 | CHAPTER XLIII.
THE EXAMINATION IN FATHER O'TOOLE'S LIBRARY. The new priest in Conception Bay |  |
43. CHAPTER XLIII.
THE EXAMINATION IN FATHER O'TOOLE'S LIBRARY.
IN the twilight of that evening, as the town, (except
for the sounds that we have mentioned,) lay still, a
man had been going round, outside the Mission
grounds; here in a thoroughfare, there over rough
ground, stopping a moment, here and there, with men
who came to him out of darkness, and went back to it
again. He walked fast along the whole front and a little
beyond; across the street, and a like distance there, and a
little way down two cross streets.
“Here's a pretty go!” exclaimed he, as he got back
and stationed himself, restlessly, near the middle of the
front, after examining his neighborhood pretty carefully.
“There he is, I believe; he'd be a pretty sentry,
wouldn't he?” he ended, going toward a man who was
approaching from the end of a cross-street, a little way
up.
“Ain't you a jolly fellow?” he asked, in a cautious
way but very plainly, “if they had you in the army,
they'd make nothing o' shooting you, just as you'd shoot
a seal. “What did you go away for? and where's
Isaac?”
At this address the other stood aghast and made no
answer, scratching the side of his fur cap.
“Where have you been now? To see if the boat's
safe?” renewed his examiner.
“Why, Isaac's gone after 'em and I sid 'em, Skipper
Ch—”
“Whist, now! you can't remember a thing, Jesse.
Have you got my handkerchief?”
“No, I never makes use of one, Mister Gal—.”
“There you go, again; don't call me names; but why
can't you remember the watchword, like all the rest?”
“So I does, `Have you got my handkerchief?' Oh!
I sis,—” said the speaker, catching himself up, “you
wants I to give the answer: `Tom Jones'—”
“That'll do; if ever they tells you they'll give you
your life, if you'll tell 'em your name before they can say
Jack Robinson, you'll say, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
but I'm mistaken if you think of Jesse. Well what did
you see, then? The ark of bulrushes?”
“Wull,” said Jesse, vindicating himself, “ef I can't
talk, I can do my work; I suppose I've sid all that's abin
sid. However, I sid 'em, all go through this way, and
had somebody along wi 'em.”
“Come, then, Jesse, where did they come from?
Through that gate?”
“Is, an' some soart of a carriage wi'em.”
“Good! That is to the point: men?” inquired
Skipper Charlie.
“Both.”
“How long ago?”
“A matter of ten minutes, mubbe, it was; but I
can't say how many—”
“And nobody's come back?”
“No.”
During this colloquy, the Peterport constable had
before referred to, (if it may be called a street,)
and just about this point, he thrust Jesse suddenly down,
in a heap, upon the ground, pulled down his own hat and
giving a limp to his right leg, began to walk slowly
across the highway.
With a sound of his footsteps going before him, a man
soon emerged from shadow, who coming far enough out
of his way to look upon our limping friend, showed himself,
at the same time, to be Father Nicholas, and then
passed through the gateway. By and by came along two
dark female figures, like nuns, and followed the same
course, except that they did not diverge in the direction
of the constable.
Shortly after, a body of men silently and swiftly came
along the street; and Gilpin, saying “Here's the Deputy-sheriff
and his men! stay here, Jesse; I'll be back in a
giffey!” ran down towards the water.
The sheriff's party came straight up to the fence inclosing
the Mission-premises; and there halted for some
minutes.
The delay enabled the Peterport constable to accomplish
his errand; and he got back again, just as the last
of them was going through the gate. He was about to
follow when information from Jesse that “he heard Mr.
Banks's voice over 'tother w'y, and a great noise,” led
him in that direction.
Sounds from the chapel, as of attempts at the door,
and confused voices, grew louder and were multiplied, and
as they rose, the voice of the American began to be heard
again, within the nun's building, and a loud female cry,
also. Mr. Bangs was addressing, apparently, some one
with whom he was walking.
“That's someb'dy carry'n' on 'bout the mirycle, likely.
Shouldn't wonder 'f she'd ben left behind, 'n' got accident'ly
locked up. She'll keep, I ruther guess. 'T's over
t' th' church, he wants you, Holy Father.”
