 | Centeola |  |
MISCELLANEOUS.
THE STARVING SETTLERS.
“I want you should tell me that story again, grandfather,
— that story about grandmother and the children
starving in the woods, and the curious dream you had
about it, you know,” said a small, bright boy, coaxingly
laying his hands on the knee of an aged man, who sat
listlessly smoking his pipe in his easy chair, placed in the
doorway of one of the rural cottages of Vermont, so that
he could look out on the green hills he loved so well, while
enjoying the grateful coolness of a midsummer evening.
“Yes, my boy,” responded the old man, rousing himself
from his reverie, and laying aside his pipe. “Yes,
that strange and wonderful dream! — I love to recall it,
because I shall always believe it came from Heaven to
give me the forewarning that was to be the means of
saving my family from perishing of hunger.
“But in the first place, my boy, perhaps you would
like to know how your grandfather and his family came
to settle here in the woods, at that time so far away from
the homes of any other settlers. I will tell you:
“Fifty years ago I lost nearly all I was worth, by the
which followed the close of the Revolutionary war.
“But I resolved not to lie down and die under the
misfortune. I posted off to the city and got my continental
rags changed to silver, before they grew any worse;
and seeking out a land proprietor of the new State of
Vermont, I soon struck a bargain with him for three hundred
acres for two hundred dollars, paid him on the spot,
and came home with the deeds, maps of the country, &c.,
in my pocket, together with a surplus of one hundred
dollars to get me to, and start me upon, my new purchase.
Within one week we were all, with the team and driver
hired for the purpose, on our way to the last settlement,
in the direction of the place where I was to establish my
forest home; within another, having got my family into
comfortable quarters, I was, with pack, gun, and axe,
making my way through the pathless forest towards the
locality of my land, which, though over thirty miles
distant, I succeeded in reaching that day before sun-set.
I found my land, as I was told I should, lying on the east
bank of Onion river, and embracing a noble expanse of
forest meadow-land, bounded north and south by two considerable
streams, that here came in on the same side of
the river, and less than a mile apart. Here, lodging in
my bark-covered shanty, alone in the wilderness, with no
white inhabitants within thirty miles of me on one side, I
worked through the whole of that long summer and autumn,
built a comfortable log-house, laid up, in part, by the
timely assistance of some transient land-lookers, and then,
as winter approached, returned to my family in the settlements.
“Being now with my family again, I cheerfully worked
through the winter for what I could get, bought a stout
horse, and made other preparations for an early removal
in the spring to our new home in the woods. And accordingly,
when May came, with my wife and our two youngest
on the horse, in addition to the bag of meal, bedding
and clothing, with which the strong beast was loaded down,
and myself, with pot and kettles, filled with seed corn, salt,
plates, knives and forks, slung on my back, and gun and
axe in my hands, and with all my older children placed in a
row behind me, we, early one morning, commenced our
toilsome journey through the wilderness. Not being able
to get through, with all our encumbrances, in one day, we
halted at dark, threw up a bough shanty, and under it,
with a fire at our feet, all slept soundly, except myself
who kept awake to be on my guard against the wolves and
catamounts, which were often heard howling in the woods
round our camp, and once came so near it, that I could see
their eyes gleaming in the light of our camp fire. It was a
hard journey for us throughout; but we got safely to our
new home the next day; and notwithstanding our fatigues
we all felt very happy and grateful. Our long dreaded journey
blind to the terrible trials we were destined yet to encounter.
“In the course of a month, I found our breadstuffs were
getting too low to admit of much longer delay in procuring
a new supply, and with the view of being sure of having
such a supply in season, I resolved to make a journey, at
once, for the purpose, to the settlement on Lake Champlain,
which was rather a shorter and easier route than the one to
the other settlement where I had lived. There were at this
time a few families living on the eastern shore of the lake,
at the place which has since grown up into the populous
village of Burlington. Among these, the leading man,
and life and soul of the settlement, was one Gideon King,
who afterwards became the rich man of the lake country.
When I reached my destination, I ascertained that there
were no breadstuffs to be had in the place. But King said
he had that day dispatchcd a sloop to the south end of the
lake for a load of meal, flour and other provisions, which
were to be brought overland from Albany, and that if I
would wait for her return, which would doubtless be within
five days, I should be supplied, and in the meantime he
would give me employment. Falling in with this proposition,
I went to work, and, for several days, felt no uneasiness.
But when five days had passed, and no sloop made
her appearance, I expressed my surprise and concern to
her owner. He, however, seemed to feel no apprehensions
the arrival of some part of her cargo from Albany, recommended
me to keep on at work and wait patiently for the
sloop, which now, within a day or two, would certainly
make her appearance. This, I at last consented to do,
though very reluctantly; for I somehow began to feel a
singular misgiving about matters at home; and feeling tired
as well as dejected, I that night went to bed before dark, and
immediately fell asleep; when I seemed to be at once transported,
either in dreams or vision, to my distant home, and
placed on a broad maple stump standing about a dozen
yards in front of the door of my cabin. Without being
permitted to speak, or make myself known, I was allowed
to see all that was going on among the family, who were
quietly moving in and about the house, and preparing for
supper; for it seemed to be just about the time of the evening
I had fallen asleep thirty miles off I perceived that the
fresh fish and game I procured for them had all disappeared,
and that they now had nothing in the house to eat but
bread. And I soon saw my wife and daughter, Minnie,
then a resolute girl of sixteen, in earnest consultation
about something, which I understood related to the necessity
of having some trout caught that night for the next morning's
breakfast — a feat which I knew Minnie had sometimes
performed. It was with no surprise, therefore, that I soon
saw her come out of the house, take down my fish-pole,
with hook and line attached, and taking my next, a boy of
on the hook, proceed to the river, and throw in. Shortly
after this I saw her look up with a significant smile;
and the next moment I saw her bending and straightening
with all her might in a pull upon the pole, while a prodigious
large trout was brought flashing and floundering
to the surface of the water, when suddenly the pole flew
back with a jerk, stripped of both hook and line. It would
be difficult to describe the look of disappointment and concern
which stamped the unlucky girls' countenance, as she
sadly took her way back to the house; and most keenly did
I sympathize with her troubled feelings, for I knew as well
as she did, that the loss of their only hook and line was a
great calamity to them all. Nor was this all that seemed
to disturb me and increase my anxieties for the family.
I somehow felt that there was still some greater misfortune
in store for them, and near at hand. So I kept
my post to watch for whatever might befall.
“It was a bright, starlight night, and, after having
seen my family make their supper, on their Indian Johnnycake
and water, bar the door, retire to their beds, and all
become hushed in slumber, I seemed to employ my time
in alternately casting watchful glances around the house
that held all my dearest treasures, and then, in gazing
around my opening, and on the wall-like masses of forest
which looming up dimly against the sky-light, seemed to
enclose it in far-stretching, mountain ramparts. Standing
be conscious of the lapse of time. A vision which must
have extended through seven or eight hours, did not seem
to occupy one; and before I thought of morning, the chirping
of the wood-birds, and the peculiar chill and ruffling
of the air which are always the precursors of approaching
day, apprised me that the dawn was close at hand. While
making these observations, I heard the cracking of brush,
as if under the tread of some heavy animal, emerging from
the woods into my opening. And, the next moment, I
could discern a large, black, moving object, attended by
two small ones, making a wide circle around my house, but
drawing nearer and nearer, and snuffing eagerly, as if for
some scented food, as they approached. I perceived them
to be a bear and cubs, and knew they were intent on seizing
something; but still I felt no apprehensions for the
family, for I knew that the bears would not be able to
effect an entrance into the house.
“But as I saw the old bear cautiously leading her cubs
under a small, open, bark-covered shed, which I had previously
thrown up against one end of the house, for storing
dry wood, and to serve as a convenient place for my wife
to keep her kettles and such things as she had not room
for in the house, an alarming truth, for the first time,
flashed across my mind. Among the rough articles of furniture
I had dug or hewn out from logs, was a small but
heavy chest, which I had placed under my bark shed, and
of a lid, I had kept covered with a wide roll of peeled
spruce bark. And I now recollected that the morning I
left, wishing to take my bag with me, I had, for want of
a receptacle in-doors, emptied all our remaining stock of
meal into this chest, which, with its wide, overlapping
cover, I supposed would be as secure as if placed inside the
house. And scarcely had the recollection come to mind,
before I saw the old bear approach the chest, tear off the
the bark cover with her paws, and plunge her head within.
The hungry cubs quickly followed her example, and
all three, the next moment, were obviouly engaged in devouring
our little treasure of meal, while, with feelings
amounting to perfect agony, I was compelled to witness
the destruction without the power of stirring from my
post, or of raising the least outcry to drive the thieving
brutes away. They made short work of it, and turned to
retreat from the place, when in so doing, the old bear trod
on the bark cover, which broke under her great weight
with a loud crash. The noise evidently, for the first time,
awoke my wife, for I at once heard a stir within, and the
next moment, I saw her hastily thrust her head from the
window, glance wildly after the retreating bears, and then
look down, in utter consternation, into the empty chest
beneath. She seemed to comprehend everything in an
instant, and turned away with a cry of anguish and despair
that pierced me to the heart like a sword. I made
side, and thought I was succeeding, but instead of striking
the ground, I landed on the floor of my bed-room in
King's house, on the lake shore, and found myself awake,
just as the first flushes of the morning were breaking
through my window. For some time I could not give up
the idea of the reality of what I seemed to have witnessed,
so vividly had every scene been impressed on my mind.
But, after rubbing my eyes, striking my head and collecting
my confused senses, I was forced to pronounce it all
a dream. But it seemed to me to be a providential warning
of some terrible calamity impending over my family;
and so I hurriedly dressed, went down, related my dream
to my employer, and told him I believed I ought to start
immediately for home. But King had no faith in dreams,
and especially none in the one I had related, which he
said was too absurd to spend a thought upon. And besides,
he said it would be no use for me to return now,
for I could carry no meal; that he was almost out, himself,
and no other family in the place would dare to part with
a pound. No, I had better keep at work, as the sloop
would be along that day or the next, and I could then
have for my family all the supplies I could carry.
