University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
TIM'S VALOROUS ADVENTURES.

Tim Trudge, with his eyes fixed on the faint marks of
the wheels in the snow, scampered away out Broad street.
More than once his career was near being cut short by the
sleighs he met on the road. Deaf to all sounds but the
imaginary cries of Ned for rescue, and oblivious of all
danger but that which he fancied to be threatening the
poor boy, he plunged forward regardless of the consequences.
Had not the vehicles he met, in several instances,
diverged quickly from the course they were pursuing, he
must infallibly have been run over.

His speed seemed to increase the farther he ran. Once
or twice the watchman's rattle was heard, and he was
pursued as one escaping from justice. All who followed
him were soon distanced. One sturdy guardian of the
night, meeting him, aimed a blow at his head with his
heavy mace. Tim dodged it, and with a skilful backhanded
stroke, leveled his assailant. He did not so much
as turn his head to ascertain what injury his poker had
inflicted, but sped on without the slightest perceptible
diminution of his velocity.

When the streets were left behind him, he was attacked
by the dogs of the farm-houses. These he disposed of as
he had done the watchman. And as he progressed, he
observed with great satisfaction that the marks of the
wheels were not so nearly obliterated, or concealed by the
falling snow, as they were when he first set out in pursuit.
The clouds were becoming ruptured, and occasionally the
glimpses of the moon briefly illuminated his path. Already
the stupendous fabric of marble, looming up like some
deserted heathen temple of the east, capped with eternal
snows, was left behind. Silent as the voice of departed
ages, and frowning in the gloom of monumental mockery,
it had neither charms nor terrors for Tim. Ned was his
polar attraction; his heart the needle. And it was as true
as steel! The bounty of Girard might feed and clothe

the orphan; but Tim traversed the highway in quest of
him.

It was when descending the road beyond the great pile
alluded to, that Tim was startled by a human voice.

“Get out of the way, or I'll run over you!” cried a
man, passionately.

“No, by gosh!” cried Tim, looking up, and discovering
it to proceed from the identical cab which had been described
by the watchman. He seized the reins; but the
horse struggling violently, and even setting back his ears
and attempting to bite him, he aimed a blow at his head
with the poker, which instantly stunned him, and he fell to
the earth.

“Blast your infernal eyes! What do you mean?”
exclaimed the driver, descending from his seat and bestowing
a blow of his whip on Tim's head.

“Take that!” cried Tim, striking him down with the
poker.

The door of the cab flew open, and the astonished stock-jobber
stepped out.

“Who are you? What do you want?” he demanded.

“Ned! I want Ned! and I will have him, if I have to
kill all the men and horses in creation! Where is he?
Tell me quick?” demanded Tim, with the poker brandished.

“He's not here,” said Mallex.

“Where is he, I say?”

“Why, Tim! You impudent scoundrel! didn't I send
you for a book?”

“Yes, and your man at the office kept me there, while
poor Ned was took away! Where is he, I say? Don't say
another word, but tell me. I'm a madman, now! I'm
very dangerous!”

“Put down that stick, you rascal!” said Mallex,
endeavoring to seize it. It did come down. But it fell
with such force upon stock-jobber's head as to prostrate him.

“Now, Ned! come, boy!” cried Tim, rushing to the
door, and looking into the cab. It was empty. Tim
started back, and without looking at his enemies, who were
recovering from the effects of his blows, set off again at
his accustomed pace. He heeded not the execrations
which were uttered after him. His sole object was the

recovery of Ned, and he felt certain that the marks of the
wheels would conduct him to the place where he had been
conveyed.

The snow had ceased to fall. Star after star shone
down encouragingly upon Tim, as the few fleeting clouds
passed away. And the moon added its brilliant rays to
the stellar illumination. All was silent as the grave, save
the muffled sounds of Tim's feet as he coursed along the
road. A hare, now and then, skipping along the hedges,
was the only animate object which greeted his vision for
many minutes.

At length he met Cadaver, with his sled-load of subjects,
going to market. The contents of his vehicle were covered
with straw.

Tim seized the bit of the skeleton of a horse, and asked
the old man if he had seen anything of Ned.

“I don't know any boy by the name of Ned,” was the
equivocal response.

“Did you see any boy brought out this road to-night, in
a cab?”

“I am always seeing boys and cabs too, on this road.
Let go the horse.”

“I won't. If you've seen the boy, and won't tell me
all about him, I'll keep you here all night. I'm a madman,
now! Don't fret me. I'm dangerous!”

“If you think I have him in the straw for the doctors,
you may look for yourself,” said the old man, somewhat
intimidated, and unconsciously betraying the nature of his
business.