“What do you mean by a miracle?” impatiently asked
a voice which any person, who knew it, might at once
have recognized as that of Father Nicholas.
“Wall, 'taint f' me t' say; sh'd judge 't 'd be more
accord'n' t' th' laws o' science fo' you t' tell me. I'm on'y
jest learnin'!—The ladies, here, 'v' all gone over t'
see it.”
“Absurdity!” exclaimed the priest; but the intelligence
seemed to have quickened his motions, and saying
“I must put a stop to this,” he came forth into the air,
leaving the shouting female to console herself.
“In the King's name! You're my prisoner, Father
Nicholas Crampton; rescue or no rescue!” said one of
several men who met him as he came out.
“We'll see about that, my friend,” said Father Nicholas,
with his usual self-possession, “You'll have the kindness
to take me to the nearest magistrate, or, you'll have
trouble.”
“Wall! That ain't slow, fact!” exclaimed Mr. Bangs,
“W' where on earth d'd you come from, Mr. Galpin?
Y' ain't a goin' t' take a holy priest pris'ner? Jest leave
him 'th one o' yer men, there, will ye, a minit?' Want
t' speak 'th ye.”
“Confine yourself to your own affairs, if you please,”
said Father Nicholas. “I want no interference with
mine.”
“Wall, 'f ye're p'tic'lar 'bout it, I will,” said Mr.
Bangs. “Look, a'here, Skipper,— 's the' call it,”—continued
he, as the constable drew aside with him, “'twunt
I've jest ben all through it, fr'm top to toe. That ain't
Lucy Barbury, 't's singin' out; that's a k'nd 'f a lame
gal, the' got there,—f'r help, likely,—'had t' take 'n' lock
her up, t' gi' me a chance. The' ain't 'ny sign o' Miss
Barb'ry 'n th' whole place.”
The American's extra official search was not quite
satisfactory to the Sheriff, who directed that he should be
taken into custody; and then, leaving the Head Constable
to secure Father Terence and the nuns, took Father
Nicholas and Sister Theresa to the presence of the Judge,
who, with some of the district magistrates, had occupied
Father Terence's library.
“Where's the Priest?” asked Gilpin.
“He's p'ticl'ly engaged,” said Mr. Bangs, who had not
lost his tongue; “but you don't want him. He never 'd
hurt anybody.”
“He's wanted for witness,” said the constable; “and
you too, Mr. Banks.”
“Wall, I know more 'bout it 'n he does; 'n' that ain't
much. 'F the's anybody 't wouldn't do 'ny hurt to a flea
't's Father O'Toole.”
They drew near to the Chapel; and the stout voice of
Father Terence was heard, uplifted, behind the door:—
“Will no one open it, then? I fear we'll never recover
him: it was just fit to die with the fright, he was!”
The nuns huddled and cackled about the fastened
door; but there was not a hand among them that could
find the key to turn it.
“Wh' how's this, ladies? Couldn't ye git in?” asked
the American convert, as he drew near.
“And is that yerself, Mr. Bangs?” inquired the imprisoned
priest.
“Wall, 't's what uset to be, I b'lieve, Father O'Toole.”
“An' how d'ye be on the outside, an' the door locked
between?”
“That is a question, fact.—They' got me under arrest,”
he added, turning from Past to Present.
It may be supposed that what had already happened,
not far off, including the arrest of Father Nicholas, had
not been unobserved by the nuns; but between the miracle,
and Father O'Toole imprisoned, on the one side, and
the alarming doings on the other, they had quite lost control
of themselves. At the word “arrest,” they all turned
about with a new alarm, and fled again, (velut examen,)
swarming over, to their hive.
Father O'Toole was released immediately, by the constable,
and was a good deal bewildered, as he reached the
open air.
Gilpin did his part respectfully, making his bow.
“I'm to ask you if you'll please come with me, sir,” he
said. “It's only a bit of evidence is wanting; and will
you be good enough to ask all of those ladies to go
along?”