“Over-persuaded, but not satisfied, I again proceeded,
after breakfast, to my work, and kept on, thinking every
morning that the sloop would surely arrive at night, and
every night, that she would be in by morning, and being
my family, I staid several days longer; when, on the
tenth night of my absence from home, I had another
dream, a complete counterpart of the former one. I was
again transported in spirit, at the same hour, to my old
stand before my house, when my mind seemed first to be
drawn back to the time I was there in vision before, and
then to take up events where I had left them, and follow
them day by day as regularly as in a journal, to this my
second visit. I saw my wife, the day following the loss
of the meal, go out into the yard, in response to the cries
of the children for food, pick up the feet of a deer I had
killed a fort-night before, and make of them a broth,
which was all they had to nourish them that day. The
next day, after gathering a mess of wild onions or leeks,
which, as miserable as they were for food, were the only
things they were certain of obtaining, my daughter and
oldest boy ranged the woods till nearly night, with poles
or clubs, in the hope of being able to knock down a partridge
or squirrel, but without success. And they renewed
the vain search on the third day, and kept it up
till my boy gave out, when my daughter brought him to
the house and gave over the profitless attempt. They
had then lived three days on no other food than on the
wretched deer-feet broth and then on the green, trashy
leeks that thickly grew on the banks of the river, and all
the younger children had grown so feeble that they could
thin and haggard that I should hardly have known her,
could not walk steadily across the floor, and they all
were evidently fast running down to helplessness and
death — all but my brave daughter, who bore up wonderfully
against the threatened calamity. On the evening
of the day last mentioned, she gathered a large
quantity of leeks, and early the next morning she was
astir, preparing to carry out a resolution she appeared to
have secretly formed for the relief of the family, which
was to try to reach the southern settlement and return
with food in time to save them from perishing. Accordingly,
despite the remonstrances of her mother, who,
when informed of the bold resolve, said it could only result
in her death on the way, she left the house, and disappeared
in the direction of her proposed destination.
“I seemed readily to understand why Minnie had gone
to the southern settlement, instead of following me, who
might be expected to bring food as soon as any was to be
had. During our residence there, the winter before, she
had received attentions from a young man named Constant
Martin, which he was very anxious should result in marriage;
and she knew, if she could reach there that day,
he would not only procure provisions, but attend her
back with them the next day, and in time, she believed,
yet to save them all from death. The day of her departure
was a sad one for the rest of them, but it at length
second vision. I was left to take direct note of the present
condition of my suffering family. But O, what an
agonizing sight for a father and husband to witness, was
there! The pinched, skeleton faces of my prostrate children;
the feeble wails and piteous cries for food that every
few minutes burst from their lips, amidst their disturbed
slumbers, and the sobs and prayers of their almost as
feeble mother, vainly trying to encourage and comfort
them, were the only sights and sounds that greeted my
pained senses during the night, through the whole of
which I seemed compelled to keep up my distressing vigil.
At daybreak, however, I appeared to be suddenly released,
and awakening, found myself, as at the close of my previous
vision, in my bed-room at Burlington.
“This second dream, so curiously connected with the
first, instantly removed every lingering doubt from my
mind. I now knew them both to be true, and determined
not to delay another hour in starting for home.
So, after glancing out of my window down to the landing
on the lake, and ascertaining that the sloop had not arrived,
I hastened to my employer, related my fresh dream,
and announced my resolve for an immediate departure.
This time making no effort to delay me, he brought out
the remains of a cold, boiled fish, with a small piece of
bread, bade me eat and begone, adding, that I could at
least go and kill wild meats enough to keep my family
fifteen minutes, I was on my way home, which, by strong
exertions, I thought I should be able to reach by the middle
of the afternoon. But in endeavoring to save the distance
of several miles by striking directly across the forest,
instead of following up the river round the northern
bend of the last fifteen miles of its course, I got bewildered
and lost in the woods; and after wandering about
all the forenoon, I reached the river only a mile or two
nearer home than my first starting point. To make up
my lost time, I now made the most strenuous efforts to
get forward, pausing only to throw myself down at the
cool rills I crossed on my rough and tangled way, to
quench the burning thirst that was continually parching
my lips and throat to fever heat and dryness. But
with all my exertions, I perceived the daylight declining,
and a dark, cloudy night settling down upon the wilderness,
while miles of my journey yet remained to be accomplished.
How I then, in fading twilight, forced my way
over and through the obstructing objects of the forest, it
is now impossible for me to tell, and I only know that,
after a long and terrible struggle, I at length emerged
into my opening, and threw myself panting and exhausted
upon the ground. While lying there to recover
my breath and strength before going forward to present
myself to my family, I felt while turning on my hip,
something in my pocket, which I did not know was there;
that morning, Mr. King came up behind me and slipped
something there, which till then I had forgotten to examine.
I now eagerly thrust my hand into the pocket,
and drew forth a small flask, which I found to contain
a good half pint of Jamaica spirits. I blessed God for
the discovery, for, while taking a much needed swallow
myself, I thought how beneficially this spirit might be
used in the restoration of my family, if I found them
in the situation I so much apprehended. But what if,
by this time, they were all dead? In the pang of anguish
that shot through me as the dismal fancy crossed
my mind, I sprang to my feet, and rushed forward to the
top of a little swell, which commanded a full and near
view of my house; my heart sank within me as I sent a
searching glance over the dimly discerned outlines of the
building and perceived all to be as dark and silent as the
grave!
“Dead! Yes, all dead! I groaned in an agony of
spirit that almost smote me to the earth. But stay!
what was that? O joy! it was a twinkling light, issuing
from the crevices between the logs composing the
walls of my house. Now Heaven be praised! I shouted.
they are yet alive! And, the next moment, a bright flash,
as if caused by the stirring up of a decayed fire, and the
plainly audible sounds of the naturally accompanying
movements within the house, fell together on my overjoyed
warrant it, after all this fright and fuss, I exclaimed in
the sudden and intoxicating revulsion of feeling. Now
what a prodigious fool I have been to be so worked up by
those miserable empty dreams! They shall never know it,
however; and I will put on such a face, as I meet them,
that they cannot even mistrust I have been guilty of such
folly. So, with an assumed lightness of manner and motion,
I passed on rapidly to the house, and entered the
door, briskly exclaiming, `hurrah! to you all — here I
am, at last, but as hungry as a bear. So, now, wife,
for a good supper!' But as my eyes fell on the face
of my wife, and then glanced over those of the children,
as they lay feebly moaning and sobbing on their pallets,
I stopped as short as if I had met a staggering blow.
My wife raised her pale, emaciated, wo-begone face, and
gave me a look of anguish and rebuke, that, to my dying
day, I shall never forget. She made an attempt to speak,
but her lips trembled, her frame became convulsed, and
she burst into a paroxysm of weeping, so violent as to
prevent her from uttering a word.
“`Never mind, O, never mind, dear wife,' I soothingly
said, as soon as I could speak, `you need not try
to tell me — I know all. But cheer up, now; for
though I bring no meat, you and the children shall yet
be saved.'
“With that I ran to my cupboard, took down a large
and poured it into her mouth, and then administered,
one after another, a like dose to each of my children.
I then kindled up a smart fire, hung over it a pot of
water, into which I flung a little salt, seized my gun, examined
the priming, and saying, in answer to the inquiring
look of my wife, that I would be back with some
kind of game within an hour, rushed out of the house for
the woods. I remembered that there was a cove of still
water in the river, about half a mile from the house, in a
deep and dark part of the forest, where the moose often
resorted, to keep the musketoes and flies from their legs,
by standing in the water during the fore part of the night.
To that spot I now directed my steps. After reaching the
place, as I did with much difficulty, owing to the thick
underbrush, and the darkness which was there so great
that I could not see a hand before my face, I cautiously
crept forward to the edge of the water and took my stand
opposite to the path in which the moose used to come
down into the cove. Here I stood some twenty minutes,
when suddenly the well known, heavy and peculiar tramp
— tramp — tramp of the long-stepping moose distinctly
fell, and fast grew louder, on my ear. And, presently,
with a crash and a splash, the animal came down the bank
in the old path, and plunging into the water, came to a
dead halt within fifty yards of the spot where I was
standing. My heart leaped into my mouth at the sounds;
finger involuntarily began to draw on the trigger. But
what was the use in firing, when the animal was as invisible
to me as if he were a mile distant? None, unless
some higher power interposed to assist me. Yet fire I
must; and therefore, in an agony of earnestness, I
breathed the prayer:
“`Father of all — helper of the suffering — feeder
of the hungry, thou seest the situation of my starving
family, and the certain death that awaits them, without
speedy relief. Then, O, wilt thou not in thy mercy,
direct the bullet, and provide the food which shall
save them from perishing. Amen!'
“With the last word I pulled the trigger, and the
deafening report of my heavily loaded gun pealed out on
the hushed wilderness; while the sudden and terrible
plunging and splashing, as of a strong animal in its death
struggles, told me how well my bullet had executed its
heaven-guided mission. After waiting a minute for the
animal's struggles to subside, I ran round to the part of
the cove where he lay, dashed in, seized one of his hind
feet and drew him ashore, just as he was bubbling out from
his submerged nostrils, his last breath of life. Instantly
whipping out my hunting knife, and guiding mainly by
the sense of feeling, I ripped down and tore away the skin
from one of the haunches, cut out a good junk of solid
flesh, and with it made my way with all possible speed to
the house.
“When I reached there, I found the family, who had
been sufficiently revived, by the spirits I had given them,
to take note of passing events, in a state of tremulous excitement
and expectation, occasioned by hearing the report
of my gun, which, from their faith in my skill in hunting,
they took as the certain herald of success. And as the
eyes of the children fell on the moose-meat I brought
swinging in my hand, all came hastily tottering and
crawling to my feet, and clutched the meat with tooth
and nail, as though they would have gulped it down raw.