Tim, struck with the remark, could not avoid coming
to the conclusion that the straw actually concealed human
bodies; and the idea that Ned might have been murdered,
to swell the number of the subjects, banished the horror
that at first possessed him. With his poker he removed
the straw, and gazed upon the sickening spectacle.

“No! He's not here!” said he, retreating a few paces
backward. “Go on, you old hyena, you! You are just
fit for such a business as this. Drive fast, or I'll pitch
you back among the corpses!” Cadaver involuntarily
whipped away.

Tim was really metamorphosed. Ordinarily he was the

most inoffensive creature in the world. But the loss of
Ned had maddened him completely. On he sped, grinding
his teeth in rage as he ran.

With his head hanging down, and his eyes fixed upon
the track before him, he ran next against a pedestrian he
met in the way, and both were prostrated, but neither
were injured. The heavy garments in which they were
enveloped, and the soft embankment of snow upon which
they fell, saved them from being hurt.

“Who are you? I'm a madman!” cried Tim, seizing
the other, but not seeing him, for his cap had been thrust
down over his eyes.

“Oh, please don't hurt me! I'm a poor unhappy boy,
who has been taken away from home, and have just escaped
from my cruel enemies!”

“Gracioas! Goo—good Lord! Oh, Ned! Is it you?”
cried Tim, hugging and kissing the boy.

“Tim! Thank Heaven!” cried Ned. He was unable,
for several moments, to utter another word. Tim lifted
him in his arms, and started back towards the city in
a run.

“Put me down, Tim; I can walk or run, either, now.
You are panting with fatigue. I knew you would hunt for
me. Oh, Tim, I'm so glad I've found you!”

“No! I'm not tired. I'm as strong as an elephant,
Ned! Don't get down. I'll carry you all the way back.
Won't Susan be glad! We'll have a merry night, Ned!”

“Oh, Tim! after what I have seen this night, I couldn't
be merry, if it was to save my life. But I'm thankful.
I thank God, and you, Tim! I thought I was lost!”

“Don't say it! Don't think about anything disagreeable,
Ned! Be happy, if you can. If all the world turns agin
you, you will always have two friends, ready to die for
you—Miss Susan and me. We must wake up Susan, (if
she's asleep, and that's impossible,) by sort of degrees.
If we pop in on her sudden, she'll have 'istericals. We'll
have cake, and candy, and cider, and a merry Christmas.
All the things we've seen and done to-night, we'll talk
about as a joke. And the bright fire will be so cheerful
and comfortable to us, after our helter-skelters in the
snow! Won't it, Ned?”

“Oh, yes! But, Tim, I'm afraid they'll get me again!
They'll never rest, till I'm put out of the way!”

“Jest let 'em say to me you're in anybody's way, and
I'll make 'em taste this poker! Where is it? I've lost
it. It makes no odds now, I've got you, Ned.”

Thus they conversed, sometimes uttering congratulations,
and at others forebodings, for half the distance back
to the city. But Ned would insist on walking a portion
of the way, although it was quite evident that he was
hardly equal to the undertaking, after the revulsion which
had taken place in his feelings upon meeting so opportunely
with Tim.

It was just when they approached within sight of the
suburbs of the city, that a cab was seen driving towards
them very furiously.

“Tim,” said Ned, “perhaps they may have some other
boy in that cab, and one who may not have so good a
friend to seek after him as I had.”

“If I was sure of it,” replied Tim, “I'd stop 'em.”
But Tim's violent exertions had rendered him incapable of
any such achievement, notwithstanding he was so unwilling
to own that his strength was nearly exhausted.

But if Tim was not destined to arrest the progress of
the cab, under the suspicion that some poor victim was
forcibly imprisoned within, at least it seemed disposed to
stop of its own accord. It was the same cab and the
same driver he had before encountered. But instead of
the stock-jobber, it now contained two burly policemen,
who descended from the step, and laid violent hands on
both Tim and Ned.

“What are you doing this for?” asked Tim.

“You'll find out to your cost, when your trial comes
on,” was the reply.

“What has Tim done? I know he is innocent of anything
wrong!” said Ned, weeping.

“Then he ought to be cleared,” said one of the officers.

“And of course he will be,” said the other.

“What're you takin' Ned for?” asked Tim. “Nobody
thinks the little boy's been guilty of any crime. Let him
go back to Susan, and I shan't care what's done to me.”

“We obey orders,” said the policeman. “When you

are called up before the mayor, you can tell your tale, and
the witnesses can tell theirs.”