Father Terence submitted, resignedly, to circumstances;
and, having had the general state of things explained to
him, secured the attendance of the nuns, and then, himself,
accompanied the constable. Froyne clapped his
hand with peculiar constabular unction and pretty heavy
emphasis, on the “convert's” shoulder. Mr. Bangs
rather led the constable than was led by him, as was
intended.
The party went silently; but there were buzzings of
gathering throngs of men, in different quarters, indicating
that what had been done had not been done without being
observed. Knots of men, also, were gathered in the street
and no disturbance was attempted.
The Judge and his assessors met the prisoners and
witnesses standing; and the former explained to Father
Terence that he had not intended to take violent possession
of his house; but, if he had permission, thought it
well to conduct as privately as possible, an examination
which he was about to make, and which involved many
or all of the occupants of the premises.
Father Terence thanked him for his consideration, and
begged him to do as he pleased; but said that he “was
astonished at what was going on, anny way.”
The Judge and magistrates seated themselves, and the
judge, having called for his papers, laid them open on
the table before him, and ran over one of them with his
eye.
The Sheriff having been directed to have the prisoners
in the opposite room until called for, removed all but
Father Terence, who was first examined. It was clear
from the examination that he had very slight acquaintance
with the little community of nuns, and knew nothing
that would throw any light, whatever, on the disappearance
or fate of Lucy Barbury. He was at once discharged;
but by invitation of the judge, remained in the
room.
After a short questioning of Father Debree, the Judge
said that he had seen no reason before, and saw none
now, for supposing that he knew any thing of the case;
and he was discharged.
Mr. Bangs being summoned and questioned, gave, in a
characteristic way, and, at first, with a redundancy which
the Judge found it necessary to repress, an account of his
seeing the man and the women carrying, as it appeared,
of his after experience in the nunnery. The gravity of
the magistrates, and even of the Judge, was no armor of
proof against some of his answers. His evidence occupied
too much space to be inserted here. The substance
of it is already known.
Sister Theresa was next called. The Judge expressed
his regret at being obliged to call her at such an hour and
for such a purpose. She was then sworn, and gave her
worldly name as Theresa Maria Seldon; her religious
name as Mary Theresa Ursula. In answer to the judge's
questions, she stated “that there was no Lady Superior
over the nuns in Bay-Harbor; that she was the oldest
Sister, and had authority; that Father Nicholas had more
control than she; and some things might be done without
her direction, and even against her will, if she ever had a
will against his; that there were three Sisters; that two
weeks ago, there had been five; that on the fifteenth and
on the sixteenth there were five; two professed; two lay;
one novice; no postulants; there were none of the Sisters
sick on the fifteenth or sixteenth; that Lucy Barbury had
never been in the house, to her knowledge; might have
been there without her knowing it; she did not know her,
nor know that she had ever seen her; there was a sick
girl there on the fifteenth and sixteenth, and until the
night of the nineteenth; she did not know who it was,
and did not hear; only she understood her Christian
name to be Bridget Ann; she was brought on the fifteenth,
at about eleven o'clock at night, under Father
Nicholas's direction; and Sister Theresa understood her
to be out of her mind. The girl was under the charge
of the Sister who acted as infirmarian; and Father Nicholas
directed that nobody else should visit her. This
refrained from visiting the girl, in consequence; could
not describe her personal appearance, or complexion, but
believed that she had dark hair and eyes. It was common
to have women not belonging to their own, or any
religious order, brought to the house for care and tending,
in sickness; and sometimes women resided, for a longer
or shorter time, with them. Some scholars came every
day, and sometimes they had had a scholar or two staying
in the house. The girl in question had been brought by
Sisters Frances and Agnes. These were not now in the
community; they were the two who had gone away. She
did not know where they were; she had not seen them
since Tuesday last; and did not know whether they were
to come back, or not.”
The witness had not heard whether the sick girl was a
Protestant; and supposed she might, perhaps, have been
such. Understood that on the night of the nineteenth she
escaped, and the witness had not heard of her being recovered;
but had been told by Father Nicholas that she
could not be found. To a plain question whether she
had ever in her mind thought that that girl was the one
who was missing from Peterport, the Sister, very much
affected, answered “Yes.”—To farther questions, she said
that she did not exactly know why she had thought so;
certain coincidences of time and age, and the mystery
that was kept about it, had probably suggested the thought;
that she thought the girl might have been called by
another name than that she commonly bore, or had
previously borne.