But knowing the danger of permitting them to eat solid
food till the tone of their enfeebled stomachs had been
somewhat restored by gradual feeding on nutritious liquids,
I snatched the meat away, shaved off a good quantity
of thin slices and dropped them into the now seething
pot I had placed over the fire in anticipation of some
such event as had now so providentially occurred.
I then did my best to keep the clamorous brood quiet
for the next half hour; when I began to dip out the
broth in small quantities, and administered it with a
spoon to each of the family in turn. This I diligently
pursued for the next hour, each new mess of broth, as I
drew it from the pot, being perceptibly thicker and more
nutritious. By this time, so fast had they all revived,
they began to appear like themselves, move round the
house, go out into the yard and engage in conversation.
My wife, after saying she had been wondering why I
when she had left, and expressed fears for her safety.
But I here also cut her short, telling her I knew all about
that too, all which in good time I would explain, but bid
her borrow no trouble; for I had full faith that the girl
was safe. While I was yet speaking, my oldest boy, who
had been some time out in the yard, came hastening
in and said he had heard some one in the woods to the
south. I rushed into the yard and raised a long halloo,
which was quickly answered by a voice which I knew to
be my daughter's, and which by its tones indicated joy
and exultation, instead of trouble. Presently I raised
another call, that as promptly as before brought my
daughter's response, this time accompanied by a male
voice, which I recognized to be that of her lover, Constant
Martin. `They are coming!' I shouted, now relieved
of my last anxiety, and dancing about for joy.
“In five minutes more, with eager inquiries and joyful
exclamations, they came running to the house, ladened
with meal, flour, and other provisions. Our trials and
sufferings were now over. We felt that we had passed
from the very gates of death to the joys and comforts of
life; and the bounteous meal to which we all within the
next hour sat down, was more truly a Thanksgiving supper
than any one, I will venture to say, which was ever
partaken in the Green Mountains.”
“But, grandfather,” here spoke the listening boy, as
name is Minnie, and my father's is Constant Martin?”
“Yes, my boy; they were married the very next winter
after the remarkable event I have been describing, and
all the sooner for it, as she had not before fully made up
her mind. Yes, they are your parents; and they both,
as well as the rest of us, have reason forever to remember
the Dream and fulfillment.”
THE UNFATHOMABLE MYSTERY.
A TALE OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE.
“There never yet was a murder committed, which was
not found out.”
“I beg leave to disagree with you there entirely. Indeed
I have the best of reasons for believing just to the
contrary.”
The above positive remark, and scarcely less positive
reply, were made, one day, some twenty years ago, at a
dinner table in New Orleans, and led, as trite and unimportant
as they may appear, to the judicial investigation
and development, in a locality nearly two thousand miles
distant, of one of the most singular and mysterious cases
to be found in the whole history of criminal jurisprudence.
The first of the two speakers whom we have introduced,
we will designate as Captain Willis, and the other as Mr.
Bradley, for though ours is intended to be strictly a narrative
of facts, the names of all the principal actors, will
be, for reasons which will soon be obvious to the reader,
mostly fictitious. Mr. Bradley, was a Vermonter, but
for many years had been in trade in New Orleans, where
sickly months, which he spent with his connections in
Vermont, or in some of the Western States. Captain
Willis was a resident of Cincinnati, his sojourn in New
Orleans being a temporary one and for a secret, specific
object. There had then recently been several foul and
startling murders committed in St. Louis; and a number
of the most shrewd and vigilant detectives of that, and
the neighboring cities, had been recently engaged to ferret
out, if possible, the perpetrator or perpetrators of
those appalling enormities. One of these secret detectives
was Captain Willis, and as neither he nor any of
those engaged in the same object, could obtain the least
clue, leading to the discovery of the criminals, anywhere
near the locality of the crime, he had taken station in
New Orleans. Here, for many days, he continued to
visit all kinds of public resorts; mingled familiarly with
all sorts of company, listening intently to all the remarks
made in each, and generally giving such turns to the conversation,
or making such assertions as were calculated to
elicit some unguarded remark or reply, from which he
might obtain indirect hints, or remote clues, to aid him,
in making the desired discovery. But all the ingenuity he
had been able to summon for his purpose, had been exercised
in vain, and he had heard nothing from any quarter,
that particularly attracted his attention, until he met
Mr. Bradley at the dinner party of a mutual friend,
other, happened to be invited. But the reply of Mr.
Bradley to his assertion, which we quoted at the outset,
and which he had made with his old object in view, did,
at once, attract his attention; and the subsequent reserve
and studied evasions, that were made to meet all his further
attempts to press the subject, confirmed his belief
that the other was in possession of some secret, which
might concern him to know; and, though baffled for the
present, he resolved to set his wits to work to obtain it.
In pursuance of this purpose, he, in a few days, exchanged
his lodgings for others at a public house where
he had ascertained Mr. Bradley and his family were, at
that time, boarding.
Here, although he soon found that nothing further was
to be made out of the cautious Mr. Bradley, yet by cultivating
a familiar acquaintance with Mrs. Bradley, and
with a servant girl, who, as he ascertained, had till lately
lived in Mr. Bradley's family, he, in a few weeks, succeeded
in fishing out from Mrs. Bradley and this girl,
without making them aware of his object, all the principal
features of the secret, of which, as he had rightly
judged, Mr. Bradley was the master.
The secret, however, as Captain Willis found to his
great disappointment had no reference to the crime, whose
perpetrators he came there in the hope of detecting. A
murder he was fully satisfied had been committed; but it
states, but in the distant state of Vermont, and in the town
of Mr. Bradley's old home, and yet he did not regret the
pains he had taken, and the unwearied patience he had exercised
in reaching the discovery he had so singularly
made. His labors would still go to subserve the cause of
justice, and he at once determined they should not be
lost to the community in which the newly discovered crime
had been committed. But the measures he took to ensure
this result, as well as the character of the secret, on
which those measures were grounded will be better disclosed
by now transferring the scene to the state where the
supposed murder had occurred, and where that crime and
all the discoverable circumstances attending it, were to be
for the first time brought out before the startled public.
A few weeks subsequent to the events which are above
narrated, and which transpired in the city of New Orleans
in the month of June 1841, the governor of Vermont received
a letter from a stranger, signing his name Willis,
dated at that city and propounding sundry extraordinary
questions about the landscape peculiarities of a certain locality
in the town of B—, in Vermont, in reference to
a large pond, a turnpike running near it, a dark piece of
woods lying between the two, and a certain two story farmhouse
situated at the intersection of the road and the
south-eastern shore of the pond, all of which will be hereafter
more particularly described. The letter then proceeded
person had been missing from that town or vicinity, and
intimating that if these questions were answered in the
affirmative, a farther communication would be made — the
whole concluding with a reference to a well known gentleman
in Cincinnati to vouch for the credibility of the
writer.
The Governor was of course much surprised at receiving
such an unexpected and singular communication, and
scarcely knew what to make of it, but finally concluded
to set an inquiry afoot through his Secretary, who resided
near the locality in question, and who soon reported to
the Governor, that all the different inquiries propounded
in the letter might safely be answered in the affirmative,
excepting that relating to a missing person, concerning
which nothing had been ascertained. The Governor then
communicated these affirmative answers to his correspondent,
and, at the same time wrote to the gentleman in
Cincinnati to whom that correspondent had referred him.
In a few weeks replies came to both letters — the one
from the gentleman referred to in Cincinnati, fully vouching
for the credibility of the correspondent Willis, and the other
from Willis himself, disclosing the substance of what he
had gathered from Mr. Bradley's family respecting a murder
committed several years before in Vermont, naming
the person who had made the disclosure to Mr. Bradley
as being an accomplice after the fact, and who was
residing in Cincinnati, where he might be arrested, taken
back to Vermont, and prosecuted as an accessory, or be
used as state's evidence, as should be thought best.
Accordingly, the Governor dispatched his Secretary to
Cincinnati to carry out the suggestions of Captain Willis,
or otherwise act as circumstances might seem to dictate.
When the Secretary reached that city, he found that
Captain Willis had returned from New Orleans, and that
Mr. Bradley had also come north, and, with his family,
had taken up his summer residence with some friends in
Indiana. The Secretary then caused the young man,
pointed out by Willis as an accessory to the supposed
murder, to be arrested and brought before the Mayor of
the city; when it soon appeared that Willis had made a
mistake in supposing him to be a connection of Mr. Bradley;
further, that he could not be the person who made the
alledged disclosure, and that, in fact, he knew nothing
about the case. The Secretary then pushed on into Indiana
to see what could be elicited from Mr. Bradley, who,
being taken by surprise, and perceiving that the main
features of his secret had, by some means, become known,
soon frankly admitted he knew all about the subject of
inquiry, and then proceeded to give a full and circumstantial
detail of all that had come to his knowledge concerning
the case, which he confidently believed, he said,
to have been one of deliberate murder. He further
to him was a young man of the name of Craney, who, at
that time lived in his sister's family in Vermont, but was
now a clerk in a store in the north part of that State,
and finally, that, after his return to New Orleans from
his visit to Vermont, on which occasion the disclosure was
made, Craney had repeatedly written him, and in all his
letters reiterated his statements, and from time to time
added new circumstances going to show the entire truth of
his revelations.
But leaving the Secretary to return home with the
secret thus obtained, and prepare for the contemplated
legal investigation of the affair, we will now proceed,
after such preliminary statements as may be necessary for
a clear understanding of what follows, to lay before the
reader in detail the extraordinary disclosure which that
secret involved:—
There is, as before intimated, in the town of B—,
situated in the central part of Vermont, a large pond, or
rather two ponds of different sizes, connected by a short,
narrow strait, the smaller, or most northerly, being
about half a mile long, by a quarter wide, and the larger,
or most southerly, being nearly a mile long, by half a
mile wide, and projecting eastward beyond the smaller
pond about as much as the difference between the width
of the two bodies of water. On the eastern side of these
ponds, and parallel with the smaller, runs an old turnpike
which we will designate, as the people of that section
generally designate it, by the appellation of The Village.
