoken to. He was looking with a gloomy
and fixed glance at Lord Fairfax, who occupied his former
position in the middle of the line of justices: and thus, motionless,
stern, wrapped from head to foot in his old gray
over-coat, shaggy and soiled with long use, he presented a
singular spectacle. His long gray hair half covered his face,
which inclined forward, and the keen eyes, burning beneath
the bushy white eyebrows, were never removed for a moment
from the face of the Earl.
The rude crowd swaying to and fro at the door, regarded
the prisoner with superstitious interest; and as the shades
of evening began to descend, and his figure grow gradually
less distinct in its outlines, they watched him with as much
intensity as if they had expected him ere long to melt into
thin air, and disappear, with a disagreeable smell of sulphur
only left behind.
The remote and retired life of the old man, his systematic
non-attendance upon any occasions of public assembage
in the small towns, or at social gatherings—the mysterious
manner in which he had arrived a year or two before, no
one knew whence—and above all, the dense smoke which
was frequently seen, even in the hottest days of summer,
curling above the summit just beneath which his cottage
was situated—all these things had strangely impressed the
rude and credulous inhabitants of the frontier, and led them
to bestow upon him the name by which he was known
throughout the region—“The Wizard of the Massinutton.”
What had induced the drunken justice, Hastyluck, to set
on foot a prosecution against him for diabolical proceedings,
it was difficult to say. It may have been some private spite
—or the attempt of a sottish hanger-on to bolster up a
damaged reputation by an affectation of zeal in his office of
justice—or lastly, the mere enmity of a small, ill-natured
mind against one apparently without friends.
However this may be, it is certain that hastyluck set the
matter on foot; and in his vagabond wanderings among the
rude and ignorant settlers—especially those from the witch-haunted
land of Germany—he had experienced little difficulty
in impressing upon their minds the idea that every
misfortune which had ever happened to them had been
caused by the “Wizard of the Massinutton.” More than one
of these superstitious people were now present, prepared to
testify with the utmost distinctness against the prisoner—
and Major Hastyluck, who had spent a considerable portion
of the day in swilling Jamaica in Mynheer Van Doring's
inner room, now rubbed his hands and regarded the
two wizards seated before him with maudlin triumph.
“The prisoner, Powell,” said Major Hastyluck, in a thick
and stammering voice, “will now be arraigned.”
Lord Fairfax, whose place had thus been unceremoniously
assumed by the drunken Major, turned with a frown to that
gentleman, and said with some hauteur:
“I pray you, sir, permit the business of the court to proceed
regularly.”
To which cold words Major Hastyluck, who was quite
beyond the influence of hauteur, responded with the remarkable
words, uttered with shocking indistinctness:
“Hans Doppelkraut 'll tell you!”
After which the Major assumed an expression of much
dignity, and attempted to pare his nails with a goosequill.
The Earl bestowed a withering glance upon his associate,
which, however, fell powerless, and making a sign to the
sheriff, that excitable gentleman summoned the prisoner to
stand and say whether or not he was guilty of witchcraft.
The prisoner, thereupon, rose and said, “I am not guilty,”
in a calm and indifferent voice. Then taking his seat, he
fixed his eyes as before upon Lord Fairfax.
Carl Zellycreffer being called, testified in broad German,
that his child had been afflicted with internal dropsy and
rickets, which he believed to have been caused by the wizard.
Being interrogated as to the foundation for this opinion,
his reply was unsatisfactory.
Hans Doppelkraut succeeded this worthy. Hans testified
that he believed his cattle to have been destroyed by the
wizard's shooting them with hair balls, as no marks of disease,
or violence were discovered upon them:—his neighbor,
Flangel, who was too sick to attend, was certain that his illness
was caused by the wizard's changing him into a horse,
bridling and saddling him, and riding him at full speed over
the very top of the Fort Mountain, to a meeting of witches
and wizards in the “Hog Back.” He, the witness, did not
know how this was—but he could say, that in his opinion
his own cows had been made dry by the prisoner, by fixing
a pin in a towel for each cow—hanging the towel over a
door, and drawing the milk from the fringes. The officer
had told him they had seen a towel at the prisoner's house:
—and that the “Hog Back” was the most probable place
for a meeting, such as neighbor Flangel had declared he was
ridden to, saddled and bridled, with heavy spurs dug every
instant into his sides—which marks, by some witchcraft of
the prisoner, were, however, not visible when he returned to
his human shape.
Having given this perspicuous testimony, Hans Doppelkraut
stood aside, and Joe Gunn, hunter and trapper, was
called.
Joe Gunn, for his part, didn't know whether there was
any sech thing as witchcraft or not, and only hearn about it.