There was an apparent simplicity and ingenuousness
about the witness that would have satisfied any mind that
what she said was all she knew. She was dismissed,
recalled, if there should be occasion.
The examination of the other nuns was very brief.
As far as they had any information, their answers exactly
agreed with Sister Theresa's testimony, and they were
absolutely discharged.
Having ascertained that the Urstons had not arrived,
the Judge proceeded to examine Father Nicholas; prefacing
his questions, as in the case of Sister Theresa, with
an expression of regret for the occasion. The Priest was
not put upon oath; and it was explained to him that “he
need not bring himself into danger by answering; and
though a prisoner had no right to counsel, he would have
the privilege, if he desired it.”
Father Nicholas looked as self-possessed and determined
as always, and begged the judge to explain
to him the nature of the danger that he might incur,
and to let him know, exactly, the object of the examination.
The Judge explained that the object was to ascertain
whether he was in any way privy to the disappearance
of a young person, one Lucy Barbury; and the danger
that he might put himself in was that of furnishing evidence
against himself.
“What if I decline submitting to any questioning?”
“I shall at once commit you to jail.”
“And if I should bid you do it and welcome?”
“Of the propriety of my course I shall, in any event,
judge for myself; and therefore it would be quite unnecessary
on your part.”
Father Nicholas bit his lip; but answered that he was
satisfied, and ready to be questioned. He would not ask
for any counsel.
The name, quality, and so forth, having been given,
the examination went on:—
“Have you known the person called Lucy Barbury,
or any person so called?”
“I think so. I think I should know her if I were to
see her.”
“Have you ever talked with her?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In Peterport.”
“When did you last speak to her?”
“I can't recall the exact date.”
“Was it within two weeks?”
“That is about the length of time, I believe, that she
has been missed. I shall use my privilege of not answering,
for the cause assigned.”
“Did you see her, or speak with her or to her, on the
Fifteenth day of this month?”
“I decline answering, for the same reason as before.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she has been, on the Fifteenth
day of this month or at any time since?” An answer
was declined, as before.
“Do you know whether she was in the house occupied
by the Nuns, in this place, on the Fifteenth day of this
month, or at any time since?” (Declined, for cause.)
“Do you know whether any young woman, not belonging
to the number of the Nuns, has been here, on the
Fifteenth day of this month, or at any time since?”
“Yes, several.”
“Has any sick young woman, to your knowledge, been
before.
“Do you know of any sick young woman being brought
here within that time?” (Declined.)
“Do you know whether any woman was conveyed
from Peterport in a boat, or punt, on the night of the Fifteenth
day of that month?” (Declined.)
“Whether any woman was conveyed from Mr. Thomas
Urston's house, at that time?” (Declined.)
“Whether any person has been, at any time, carried
or conveyed from that house?” (Declined.)
“Were you in Peterport on the Fifteenth day of this
month, in the afternoon, evening, or night?” (Declined.)
“Were you in any boat or punt, at or near Peterport,
in the afternoon, evening, or night of the Fifteenth day
of this month?” (Declined.)
“Do you know that any nuns were at or near Peterport,
at either of those times?” (Declined.)
“Do you know of nuns ever being there, or going
thither in a boat or punt?”
“Yes, often; to visit the sick.”
“Did you send any nuns, or desire them to go, on the
day mentioned?” (Declined.)
“Were there any sick, to your knowledge, in Peterport
at that time?”
“I do not recollect.”
“Can you not remind yourself?” (Declined.)
“Did you send any persons, or desire or procure them
to go, in a boat or punt, to or near to Peterport, on that
day?” (Declined.)
“Do you know of the employment or procurement of
any persons to go in a boat or punt?” (Declined.)
“Do you know how Lucy Barbury disappeared? or
what became of her?”
“I have already declined answering a question very
like. I decline, as before.”
“Have you sent away, or procured to go away, any
nuns from this community, within two weeks?” (Declined.)
“Do you know of any nuns having gone away within
two weeks?” “Yes.”