This road, passing by the smaller pond at a distance from
it of about a quarter of a mile, strikes upon the shore of
the larger one near its southern extremity, leaving between
the smaller pond and the road an extended reach of
dark, thick and almost impenetrable cedar swamp. Near
where the road strikes the larger pond stood, at the time
the events we are narrating occurred, a two story farmhouse,
occupied by a Mr. Nymore, in whose respectable
family had long lived the young man Craney before mentioned,
then of the age of about twenty-two; who, though
not of the most respectable extraction, had yet always
sustained a fair character for truth and honesty, and possessed
the fullest confidence and respect of the family
with whom he resided. Some time subsequent to the
month of October 1839, however, Mrs. Nymore began to
notice some peculiarities in the young man's demeanor,
such as a general restlessness, absence of mind, dejection,
and ill health, without any known causes. She also noticed,
in common with her neighbors, that without any apparent
means, he appeared to be always well supplied with
money. All this, for a while, she attributed to gambling,
into which vice she feared he had somewhere been initiated.
But a short time after she had settled on this conclusion,
a young mechanic, who had been boarding in the
told her, as he was about to leave for a distant residence,
that she need not harbor any unfavorable opinion of
Craney; or suspect, even should she discover that he had
large sums of money by him, that he came by it from
gambling or any dishonest practices; for he had innocently
become possessed of a writing by which he could
command as much money as he wanted. This strange,
enigmatical communication caused the good lady much
uneasiness, and led her to suspect that Craney had knowledge
of some crime in others, who were bribing him to
secrecy, and she therefore took an opportunity to question
him alone, asking him if he had somebody's promissory
note or other monied obligation, on which he was receiving
or expecting considerable sums of money? He
denied having any note; but finally admitted that he
had a paper with the signature of two men affixed to
it, which would command him money enough, if he
chose to exact it; but “the affair” he said, “so much
worried his mind, that he was tempted to give up or destroy
the writing, and have no more to do with the disagreeable
business.” He then, though refusing to make
any further explanations, asked her to advise him whether
he should give up, or retain the paper. Being now confirmed
in her suspicions, that he was concealing some
great crime for others, who might some day seek his ruin
or perhaps his life, for the purpose of concealing their own
for his own safety. After this, although deeply perplexed
and distressed, she made no further attempt to draw the
secret from the young man, who continued to reside in
the family as before; and, as before was always flush of
money, to which, however, he seemed to attach but little
value, and so the matter rested for many months, and
until her brother, the Mr. Bradley before frequently
mentioned, came from New Orleans to spend a part of the
summer months in the family of his sister, the lady just
introduced; and the latter, who, not knowing where the
consequences would fall, had not dared to tell any one her
suspicions in relation to Craney, concluded to make Mr.
Bradley her confidant, and she accordingly communicated
to him all she had gathered and guessed about the matter
as above related, and requested him to have a private
talk with the young man; get at the bottom of the mystery,
if possible, and give him such advice as the circumstances
might seem to require. With the view of
complying with that request, and obtaining a good opportunity
for so doing, Mr. Bradley offered to carry Craney
to a neighboring town, where the latter had recently engaged
as a clerk in a store; and the proposal being
gladly accepted the two set off in a wagon together, and
during the ride, and while Mr. Bradley was thinking how
he should introduce the matter, on which he had promised
his sister he would take action, Craney voluntarily introduced
was in possession of a fearful secret, which had entirely
destroyed his peace of mind, and that he had been long
looking for a trusty confidant to whom he might safely
unbosom himself, and from whom he would be likely to
receive good advice, he proceeded to make the following
startling disclosure, accompanied throughout with every
appearance of sincerity, and even with obvious agitation
and distress.
“One evening in October a year ago the coming fall,”
he said, “I went down the turnpike on horse-back to the
tavern at the corner, which we call about a mile and a
half distant, to attend a meeting of young men to choose
managers and make other arrangements for a ball, that
we had in contemplation. It was very late — about midnight
probably — when we broke up, and I started alone
for home, while thinking over the arrangements for the
ball, for which I had been chosen one of the managers. I
reached the border of the great Cedar Swamp; when I
soon caught a glimpse of two men, bearing some heavy
burden between them, and hurrying along down an old
over-grown wood-road, which strikes in obliquely on the
right, not far from the corner of the woods, and runs off
south-westerly nearly to the head of the little pond.
Supposing them to be some of the young fellows of the
neighborhood, taking this sly way to go down to the pond
with a seine or a log of light-wood, for the purpose of seining
thought I would follow, take them by surprise and at least
have a little fun out of it. So, after I rode fairly past
the path, I dismounted, tied my horse to a tree, and,
going back to the path, entered it and softly proceeded
on their track. After following a short distance, I came
so near them as to obtain a dim view of their persons,
and to perceive they were just laying their burden down
upon the ground, as if to rest or listen. I then suddenly
sprang forward to the spot, where they stood, and, giving
one of them a playful slap on the shoulder, exclaimed in a
tone between sport and earnest, “now, my lads, I've
caught you!” At the same time I thrust my hand
down to get a grasp on the supposed rolled up seine or log
of light-wood, when, instead of any thing of that kind, I
caught hold of the clammy, cold and still limpsy hand of
a dead man! Starting back horror struck, I stood several
minutes without the power to stir or speak. The two
men also seemed almost equally confounded, and stood,
as if rooted in their tracks, peering at me, and looking
nervously at each other. As soon as I recovered my
faculties to do so, I tried to distinguish their faces and
dress; when I made out enough to apprise me that they
were none of those I suspected, but two men from the
village, who were known to me by sight, as it seems I
was to them. My next thought was to try to effect a
precipitate retreat; and they probably saw something in
my intention; for one of them instantly sprang forward,
roughly grasped me by the collar, and, in a sort of fierce,
hoarse whisper, exclaimed, “You can't go, sir — you
have seen too much for our safety. You must die!”
The fear of death quickly restored to me my power of
speech; and, in an agony of terror, I begged for mercy,
implored them to spare my life, and I would never betray
them. The man still held me strongly in his grasp; but
his momentary silence and seeming hesitation after I had
spoken, gave me a gleam of hope, which was increased
shortly as he turned his head and exchanged a few whispered
words with his companion, the tone of whose replies
I instinctively felt to be on the side of mercy. The
man holding me then turned and hesitatingly said,
“`If we could be sure we should not be betrayed — if
you would swear by all that is sacred, and you could
make us believe you would forever keep your oath — perhaps
—
“Thus encouraged I eagerly interrupted him with fresh
appeals for mercy, and, amidst sobs and tears, promised
I would do all they required of me if they would only
spare my life. They then made me repeat over and over
the most solemn and fearful oaths, that I would never let
what I had seen or suspected, be known by word, hint or
manner, to any human being, telling me that if I ever
violated my oath, they would hunt me down and follow
urged me to accept of a share of the plunder they intimated
they had obtained in the operations of the night.
But I succeeded in evading the proposal; when, after
saying they, or one of them would soon see me again,
and that if I were true, they would give me all the money
I wanted, they at length consented to let me depart.
I then walked back nearly to the spot where I left my
horse; when it forcibly striking me that it was my best
policy to know what they did with the dead man, I turned
about once more, and with careful and soft tread, stole
back to the spot where I left the men. But they were
not there. They had taken up the corpse and departed.
On listening intently, however, I could hear their steps,
made heavier and more measured by the burden they
were evidently bearing, as they toiled and staggered
along the path some distance ahead. Being still determined
to effect my object, I continued to follow them as
cautiously as possible, moving when they moved, and
stopping when they stopped, as they several times did to
rest or consult, until I came near enough occasionally to
discern their forms as they passed some of the lighter
places, or openings among the trees. After a while they
left the path, and, striking off more directly towards the
head of the little pond, they slowly made their way
through the thickets till they came to a clump of white
birch trees, immediately beyond which there was an opening,
their persons and movements much more distinctly.
Near this spot there appeared to be a pit or
hole, formed by the turning up of the roots of a tree,
and approaching this cavity, they threw in the dead body,
stamped it down as far as they could with their feet, and
commenced covering it with dirt they kicked out from the
roots of the upturned tree, moss, and such rubbish as they
could find near at hand. I watched them till they had
filled up the hole, and were beginning to throw over it
leaves and old brush-wood; when I noiselessly withdrew,
and, with hurried, trembling steps, made my way out of
that fearful swamp to my horse, mounted and rode rapidly
homeward. When I had reached there and put up my
horse, I went directly to my sleeping room, threw off my
clothes and jumped into bed, just as the house clock was
striking two. But no one who has not passed through
such a scene as I had, can imagine the state of my feelings.
Such was my nervous agitation and continued distress
that I did not, and could not, sleep a single moment
through the rest of that dreadful night.
“This was Thursday night, and I heard nothing more of
the affair, or the men engaged in it, until the next Sunday;
when one of the men came along, and, hailing me, requested
me to get into his wagon and take a ride with him to a tavern
on the road several miles distant at the south. I consented,
but instead of keeping on in the main, direct road to
miles over the hills, and in back roads, till he had passed
considerably beyond the line of the tavern, which, when
he had regained the main road, he approached from the
other direction. When we reached the tavern, we bespoke
a private room under pretence of doing some business
without any liability of being disturbed; and having
taken me into it, he locked the door, and at once broached
the subject which was uppermost in both his mind and my
own. Here he renewed his offer of money and other valuable
property, and his promises of more as often as I
should desire it. But having, previous to this, thought
over the matter, and made up my mind what course I
would pursue if they called on me as was suggested when
I parted with them, I insisted on having from them some
writing to secure me against them in case that thereafter
they might get into some dilemma, in which they might
be tempted to combine in charging the crime on me. This,
at first he refused to do; but, after awhile, he reluctantly
consented, thinking probably it would be bad policy to
thwart me in a matter in which I appeared so determined,
and wrote a few lines in about these words —
“`If C. Craney shall sacredly and forever keep the
secret we have entrusted to him, this shall entitle him to
any money or other favors he can reasonably demand,
and we hereby fully exonerate him from having any
hand in the transaction to which said secret refers.'”