They drove to the state house, and the prisoners were
conducted to the east wing, where malefactors of all
grades and sexes were temporarily confined.

Ned's and Tim's hands were interlocked indissolubly.
They would not be parted. In vain the boy was told that
he might go home. He did not believe them. He had
been already bitterly deceived. With tearful eyes, and
mute tongue, he rejected all the offers they made him, and
clung the closer to Tim. Tim folded him in his arms, and
lay down upon some straw which he found unoccupied in
a corner of the subterranean apartment. Utterly overcome
by the excitement and fatigue of the night, Ned slept
fitfully in that fœtid atmosphere.

The next morning, the mayor, punctual to the hour
allotted for such business, occupied the chair of justice.
A most astonishing number of culprits awaited his decision.
It is always so at such seasons. The old and the young,
male and female, black and white, crowded the dock. But
of all the group of offenders present, none presented such
innocent faces as Tim and Ned. Ned still clung to the
hand of his friend, and would not be separated from him.
All the world might unite in pronouncing Tim guilty; they
might send him to prison; they might take his life; but
Ned would not forsake him, knowing him to be innocent.
And indeed Tim's countenance was serene enough. It
was broad daylight now; and instead of shrinking from
the gaze of the spectators that filled the room, he rather
courted their scrutiny. This was not an indication of
criminality.

But if Tim's honest face was an index of his heart, and
prepossessed the magistrate in his favor, what must have
been the effect of the appearance of the slender child
clinging to his hand, with pale, delicate features, tearful
eyes, and a sad and mournful expression resting upon his
mute lip?

His honor, far from being destitute of sympathetic impulses,
found his attention irresistibly arrested by the picture.

“What have you been brought here for?” he asked of
Tim.

“Because I would not let 'em kidnap and murder this
poor boy, sir!”

Such an assertion, together with the melancholy expression
of the boy, who seemed to adhere to the speaker as
one would to a protector, caused a most extraordinary sensation
in court. It produced a silence which the officers
could not command.

“That is very strange,” said his honor. “Who desired
to kidnap and murder the child?”

“There's one of 'em, sir,” said Tim, pointing to the driver
of the cab, who appeared, with his head bandaged, as a
witness. When the eyes of the people were turned towards
him, he shook his head in denial.

“Who else attempted to do this thing?”

“Tother isn't here, your honor,” said Tim.

“Do you know his name?”

“Yes, sir; 'twas Mr. Job Mallex.”

This announcement created an excessive interest in the
multitude, for the wealthy stock jobber was a man of fame
in the city. He was, besides, on terms of intimacy with
his honor. In short, he had the reputation of being a
public spirited and very charitable citizen.

“This is most extraordinary,” said the mayor; “are
you aware of the consequences of slandering an eminent individual,
whose character, so far as I am informed, is without
stain!”

“If your honor 'll give me the book, I'll swear to it!”
said Tim.

“What object could he have?”

Tim was not prepared to answer that question. He
could not himself clearly conceive how Mallex might be interested
in putting the boy out of the way. He hesitated.
Ned whispered something in his ear, and then he spoke as
follows:—

“Ned says, the old woman who keeps the dead people
for the doctors, told him they wanted him out of the way,
to get some property that belonged to him.”

“The old woman who keeps dead people! My friend,
I fear you are deranged. Do you speak, sir!” he continued,

addressing the cabman. “Perhaps you can throw
some light on the subject.”

“Oh, please don't think Tim is crazy!” said Ned. “He
tells the truth. Please, sir, believe what he says!”

“We will hear all you can say, presently, my lad,” replied
the mayor. “Swear that man. Now, sir,” he continued,
gravely, addressing the driver, “I warn you to speak
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; for remember,
if you swear falsely, you may have to atone for it in the
penitentiary.” The hangdog looks of the man had made
a very unfavorable impression. But the warning words
of his honor were not without their effect. Whatever
might have been his purpose before, he now determined to
testify faithfully to what he knew, and to give a truthful
account of the occurrences of the preceding night, so far
as he saw them. There was no sufficient inducement for
him to do otherwise.

It so happened that there were several medical students
brought before the mayor that morning, for being rather
too boisterous in the street during their holiday exhilarations.
These young gentlemen had secured the services
of Mr. Persever, a young lawyer of rising reputation. Mr.
Persever, while regarding the beautiful features of Ned,
beautiful even in dejection and distress, had been seen to
drop a tear. He was poor himself, and had tasted of the
bitter cup of ill-treatment and injury. He, too, had been
an outcast, and deserted by those who had partaken of the
bounties of his family. Hence he was often the champion
of the friendless, and friend of the poor. The wrongs he
had suffered, had likewise cast a sadness over his pale
features. But his lofty forehead, and his brilliant eye, indicated
the genius within, which was destined to triumph
over obstacles.