“Do you know to what place they went?” “No.”
“Do you know where they now are?” “No.”
“Where they have been?” “No.”
“Have you sent away, or procured, or advised, or
given means for, the going away of any fishermen, or
boatmen, or other men, within two weeks?” (Declined.)
“Let me advise you,” said the Judge, “that any of
these questions, that admit of easy answer, you should
answer; for it will not only further the ends of justice,
but be better for yourself.”
The Priest this time retaliated for the tone of decision
and authority with which he had himself been addressed
at the beginning; and his eye flashed, and he smiled
slightly, as he answered:—
“The ends of justice I need not think so much of just
now; but my own security and interest I feel quite competent
to take care of.”
The Judge bowed gravely.
“Have you any statement to make? or do you wish to
say any thing upon the subject or matter of this examination?
A record is kept, of which a copy will be furnished
to the Grand Jury.”
“I have only respectfully to refer to a certain affidavit
published by me two days ago, of which I will ask leave
to procure a copy.”
“I have one here. It doesn't meddle with the main
point.—I should be glad to give you more time, and would
urge upon you again the importance of clearing up any
thing capable of clearing up; for I shall feel it necessary,
as things now stand, to hold you to answer to the terrible
charge of homicide; as I think the girl may be traced to
your custody, and you neither produce her nor offer any
explanation, but studiously conceal every thing connected
with the fact. This concealment itself may be held, in
such a case, to furnish evidence of criminal intent. As
there is no conclusive proof before me yet, of guilt, and
as the body has not been found, I shall admit you to bail
in a sufficient sum—two thousand pounds.”
The mention of the startling character of the charge
sent a thrill through the company present, and even visibly
affected the Priest himself, but only momentarily.
“I am astonished,” said he, “but in nowise alarmed.
A charge so utterly baseless cannot be sustained for an
instant. I don't know who is at the bottom of it; but
while it can do me no harm, it will do him no good.”
As his eye passed round the room, in saying this, a
hasty look of something like defiance flashed into his face
at one point of the circuit, but went out instantly:—at
that point the sad, handsome features of Father Debree
were to be seen.
The Urstons, father and son, examined separately, under
oath, answered readily all questions, but, however
tried, never contradicted themselves or one another; nor
did any thing appear, strange as it might seem, showing
any participation on their part, or knowledge of the mysterious
disappearance. The fact of the young man's
attachment to Skipper George's daughter, and of his
abandonment of preparation for the priesthood, appeared
there were plenty of Peterport men at hand, who knew
and testified that both father and son had been out in the
search from about dark till early morning, and that the
son had been ever since, for much of his time, occupied
in trying to find some trace of the lost maiden.
Mrs. Calloran appeared to be the only one of the family
who was at home during the time at which the party
had been seen to go from the house to the water. She
was not sworn, and was cautioned not to endanger herself.
This caution she heard twice over and then threw herself
upon her guard, like a hedgehog, armed at all points with
wariness and suspicion.
She said (in answer to a question to that effect) that she
had seen two nuns at Peterport two weeks ago; but then
corrected herself by saying that she had often seen nuns
there, and “begged his lordship not to be asking questions
at her, to get her into trouble; for she was not
larn'd.”
The punt overhauled by Captain Nolesworth, seemed,
at this examination, like a phantom-bark. No evidence
could trace one of the crew or occupants.
In default of £200 bail, the last witness was committed
to the custody of the jailer.
In half an hour, bail had appeared for Father Nicholas,
his two sureties being, one a Protestant, and the other
a Roman Catholic merchant.
So the examination was ended.
“They've gone after that punt, have they?” said the
Judge, turning to the Sheriff. The Sheriff, having made
inquiry, answered, “Yes, and that she would soon be
heard from.”
“Who went in charge of the pursuit? There may be
a good deal depending.”
“I'm told he's the surest hand in the Bay,” answered
the Sheriff, and then added something in a low voice, to
which the Judge replied:—
“You must make sure of the chief witness for the
Crown being forthcoming, and find the Body!”
| CHAPTER XLIII.
THE EXAMINATION IN FATHER O'TOOLE'S LIBRARY. The new priest in Conception Bay | |