“He then signed the paper with his own name, and that
also of the other man, and delivered it to me, with a great
many cautions about keeping it securely from every eye.
“We then had some conversation about the deed itself,
and the man who had been thus put out of the way; and
as nigh as I could gather from his guarded replies to such
questions as I ventured to ask, the victim was a foreigner,
a rich old Scotch pedler, who, having stopped a day or
two at the village and incautiously exposed his treasures,
consisting of money, old gold, jewelry and costly satins,
had been induced to come into the vicinity of the pond to
look at some valuable horses, being in search of one for
himself. After this, he, having talked over the matter as
much as he wished, and advised me how to shape my
course, we left the tavern; and, taking another round-about
route, he brought me back to my home.”
Craney having thus far gone on uninterrupted through
the main part of his astounding disclosure, Mr. Bradley
now began to take part in speaking on the subject; and a
long conversation ensued between them, in which the former
further disclosed that since obtaining the writing
above mentioned, he had often seen and conversed with
the signers, and that he had received from them at different
times several hundred dollars, besides some valuable
goods, all which was promptly paid, or delivered, when
asked for. At one time, one of them took him to his
room and showed him a strong, and peculiarly made trunk,
the luckless pedler, and from which he took out a costly,
flowered silk vest pattern and urged it on his acceptance.
At other times one or both these men, had invited him to
take journeys with them to the cities at their expense;
but this invitation he dared not accept, lest they should
contrive when they got him so far from home, to have
something fatal befal him. He also further stated, that
these men had become very uneasy about the paper one
of them had given him, and had often importuned him to
give it up, which he had as often refused to do, knowing
they would not dare to use any other means than entreaty
to obtain it. He also said, “this secret had been a perfect
hell to him ever since he was master of it, and that
it had already not only destroyed his peace of mind, but
ruined his health, which was the principal reason why he
had decided to give up farming for the lighter business
of store keeping.”
After finishing his revelations, Craney offered to tell
Mr. Bradley the names of the two men, whom his story
had so deeply implicated, and to show him the paper he
had received from them, which he said he had in a small
bag or pocket, worn next his skin. But Mr. Bradley telling
him he did not wish to know who the men were, begged
him to keep both their names and the paper to himself.
Craney, however, persisted in giving such descriptions of
the men as to lead Mr. Bradley to suppose he knew who
they were.
The next question discussed between Craney and Mr.
Bradley, was, what course, under all the circumstances,
ought then to be pursued, and as Craney, as innocent as
he was of the crime originally, had implicated himself by
his silence, and more so perhaps by receiving bribes and
portions of the booty; and as Mr. Bradley was strongly
opposed to the punishment of death for crime, and as his
sensibilities were touched at the thought of being the
means of plunging the innocent families of these criminals
into sorrow and disgrace by bringing them to the gallows,
it was at length decided that the transaction should
not be divulged, but kept, as it had been thus far, a profound
secret from all not already apprised of it, and by
way of appeasing Mrs. Nymore, whose suspicions of the
truth, as before mentioned, had been aroused, it was
agreed that it should be hinted to her, that the secret
Craney was concealing for others, related to a crim. con.
case, or something of the kind. This they supposed
would relieve her mind, and at the same time prevent her
from pressing any further enquiries on the subject.
When they reached Craney's destination, Mr. Bradley
left him and returned alone to his sister's residence, where
he continued to remain till Craney came back for a short
visit, and during this visit the murder was made the subject
of another prolonged conversation; when Craney
showed Mr. Bradley some hundred dollars in money,
which he said was a part of the hush money he had received.
that they should both go into the swamp together; when
he would lead the way to the spot where the corpse was
buried, and they would then dig down to it, that Mr.
Bradley might see proof of the truth of the disclosure
that had been made to him. The latter, however, declined
going; when Craney gave a minute description of
the localities of the spot and the path leading to it, so
that if Mr. Bradley was afterwards disposed, he might go
and find it alone. And Mr. Bradley did once, after
Craney again left for his store, conclude he would go, and
actually proceeded some distance with a hoe in hand towards
the designated spot; but feeling that he knew he
should find the remains, and it occurring to him that his
visit to the place might attract attention and lead to inquiry,
he turned about and went home without entering
the swamp at all.
Mr. Bradley now soon returned to New Orleans; when
a correspondence relating mainly to the murder or matters
growing out of it, was opened with him by Craney,
who wrote three or four letters on the subject. In all
these letters, he steadily, and without the slightest inconsistency
of statement persisted in re-affirming the truth
of all he had verbally communicated to Mr. Bradley in
Vermont, adding several particulars, which, as he said,
he had before unintentionally omitted, and describing his
further dealings with the men whose secret he was keeping.
concern respecting the fate of two letters which he
had previously written, but which, as it appeared he had
just been informed, had never reached their destination,
saying that those letters contained enough, if made public,
to ruin him. In another later letter, he stated he
had been into the swamp, dug into the grave and ascertained
the remains were still there. He also told Mr.
Bradley that, agreeably to his former advice, he had settled
matters with the two men in question, and, without
giving up his writing, had received one thousand
dollars, a sum which was none too large, since they obtained
in the transaction, as he believed, money and property
to the amount of ten or twelve thousand dollars, and
he further said that he had made up his mind that now
he would take his thousand dollars, go with it to some
part of the western country and settle there; so that he
might get away from every thing that could remind him
of an affair which had caused him so much unhappiness;
and lastly, some months afterwards, he wrote to Mr.
Bradley, that the store, in which he had been employed,
with all its contents, had been destroyed by fire, and that
all his money with his talismanic writing, which he had
concealed in a certain cavity he had made for the purpose
in the cellar wall, had gone with the rest, and in consequence
of this misfortune, he had given up his intention
of going West, and had obtained a place in a store in the
northern part of the state, where he was then residing.
Such were the extraordinary disclosures, which young
Craney made to Mr. Bradley in Vermont, personally,
and subsequently by letter, and which the latter, as before
stated, revealed to the Governor's Secretary, together
with some hints in regard to the identity of one or
both the perpetrators of the alleged crime. And we
will now return to note the action of the latter in the investigation,
to which he now returned with the purpose of
immediately instituting.
On reaching home, the Secretary caused a warrant for
the arrest of Craney to be taken out and put into the
hands of a sheriff, who, with an assistant, promptly started
off for the town where the young man was residing.
They reached the place late at night and put up at a tavern,
near the store in which Craney was employed. On
ascertaining that the latter slept in the store, the assistant,
who was an old acquaintance of the young man, volunteered
to go to the store and induce him to come over
to the tavern. With this object in view, the assistant
proceeded at once to the store, and at length succeeded in
awakening the object of his search, who presently came to
the door, when almost the first words he uttered were the
rapidly plied questions —
“What is the news? — Has any thing broke out in
B—?” Having evaded the questions, or answered in
a manner that seemed to allay the obvious apprehensions
of Craney, the assistant invited the other to the tavern to
two proceeded to a private room taken by the sheriff for
the purpose in hand. As soon as they were all in the
room together, the assistant announced the true business
on which he and the sheriff had come; when Craney became
terribly agitated, stared wildly around the room,
threw up his hands in a sort of spasmodic tremor, and retreating
backward, sunk nearly fainting, into a chair in
the corner of the room. And it was a long time before
they could get him into a condition to speak at all. But
at length succeeding in calming him down in some measure,
they urged him, for his own safety, to make a clean
breast of it, and divulge the whole story. He at length
replied that he would tell them all the facts, but could
not consent to give up the names of the perpetrators.
And he accordingly went on and related, with little or no
variation, the same story which he had related to Mr. Bradley,
and that too, evidently, without the least suspicion
that the latter had disclosed the secret, concluding by confidently
stating he could go to the very spot where the
murdered man was buried. The sheriff and his assistant
then renewedly pressed him to give up the names of the
perpetrators; when, after awhile, he mentioned the names
of two individuals, who were obviously not the persons
hinted at by Mr. Bradley, and whose characters were such
as to render it highly improbable that they could have
had any connection with the transaction.
After this, the three started for the village, where the
Court of Inquiry, for the legal investigation of the supposed
murder was to be held, Craney going in close custody
of the sheriff. During all the first part of the
journey, and indeed until they had reached their last
halting place at an inn about eight miles from their destination,
Craney persisted in his story, adding, from
time to time, as they went on, numerous little circumstances,
all seeming to go in confirmation of what he had
before related. But during their brief halt at this inn,
the Sheriff took Craney aside, and, whether warranted in
so doing or not, commenced a little investigation, it would
seem, on his own hook, saying,
“Now we want to know what we are to depend on —
what you are going to testify before the court. We are
satisfied you have lied to us so far as relates to the names
you have given as the names of the men who were perpetrators
of the crime you allege to have been committed;
and we wish to know whether your whole story is not
equally false throughout?”
To this Craney, at the time, made no reply. But it
was soon evident, that the Sheriff's unexpected question
had suggested a course for him, which had not before entered
his mind, and as they were on the point of leaving
the tavern to resume their journey, he called the assistant
out of the room and said, “the whole story was one of
my own making up, and was all false.”
He was then, as they were proceeding on their way,
questioned as to his motives in telling such a tale, and
asked what had occurred to suggest it? After some hesitation
and delay, he said that, at the time and place, he
had given in his story, he did indeed see two men enter the
swamp, carrying something on their shoulders, which,
after a moment's consideration he decided to be a log of
light-wood intended to be split up into torches and used
for spearing pickerel. But while riding home, he began
to suppose a case, like the one, which, at the first instant
he had thought this to be — that of foul play and attempt
at concealing by hurrying away the body of the victim
into the woods. And shortly after, wishing to know
whether a friend of his, living in the same family (the
young mechanic before mentioned) could keep a secret,
he hinted his knowledge of such a deed as the above
named circumstance had suggested. And when his friend
contrary to promise, told Mrs. Nymore what he had hinted,
and she questioned him about it, he thought he must
patch up a story to avoid being detected in a falsehood,
and thus he continued to do, till he got it into the shape
in which he told it to Mr. Bradley. He also said in reply
to the question put to him, respecting the hush money
he had told Mr. Bradley he had received, that it was a
sum entrusted to him by the store keeper, with whom he
was engaged, to pay over to a certain Mr. D. of the vicinity.