He had been acquainted with hunters who said their guns
were bewitched and wouldn't shoot straight—and when
Black, one of his hounds, couldn't be got to hunt of late, he
had burnt him in the forehead with a hot iron—after which he
didn't know whether he hunted or not, for, like an ongrateful
varmaint, he run away. Major Hastyluck there had told
him, Joe Gunn, “strange things was in the wind now-abouts”—and
asked him if he was well; when he, Joe Gunn,
told the Major that he did have a little tetch of the rhumatiz
from sleeping out o'-nights on the ground, the Major had
asked him solemnly if he was sure that this was not caused
by Powell. He, Joe Gunn, replying that in this miserable
world there was nothing whatsoever that was nat'rally sartin
but unsartinty, the Major had advised him to draw a picture
of the wizard on a plank, and shoot at it with a bullet
containing a bit of silver. His old woman wouldn't hear of
any such waste of precious metals, and he fired away at the
picture, drawn on the fence in charcoal, with an ordinary bullet.
The Major told him the bullet would hit the old wizard
all the same as if he was really there—and so, not wanting
to kill anybody, and knowing Long July Ann, his rifle, sent
the ball right where he put the bead, he aimed at the right
shoulder, and put it there. If the talk about wizards was
true, the prisoner ought to have an ounce of lead in his right
shoulder—which he, Joe Gunn, wouldn't like to have in his
own—and that was all he knew about it.
[1]
A singular expression of surprise passed over the face of
the prisoner, who nevertheless did not move.
“Search him, search him, according to the law of witchcraft!”
came with maudlin energy from the drunken Major
on the bench:—and many of the justices evidently acquiesced
in the propriety of this proceeding. But before the officious
worthies of the law could approach, the prisoner
rose slowly to his feet, and opened his lips to address the
court.
At the same moment a stir was heard at the door, some
pitying exclamations were uttered by the crowd, and through
an opening which was speedily made for her, Cannie advanced
into the court room. The wagon of good Mr. Yeardly
had broken down, and she had just arrived at the Ordinary
—trembling, pale, shaking with an indefinable fear.
The sight of the old man, however, seemed to give her
strength. The power of a resolute will, and a devotion
which spurned all fear, came to her assistance—without
shedding a tear, or hesitating a moment, the young girl,
with the air of a little queen, went to the side of the prisoner,
and throwing one arm around him, nested close to his
bosom.
But the trial was too much for her—the agitation she had
undergone too excessive—the proud and defiant look which
she directed at Lord Fairfax and the justices, was succeeded
by a nervous tremor, and burying her face in the old man's
breast, she clung to him, and sobbed wildly:
“Grand papa! grand papa! they shall not take you from
me! They shall not!—no they shall not, while I am
alive!”
A flood of tears followed these words, and for an instant
a dead silence reigned throughout the apartment. All eyes
were fixed upon the tall gray-haired man, clasped in the
embrace of the beautiful and devoted child—and as they
stood thus, bathed in the red light of the declining sun, there
was something so proud and noble in the forms of both, that
the crowd was hushed and awed.
The silence was broken by the prisoner.
“My Lord,” he said, calmly, in his cold, austere voice,
“my Lord and Gentlemen of the Court, I beg you to take
notice that this presence of my child was against my wishes
—I would scorn to make use of any such vulgar trick to excite
your sympathies. This absurd accusation of witchcraft
has been heard—the witnesses have testified—I might go to
my house again, cleared of the foolish imputation—but there
is still another charge to be brought against me, I believe.
Before that charge is made, I crave a few moments' private
conversation with the presiding justice of the court—my
lord Fairfax. In making this request, I am not impelled
by any fear of the result, or any wish to conciliate your
lordship's favor. My child is agitated—I would be home
again—I have other reasons, my Lord Thomas of Denton
—Fairfax, I should say. I pray that I may speak with your
lordship.”
At the words “Lord Thomas of Denton,” the Earl gave a
visible start and leaned forward in his chair, vainly endeavouring
to read some secret in the countenance of the prisoner.
But that countenance defied all his penetration—it was
cold and impenetrable—a mask might have conveyed more
expression.
Lord Fairfax drew back with a deep sigh and a bewildered
look, which was extremely unusual with him—but said
nothing. Then seeming suddenly to recollect the request
of the prisoner, he rose to his feet and said hurriedly:
“I pray the court to suspend its business for a brief period.
I am willing to grant the private interview which the
prisoner craves. I know not the character of the communication
which he is about to make to me, if it be a communication—but
trust I may rely upon the good opinion of my
honorable associates, that nothing will be taken into consideration
by me without their privity and advice.”
Major Hastyluck, who had been for at least an hour without
a fresh potation, cheerfully replied for his brethren, that
they had perfect confidence in his lordship—and then the
Major showed the example by staggering pompously from
his seat toward the inner room.
Lord Fairfax, still absent and looking with vague curiosity
toward the prisoner, made a sign to that personage, and
passed up the staircase to his private room.
The old man, with soothing words and a smiling caress,
entrusted Cannie into the hands of George, who hastened
forward to offer her his arm, and then wrapping his shaggy
over-coat more closely around him, stalked through the
group of insolent and astounded bailiffs after the Earl.
In a few moments the door was locked behind them, and
they were alone together.