This gentleman undertook the defence of Tim; and his
cross examination of the cabman, together with the testimony
of Ned, rendered it incontrovertible that Mallex had
been a participant in the transactions of the preceding
evening. It appeared that Ned had been induced by him
to enter the cab, and that the driver had been instructed to
drive rapidly out of the city. That although the boy had
made no resistance, when going into the vehicle, yet he

had manifested his fears and suspicions to the driver, before
getting out of it; and had implored mercy, and exhibited
symptoms of terror, when taken against his will into
the farm-house.

The remainder of the account given by the cabman related
to the conduct of Tim, on the road, and to the employment
of two officers by Mallex, to pursue and overtake
the offender.

Tim, when questioned privately by Mr. Persever, admitted
that so far as it concerned himself, the cabman had
spoken quite correctly.

But the narrative of Ned, ingenuous and coherent,
although the scenes he described made so great an impression
upon his sensibilities, when recalled to memory, that
the tears ran down his cheeks in streams, was regarded
with absorbing interest by every listener. Even the most
hardened malefactor present looked on him with pity, and
experienced a thrill of horror at his description of the
scene at the farm-house.

“This is the most astonishing story,” said the mayor,
“that I have ever heard.”

“And I trust you will regard it merely as a fiction,” said
Mr. Radley, a burly middle-aged lawyer, who had been sent
thither by Mallex, but who was apprehensive that his employer
had not acted judiciously, in placing his victims in
a position where their narrations were sure to be heard
and appreciated.

“May it please your honor,” said Mr. Persever, rising
deliberately, though with difficulty repressing the storm
of indignation which struggled in his breast, “it is impossible
that this tale of the poor boy should be a mere fiction.
And, if he had no friend to protect him, but the prisoner,
who will not own that he had sufficient justification for
acting as he did? The witness to the violent assault in
the road, admits that this boy was conveyed out of the
city, in the night, and forcibly placed within the farm-house—or
rather the disgusting charnel house—the mere
contemplation of which was sufficient to have deprived him
of his senses, if not of his life. Well, Tim Trudge, having
followed the track of the carriage, and knowing a cruel outrage
had been committed on the poor lad, upon confronting

the guilty parties, acted only in defence of the child.
It is true, the boy was not then with them; but he did not
know it, and he could not know it, until he had vanquished
his enemies. He meditated no violation of the law; there
was no malice prepense; but, on the contrary, he was the
champion of innocence, the opposer of oppression, and the
vindicator of an outraged orphan child. From the testimony
we have heard, and by the admissions of the cabman,
the prosecuting party, in this instance, I have no
hesitation in saying, is the guilty party.”

“What's your name, my son?” asked the Mayor, whose
interest had increased and deepened with the progress of
the investigation.

“Ned Lorn, sir,” said the boy, turning his expressive
eyes full upon the officer who had addressed him in so kind
a tone.

“You have neither father nor mother?”

“No, sir.”

“And have been taken care of by this man and his
foster-sister.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why do you suppose Mr. Mallex desires to put you
out of the way, as the old woman at the farm-house told
you?”

“They say, sir, it is to get my property—and the letters.”

“What property? What letters?”

“My dead father's property, and the letters written by
my uncle.”

“You have an uncle, then?”

“Yes, sir; but I have not seen him that I know of for a
long time; though Susan says he is now in the city.”

“What is his name?”

“Eugene Bainton.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed the mayor. “I know him
well. I have known him long. I know that the only
nephew he ever had is dead!”

“Let us not be precipitate, your honor,” said Persever,
“in our conclusions. We know, at least I do, and others
do, that Bainton and Mallex are partners, and joint operators
in the stocks, embracing very large transactions.”

Tim had drawn near to his counsel, in obedience to a
signal from him, and communicated all the intelligence in
his power in rapid whispers.

“Ned!” said the mayor, rather sternly, “Mr. Bainton
had but one sister, and no brother. His sister, Mrs.
Parke, died a number of years ago, leaving but one child,
a son who now lies buried at — cemetery. I have seen
his monument, erected at the expense of his uncle, Eugene
Bainton. It is so stated on the marble. How, then, can
you be his nephew?”

“Please, sir,” said Ned, “I tell you only what I know,
and what has been told to me. They say my full name is
Edward Lorn Parke, but Susan had me called Ned Lorn.”