But to the question also put to him, why he had offered
to take Mr. Bradley to the spot where the murdered
man was buried, and dig into the grave till they
came to the corpse or bones, to put the truth of his story
to the test, he did not attempt to frame any reply. Such
was the unsatisfactory explanation which Craney now
gave of his conduct; and under this new aspect of the
affair, the party arrived in the village when the Sheriff
placed his charge in jail to be ready to respond with his
presence to the call of the court whenever it should be
made.
The next morning after the party had arrived at the
village, and the culprit had been safely lodged in jail,
the Sheriff, his assistant, and the Secretary and others who
had been enlisted in aid of the prosecution, deeming it
advisable, under the altered aspect the case had now assumed,
to delay the court a few days, to see what other
testimony could be obtained, set off for the locality where
the supposed crime was committed. They visited Mrs.
Nymore, who expressed her surprise that Craney should
have proclaimed his story to be fictitious, and intimated
that, by so doing, he had but added to his crimes. Pushing
their inquiries further, they found four different individuals,
to whom, in confidence he had imparted so
much of his secret as related to the writing, by which he
could command money at his pleasure, and by way of
making good his assertions he had shown to each of them,
of large amounts. Among these persons was a brother
of Craney, who admitted he knew his brother's secret,
that he had often seen in his hands large sums of money,
of which, had he chosen he might have become to a considerable
extent a sharer.
The party then entered the great Cedar Swamp, so
often mentioned in this narrative, but made no discovery,
being unable to find any place answering to the one Craney
had described as the locality of the grave. The next
day they visited the Swamp again, taking Craney and his
keeper along with them. And having gone some distance
into it, they requested the young man to show them
the place he had described to Mr. Bradley. He pretended
to comply, and finally led them to a place which
he said was the one in question. But there was no appearance
there, or anywhere in the vicinity, of any grave,
pit, or other depository, where a human body could have
been ever buried, and it having been hinted by some present,
who were best acquainted with the Swamp, and who
had been watching Craney, that he had purposely misled
the party, his keeper was directed to take him away. A
further, but equally fruitless search was then made;
after which the party, with their prisoner, all returned
to the village.
It should also be stated in this connection, perhaps, that
during these days of unofficial inquiry, it was found true
of Mr. Bradley's visit to Vermont, did, on one occasion,
entrust the young man with one or two hundred dollars to
pay over, as the latter claimed to a Mr. D—, who
promptly acknowledged its receipt. But it did not appear
probable that it was the same that had been displayed to
any of the four individuals above mentioned. If it was,
it could not have been shown but to one of them, and
could not have been one quarter of the amount he had
shown at different times to those four individuals, during
that season or afterwards. But this fact, however much
he might have claimed it to prove his innocence, seemed
to be more that counterbalanced by the account which
both the store keeper and his wife gave of Craney's singular
conduct while living with them. They stated that
he appeared to be wretched, always nervous, and apprehensive
of some danger to himself, never daring to go out
after dark, and only in the most frequented ways in the
day time, claiming that he had been shot at with a bullet
that barely escaped his head; while the only explanation
he would give for his apprehensions consisted in his repeated
hints that “there were certain men in the country
who had a great interest in putting him out of the way.”
The Court of Inquiry was now held. The sheriff and
his assistant then gave their testimony in detail relating
to the arrest of the prisoner — his exclamations, fainting
and great agitation, when the cause of his arrest was announced
the disclosures he had made to Mr. Bradley, and his subsequent
denial of the truth of the whole story, and all
the other particulars which we have before related in reference
to that part of our narrative. Considerable discussion
then ensued between those acting in behalf of the
government, and the counsel, whom the prisoner had, in
the meanwhile, employed to conduct his defence; when
the difficulties attending the further prosecution of the
case, under the new aspect which it was made to assume by
the prisoner's denials, soon became apparent. If it was
attempted to make Craney a witness against others, he
would now of course refuse to implicate any one, and there
the matter must end. And if he was tried as an accessory
after the fact, the first step to be made out in such a
prosecution, was wanting — no murder was established.
The sitting magistrates, consequently, though they considered
the young man's conduct wholly unaccountable,
and his explanations of it unsatisfactory, did not feel
themselves justified in binding him over for trial, and he
was therefore discharged. But being still kept under
surveillance, he was, a few days afterwards, brought before
the Grand Jury of the county, put upon his oath and
closely examined in relation to the crime he had till very
recently, alleged to have been to his knowledge, committed.
But he here also persisted in his last story. But
though his examiners felt themselves rather baffled than
leave the affair more deeply veiled in mystery than ever.
He then immediately left town and returned to his residence
from which he had been taken.
Thus ended all that could be strictly considered the
legal proceedings in this remarkable case. But inquiry
and investigation in relation to the subject were not suffered
to stop here. Many had been dissatisfied with the
manner in which the prosecution had been conducted, and
what they believed to be the lack of honest endeavor to
bring the truth to light. They believed further, that
Craney would never have denied the truth of his former
revelations, had not the sheriff put the words of denial
into his mouth, or in other terms, indirectly suggested, if
not advised it. And among those who had been thus made
dissatisfied, and who believed in the truth of Craney's
first story, was the intelligent and sagacious gentleman
who had then just been elected governor of the state, and
among his first official acts was the appointment of a
special agent to investigate the case anew, the fact of the
appointment and the name of the agent to be closely kept
from all knowledge of the public.
Thus authorized, the new agent soon secretly commenced
his inquiries and observations. And, in consequence of
information he received of the brief sojourn in, and then
of the unexpectedly continued absence of a certain pedler
from, a town about twenty miles northerly of the locality
traced out the boarding house of the pedler, and soon
succeeded in ascertaining from its trustworthy mistress
the following facts: —
“That a few weeks previous to the time at which it is
said a murder was committed in the town of B—, a
Scotch pedler came there making her house his head-quarters,
while trading round town; — that by his good
nature and honest simplicity he made himself quite a
favorite among the neighbors, with whom he mingled on
the most familiar terms, treating all as old friends, and on
her especially appearing to bestow the most unlimited confidence;
— that in one of his confidential moods, he one
day brought out and showed her what he called his great
treasure, which, to her great surprise, consisted of more
than a quart — nearer two quarts she thought — of
old gold beads and rings, which it seemed he had a penchant
for accumulating, obtaining them in trade instead
of money, but which, on being warned against showing
lest he be robbed, he hastily put away and never showed
or spoke of again. And that, finally, having remained in
the place about a fortnight, besides his other trading, he
sold on trust two costly satin dresses, which were to be
paid for on his return in about three weeks; and departed
in the direction of the village and the town of
B—, and was never heard of afterwards.”
The next piece of information having a direct bearing
and occasional teamster, living in the borders of the town
adjoining the town of B—, on the south, and about
four miles from the locality of the alledged murder.
Learning that this person was firmly convinced that a
murder was committed, at the time, and in the manner
disclosed by Craney to Mr. Bradley, the agent visited
him and received from him the following statement made
in the presence of his wife, and fully confirmed by her.
“I had been to the village to get part of a load of
produce to take to Boston for the merchants S. S. & Co.,
for whom I was to bring back a full load of goods. This
was in the fore part of the evening of the night on which
the foul deed you are inquiring about, happened. I know
it to have been the same, because it was always understood
in the neighborhood, that something strange happened
to young Craney that night; and because, as it now
seems, he confessed to Mr. Bradley, he met the young
men at the tavern to choose managers for a ball; and on
calling at the tavern I found them there for that purpose.
Well, when I had reached home and lit a lantern to unharness
by, I discovered, to my vexation, that one of my
horses had lost a shoe, which would compel me to go back
to the corner to get another put on before I could start
for Boston, as I was intending to do very early the next
morning. So, rising with the first signs of day, the next
morning, I mounted the horse that needed shoeing and
had reached the great Cedar Swamp, it had become broad
day-light; and as I approached the northerly end of it,
my attention was attracted by something unusual in the
appearance of the road at the point where an old half
over-grown timber path struck off obliquely into the
swamp. Here the road, especially on the swamp side,
was all marked over with foot prints, turned in various
directions and deeply indented into the earth, showing
the short stepping, backing and twisting of booted feet,
with other evidences of a fierce struggle, which must, as
the new and fresh appearance of every thing indicated,
have occurred during the night. My curiosity was so
much raised by these unusual appearances, that I dismounted
and was examining them anew; when stepping
towards the cart ruts on the swamp side of the road, I
was horrified in beholding a pool of fresh looking blood,
which had been shed in such quantity as to overflow the
rut and run several feet down the bank beyond. I noticed,
also, that the grass and bushes had been bespattered
by blood some distance along the old path running into
the woods. In strong excitement, I mounted my horse,
rode on to the blacksmith's shop and told the people there
that a murder had certainly been committed the past
night, back on the road near the edge of the great Cedar
Swamp, urging some of them to go back with me and
examine the spot. But they would not go, nor believe
came from a dog or some other animal that had been killed
there. When I went by the place, on my return, the
same appearances were still visible, though the sun having
risen and shone on the spot, the blood had lost its fresh
color so that, with those not on the look out for something
of the kind, it would not have been very likely to have
attracted notice.
“When I reached home, the first thing I said to my wife
was to tell her there had been a murder committed on the
edge of the great Cedar Swamp, the night before, which
would be out doubtless before I returned from Boston,
though she perhaps better say nothing about it. And on
my reaching home from Boston, the first words I said to
her, were to ask her if “that murder was out yet?”
The next discovery that the agent made, was one
which induced him to suspect there was a third man connected
with the crime, who did not appear ever to have
been known to Craney, but who, probably, was the one to
give the fatal blow, his more cowardly or cunning instigators
staying in the back-ground till the deed was done,
then, advising him to keep aloof, going forward themselves
to secure the plunder and secrete the corpse. This man
was an Irishman of a rough and doubtful character, who,
at the time of the suspected murder, lived as a hostler at
the tavern at the Corners in B—, but who soon disappeared
and was not heard of till the next summer, when
at work on a farm in a neighboring town about a dozen
miles distant. His whereabouts having been thus ascertained,
the agent visited the place and received from the
intelligent old farmer, for whom the man had worked, but
subsequently ran away, the following significant statement:—
“The fellow you inquire about, I consider to have been
at least a very dubious character. I soon perceived that
there must be something wrong in the man. He seemed
to be very suspicious and apprehensive that somebody was,
or would be, after him. He would never leave the house
after dark; and if he ever went any distance from home,
he always went secretly armed with a small dirk-like
bayonet I had in the house. His mind seemed continually
running on murders; and he was often supposing
cases of the kind, his object evidently being to find out
what proof it required to hang a man. One day as my
wife went to his room to make his bed, she found his
trunk, which he had ever before kept locked up, standing
wide open; when spying a piece of costly satin goods,
she, in the way of inspecting so unlooked for an article
in the hands of a rough Irishman, raised end of one it
from its place, and to her greater surprise, beheld a quantity
of gold beads and rings. Seeing now the reason
why he had kept his trunk so carefully locked, and fearing
he would suspect she had looked into his trunk, if he
would defer making the bed, and so left every thing
as before, and went down. But she had scarcely
done so, before he came in, and in an excited manner,
rushed up stairs, locked his trunk, and went out again
without making, however, any excuse for coming into the
house. My wife and I, who discussed all this between
ourselves, thought it a most strange and suspicious circumstance,
but agreed to keep our own council. He had
now been with me six or eight months, and what was curious
was the fact that all that time he had never betrayed,
by word or hint, anything about his last residence,
having held out to me that he came from a neighboring
state. But an incident now soon occurred which gave
me new light on the subject, and was the means, as it
would seem, of my losing my hired man. A former acquaintance
of mine, living in the town of B—, came
to see me on business, and having seen my Irishman in
the yard and knowing him, told me he was the same man
that had lived the year before with the tavern keeper in
B—, and he further told me that there were strange rumors
afloat in B— that some foul deed had been committed
the fall before in the vicinity of the tavern. This, coupled
with what I had seen in the Irishman, set me thinking
anew; but I said nothing to him about it after my friend
was gone. He, however, it appeared, took the alarm
without any words of mine; for that very night, he ran
my little dirk-bayonet along with it.”
Such were the main pieces of circumstantial evidence,
which the agent collected in the course of his inquiries.
But with these he became also possessed of a knowledge
of a great many other circumstances tending to the same
point which, though many of them might be termed mere
straws, yet it was wonderful to see how universally and
certainly those straws all pointed in one and only one direction
— and that was to the commission of the crime, at
the time and place that had been alledged.
Among the last named class of circumstances, was the
well ascertained one, that all the connections of the family,
with whom Craney had lived, and with whom he still
kept up the closest intimacy, were unanimous and decided
in their belief in the truth of his first story, and in the
conviction, that his subsequent denial of it was made only
with the object of thereby escaping prosecution, which he
was evidently fearful would be instituted against him, instead
of merely using him as a witness. All this, indeed,
he distinctly stated to the two or three of the confidential
friends who, as before intimated, were partially initiated
into his secret, had been shown his hush money, and
who had severely censured him for denying what he now
admitted to be the truth.
Having now collected as much of this corroborative
testimony as he deemed sufficient for present purposes, the
himself in communication with Craney, to induce him to
disclaim his denial, made about the time of the Court of
Inquiry, as it was believed he would, when apprised of the
recent discoveries of the facts above enumerated, and,
confronted with his own admissions on the subject; then,
still further induce him to take the indispensable step
of assisting in good faith to find the remains of the murdered
man; so that the existence of such remains so found
buried or concealed might be legally established by competent
witnesses.
With this object in view, he sought an interview with
Craney's father, and opened the subject to him. The old
gentleman was, at first, shy about the matter, and framed
all his replies with great caution and reserve, being evidently
apprehensive that his son might be brought into
trouble in consequence of the affair. Being convinced
that he knew much more of the matter in question than
he pretended; and that he was only prevented from disclosing
what he knew by fear of involving his son, the agent
made the proposition that young Craney should pay a
visit of a week to his old home in B—, go into the
swamp, find the remains of the murdered man, then call
in the aid of a confidential friend and his father, who should
disinter the remains and remove them to a place of safety;
when Craney should return to his residence near Canada
line, or pass over into Canada if necessary, and there remain
proper authorities that he should not be prosecuted, should
be brought him; and that he should come there, and appearing
as a witness before a Court of Inquiry, should
make a full disclosure, and point out the perpetrators of
the crime in question; who, in the meanwhile, were to be
arrested and brought into court for the purpose.
As soon as the old gentleman could be made to comprehend
this plan, and especially as soon as he was convinced
his son might safely do what was proposed, he
seized the agent's hand and exclaimed,
“It shall be done! I have for months and months
told my wife I would give anything if that wicked deed
could all be brought to light. The secret is killing my
son — killing us all. Yes sir, it shall be done.”
And it was done. The old gentleman and one of the
intimate friends before mentioned, conjointly wrote to
young Craney, who at length entered, in evident good
faith, into the arrangement, came home and spent the
successive days of nearly a week in searching the Cedar
Swamp. He found no difficulty in finding and identifying
the spot where the murdered man was buried, and
spent the first day in removing the rubbish and digging
down into the grave, till he had cleaned it out to the
original bottom of the cavity. But he found nothing
save some slight shreds of clothing, and a few scattered
hairs; — just enough to remove the last doubt, if any
corpse was buried. The remains were not found; and
believing they had not been removed to any great distance,
but were still to be found concealed in some part
of the swamp, he continued his search, day after day, for
about a week, till he had examined every spot, where
they could have possibly been buried, or concealed; but
all in vain, and he at last gave over the search under the
full conviction that the bones or remains, whatever state
they might have been, had all been dug up and carried
away out of the swamp to some place unknown. All this,
through the medium already named, he reported to the
agent and asked what more was to be done; saying that if
no new prosecution was to be instituted, he hoped he
might be spared disclosing the names of the perpetrators,
which he said he had never yet definitely done so as to be
rightly understood. An answer was returned that as the
attempt to discover the remains had resulted in a failure,
no prosecution could be instituted with any hope of a successful
termination; and none unless some new discovery
were made, would therefore be commenced; and it might
be better, as the case stood, to keep the names to himself,
and let the whole subject, if he could, be banished from
his mind.
There is but one additional circumstance to be added
to the history of this case — to which, the reader may
attach, any, importance which he pleases. But as it
it shall be briefly stated. Two clairvoyants, both
boys, and wholly unknown to each other, were, by one
of the agent's assistants consulted, in their mesmeric
state, respecting the supposed murder in the town of
B—, and severally asked, at different times and places,
what they could see in relation to any such transaction.
They both, singularly enough, told in substance the same
story. They said they saw a man knocked down with a
club by one man, and seized by two others, carried off
and buried in the dark woods near a large piece of water;
but was afterwards dug up, carried out on the water, in a
boat, and sunk. They both agreed on this, and one of
them said, in addition, that while the two men were
burying the corpse, the one who struck the blow took
the horse and wagon belonging to the murdered man, and
drove off with it to a distant part of the town, and to an
obscure, out of the way place, where he left it. And
strange to relate it was ascertained, on inquiry, that, at
the place, and about the time named by the clairvoyant,
an ordinary horse and wagon was found without any
owner, and for which no owner ever afterwards appeared.
Thus ends our account of this extraordinary case, — a
case for which, as regards all its prominent features, a
parallel can scarcely be found among the records of the
past. If we assume as a fact that a murder was actually
committed, we have just glimpse enough of the dark
romantic horrors in which the wildest fancy could have
clothed it; while, at the same time, all further light respecting
the crimes or its cold-blooded perpetrators, seems
impenetrably closed to our view. If, on the contrary, we
take the ground that no murder was committed, we find
it almost utterly impossible to reconcile young Craney's
conduct with any known principle of human action.
That he might have invented such a story and told it to a
companion one day, and proclaimed it a joke the next;
or, even that, for some object, he might have had the disposition
and skill to make a credulous person believe it
for months, we can easily enough conceive. But that,
with only ordinary capacities and tact, he should, or
could, invent, with all its minutiæ, this revolting tale;
give direct clues to it to four or five individuals; tell it,
in all seriousness and apparent anguish of feeling, to a
keen business man, as was Mr. Bradley, and find implicit
credit; — offer to show him the remains of the victim,
and thus propose to do what must necessarily detect him
in a falsehood, and then reiterate the story through a long
correspondence; — that he should grow nervous and pine
away under a story of his own invention; that he came
honorably by the large sums of money he was known to
possess; that he should have been seized with such terror
and struck dumb when arrested, and all in consequence of
a fictitious story got up by himself with no apparent motive,
Nor is it less difficult, on the supposition that no murder
was committed, to account for that singular chain of concurring
facts and mutually corroborating circumstances,
which the patient persistence of the last appointed agent
brought to light, in any manner which reason or probability
could sanction. And yet we are compelled to leave
the subject here, and call it, as those best acquainted with
the facts have always done, at least an Unfathomable
Mystery.
THE RUSTIC FINANCIERS.
Among all the curious and cunning devices ever concocted
to make money without legitimate means, not one,
perhaps, can be found which surpasses, in originality and
shrewdness, a scheme got up for that purpose, and successfully
carried out, some twenty years ago, in one of the interior
towns of Vermont, called Cozy Corners, by three
men, known by the several names of Riah Cutefight, Bill
Versute, and Eph Equivoke, the surnames being nicknames
bestowed by an odd and crafty old pettifogger of
the place; who, in turn, was dubbed by them Runa
Rasp'em.