“Lorn was the name of Mr. Parke's maternal ancestors,”
said his honor. “But it is idle to prolong this
business. If you were really the son of John Parke, who
married Miss Bainton, the present Daniel Lorn Parke
would, likewise, be your uncle. Do you know him?”

“No, sir!” said Ned, gazing curiously at his honor.
“But I have heard Susan speak of him.”

“I fear, my lad, your pretended friends have made you
their dupe, for some wicked purpose. The day I read the
inscription on the monument, Mr. Daniel L. Parke was
with me. Although he spoke in no friendly terms of Mr.
Bainton, yet I remember distinctly, that he owned his little
nephew had been buried there. And he remarked to me,
that, so far as he knew, he had not a surviving relative in
the world. As for the story about property, it is well
known that John Parke left none. Everything he had
in the world, was seized and sold by his creditors.”

“True, your honor!” said Mr. Persever; and although
his faith could not but be shaken by the statement he had
just heard, he added, “yet it is equally notorious, that the
two brothers, Parke, were ruined by Mr. Eugene Bainton;
that they were induced to place their fortunes in hands of
Bainton who had no capital; and that he is now rich, and
the parter of Mallex.”

“That may be. But it is not a matter for my decision.
Time is passing, and I must hear other cases. An assault
has been committed; at least, the evidence is such as to

warrant me in committing the offender, for trial before
another tribunal.”

Mr. Radley arose, and instead of pushing his advantage
against poor Tim, astonished every one by an attempt to
have him set at liberty.

“No, sir!” said Mr. Persever, with unwonted vehemence.
“I feel convinced that the things I have heard
are not all a dream; and I am not willing to see the means
of unravelling the mystery set aside. An irresistible impulse
impels me to investigate the matter. Your victim
has been committed for trial. So be it!”

“But if he believed he was engaged in the rescue of the
boy, although he was undoubtedly mistaken, I cannot desire
to push matters to extremity with him.”

“Ay; you will not appear to prosecute; and doubtless
the witness against him will not be there to testify. I tell
you now, if this be so, an action will be commenced against
Mallex and Bainton. Against the former for seizing the
child; against the latter, for his conduct at the house of
Susan Meek!” Tim had informed him in relation to the
letters.

“Oh, if it is the intention of the defendant to become
the assailant of my client, rather than lay down his arms,”
said Radley, “we shall not relinquish our vantage ground,
but press for his conviction.”

And at that moment Dr. Castor entered. He said he
had just left the bedside of Mr. Mallex, whose head was
badly wounded. He had some fever, and his case might
prove a dangerous one. The blow must have been inflicted
by a bar of iron, or some other heavy instrument, falling
under the denomination of a deadly weapon.

“Then the prisoner must be confined,” said the mayor.

Mr. Persever whispered something in the ear of Tim,
who acquiesced in the advice given him, and seemed quite
willing to be conducted by the officer to the untried department
of the Moyamensing prison.

“I will go, too,” cried Ned.

“No, Ned; don't! Let me go alone, there's no danger,
now. Do you go to Miss Susan,” said Tim.

“Oh, no, they'll catch me again! They'll never let me
go home.”

“Tim will soon be released,” said Mr. Persever; “and
will go with you to Susan's house.”

This decided Ned. From the moment he had first looked
at the face of the young attorney, he had been willing to
believe whatever he might say. So, relinquishing the hand
of Tim, he drew near his new protector.

A fine was imposed on the rollicking students, and then
they were discharged. But before Persever withdrew with
Ned, the mayor took occasion to admonish the boy to
abandon the idea that he was the son and heir of his deceased
friend, and to be careful that his friends did not
lead him into the commission of impostures and crimes,
which would result in his disgrace and ruin.

Poor Ned could only reply by a deprecating look. He
manifested no disposition, however, to retract anything he
had said; and his honor, chagrined that his admonition
had produced no acknowledgment of his error, and yet
feeling touched at the forlorn condition of the handsome boy,
suffered him to depart.

And in truth the testimony of his honor himself, as well
as that of old Mr. Parke, given out of court, seemed to
throw a cloud of suspicion over the child's story.

But Persever resolved to inquire further into the business;
and in despite of the professional taunts of Radley,
who congratulated him upon his success, and wished him
much joy of the friends he might find in Pecan alley, he
pushed his way to the door, with Ned's hand clasped in
his, and departed in quest of Susan.

As they were crossing Walnut street, and about to enter
Washington Square, Ned heard his name mentioned. On
turning, he beheld the “Blue Maria” passing. It was
poor Tim's voice.