The tavern bar-room, — that standing Elysium of small,
country village loungers, — had long been the head-quarters
of the above named trio. At one of their meetings at
this place on a stormy evening, when the inclemency of
the weather kept all other company from the house, Riah
Cutefight, the leading spirit of the three, who had been
for some time in a deep study, suddenly aroused himself,
and bringing down his palm with a smart slap on his knee,
exultingly exclaimed:
“I have it. Yes, sirs, I have it! It is done!”
“What is it you have? and what is it that's done?”
asked his companions, looking at him in surprise.
“The new plan I've been studying out for accomplishing
what we three have so often talked about,” replied
the former, glancing round doubtfully at the sleeping
landlord.
“Talk it out,” said Bill Versute. “No risk from that
source.”
“I don't know about that,” rejoined Cutefight, shaking
his head. “It will be more prudent to hold in till we
get out of all ear-shot on our way home.”
“But it will do no hurt to kind'er suppose a case, so
as to give us a sort of general idea of your scheme; no
matter if it is a little blind. I can guess it out,” remarked
Equivoke, who, as his name implies, was himself a
dealer in ambiguities.
“Then, to strike at once at the root of the matter, I
make the supposition that, every man has in him a
chunk of human nature as big as a woodchuck. Don't
laugh, I'm serious. That simple fact forms the base of
my whole scheme.”
“Ah? And there are always certain points of that
chunk that we can seize on, and turn to our advantage?”
“That is quite an idea — I begin to see. We'll have
a plan out of it, if you have it not already.”
“But I have a regular plan; and have pretty much decided
tell us how to keep clear of legal snags. Let us be off
now, and stop at Versute's house, when you shall have my
whole plan which we will discuss, and then agree on a
time to begin operations,” added Cutefight, as the three
donned their fox-skin caps, and left the tavern.
On the third morning after this, Cutefight and Versute
were seen, with considerable appearance of stealth, making
their way, in the one horse team of the former, out of
the village, up the road northward, on some unknown destination.
As these men had, ever before, been quite open-mouthed
about all their movements, and had now gone off
without saying a word about it, though evidently equipped
for a considerable journey, their departure at once attracted
general attention. And many were the queries
and conjectures raised among the curious and wondering
villagers respecting the cause and character of the unusual
movement; but nobody could throw any light upon the
subject. In this dilemma, Eph Equivoke, who, having
been selected by his confederates to play a necessary part
in the game afoot, now made his appearance in the street,
was appealed to on all sides to aid in explaining the singular
affair. But he, though supposed to know everybody's
business, and especially that of the two men in
question, appeared as much in the dark as any of them;
thought it looked rather suspicious, and finally recalled
certain curious circumstances, which he could not name,
opinions on the matter.”
These dark hints and surmises, coming as they did from
one who would be most likely to hit on the truth, instead
of explaining, only increased the mystery, which thereupon,
for the next three days, became the chief staple of
conversation among the good people of Cozy Corners.
At the close of the third day, however, the affair was
destined to assume a new aspect, but one which was little
calculated to allay the excitement it had already occasioned.
Just at dark, on that day, the two absentees were seen to
be approaching at a slow pace along the road, in which
they had departed, and walking by the side of their team, as
if the load was too heavy to permit of their riding. On
reaching the Corners, they drove up to the tavern door,
and called out the landlord.
“Landlord, can you store for us, a few days, that half
barrel of flour?” said Cutefight, with an air of mysterious
privacy as he pointed to a half barrel in their wagon,
visibly marked with a well-known flour brand.
“O, yes, certainly, Mr. Cutefight.”
“But haven't you some empty room, which can be
locked up, to put it in, so that it can be perfectly safe?”
“Why, yes — if you say so; but what need —”
“Well, we have our own reasons; but all right, as you
say you can put it under lock and key; Versute, let us
see if we can get it into the house.”
The two men took strong hold on the ends of the cask,
lifted it out with much seeming effort, and, staggering
along with it to the door, followed the landlord to a backroom,
where they deposited the precious burden, locked
the door, took the key, and hurrying out, drove off home
with the air of men anxious to avoid all chance of being
questioned.
“Now make me believe, if you can, that there is nothing
but flour in that cask they just tugged in there,”
significantly remarked Equivoke to those who, like himself,
had gradually edged up near enough to see and hear
all that had transpired.
“So say I — and I,” promptly responded others. “It
is evidently too heavy to be only flour; and then they
have been so sly and secret! But what can it be they've
got in the cask?”
“Maybe they've robbed some bank, and got the specie,”
suggested one.
“Maybe they've found a mine of solid gold,” remarked
another.
“And maybe, too, they've got a lot of counterfeit hard
money,” added Equivoke, in a tone and look of peculiar
meaning.
This last intimation, which evidently at once struck all
as affording the best explanation of the suspicious affair,
caused a lively sensation among the crowd — some shaking
their heads and saying nothing; some suggesting an
but the greater number advocating delay till the counterfeit
money had been passed. And so, they all now soon
dispersing, thoughtfully took their way to their respective
homes.
The next morning, Cutefight and Versute came to the
tavern, and after being alone awhile in the room where
the mysterious cask was deposited, came out into the
street, and listlessly sauntered along into the store; when,
taking the storekeeper aside, and pulling out a dozen
half-dollars, they quietly asked him if he would like to
buy them.
“No — can't go into that game,” forbidingly muttered
the storekeeper, full of the prevailing suspicion.
“But you can examine them can't you?” said Cutefight,
with composure.
“Well — yes,” replied the other, hesitatingly, taking
the proffered coins, and carefully subjecting them to the
usual tests of ringing them on the counter, paring their
edges, etc.
“Why,” he at length resumed, in surprise, “these, at
least, are all good. You meant, I suppose, to ask me to
exchange them for other money?”
“O, no — it was a sale we proposed. We don't expect
to get the par value for those, nor the rest of our
stock of the same kind now on hand, or to be on hand according
to the encouragement we meet with in sales. But
give us — say about seventy-five cents on the dollar for
this little lot. Will you do it?”
“Why — well — y-e-s — yes; I don't know why I
should not, if you really wish it. Let's see — twelve
halves, six wholes, and six quarters off, leaves $4 50;
and here it is. But now recollect, it was your own offer;
so don't hereafter say I cheated you.”
“Be sure not. And, on our part, we wish you hereafter
to recollect that we did not pass, or offer to pass,
those pieces to you for good money, but only sold them.”
With this, the two hard money venders went off, leaving
the storekeeper completely at a loss what to make of
the affair, and not a little doubtful about the propriety of
his own course. And, like other men in similar predicaments,
he was anxious for the opinions of others; so he
called in some particular friends, related all that had occurred,
and with them examined anew the money, which
they all, at length, agreed were nothing else than genuine
silver half dollars. And these men going out, soon spread
the news, which brought in others, and yet others, to go
through the same process; till, before night, every man,
woman and child of the village had the exciting subject
in full discussion. But not one of them all could give
any satisfactory solution of the mystery where the money
came from, or how it was obtained.
On the following day, Equivoke, who had the day before
everything might be thoroughly discussed without his
help, and not appear to be hurried, carelessly entered
the store to learn the news, he said, when he was shown
the money in question, and informed of all that had taken
place. He appeared to be both surprised and gratified to
find the money, so contrary to what he should have expected,
to be unquestionably genuine; was convinced he
had wrongly suspected these men, who, after all, probably
had never had any notion of entering on any lawful enterprise.
They might have, somehow, got honest access
to some great treasure; and, if so, it would be a matter
of interest to the whole village. He was resolved to
know more of the business. If a shower of money was
about to fall on the place, he wanted to know it, so he
could hold up his cap for a share. He would soon visit
Riah and Bill, and find out something about it, and see
on what terms they would let others in as sharers.
The words of Equivoke, who by his course had warded
off all suspicion of any complicity of his own in the affair
now evidently made a deep impression on his listeners;
and they all urged him to make his proposed visit without
delay. And being thus solicited, he at length promised
that, though he would have liked a little more time to
think of it, he yet would go the coming evening, and
meet them all at the store, the next morning, to report
his discoveries.
Punctual to his appointment, Equivoke made his appearance
the next morning at the store, where the company
of yesterday, and most of all the other men of the
village with them, had already assembled to hear the
promised report.
“Got to give it up,” said he, in response to the inquiring
glances of the company; “was on good terms with
Riah and Bill, certainly, before they took to being by
themselves so much, and felt sure I could get all I wanted
out of 'em. But as to their main secret, they keep their
mouths as close as clams.”
“But did you get no clue to it? nothing out of all
their talk to enable you to form a pretty close guess about
the truth of the case?” asked the store-keeper, as spokesman
for the rest.
“No, not as to where the money came from, or how
they first got track of it”
“Then you believe there really is money they can get
when they please?”
“Yes, enough to make every man at Cozy Corners rich
as mud.”
“Then why don't they go and get it, or let somebody
else do it?”
“Just what I told them, which brought them out a
little, and they at length admitted that it required considerable
capital to operate to advantage, though for every
dollar they pay out, they are sure to get more than twenty
immediately, is the lack of such capital which they hope
to get soon, when they will begin operations on a large
scale.”
“But how about letting in others for a chance?”
“Well, they hung off a good deal at first, being naturally
anxious to get it all for themselves, but at last
came round as fair as I could expect. And I finally succeeded
in getting their promise to let in a select number
provided they would raise them, within a month, an
amount large enough to make it worth while to go into it.
I shall subscribe for a full share, or $100, which I think
I can raise securities for borrowing. I shall advise no man
to it, lest, if the thing don't turn out well he might blame
me. But I shall give every man a chance to join who
wants to, in a private way; for the whole move had better
be kept as secret as possible.”
So saying, Equivoke, with the elated and restless air
of one having important business to attend to, bade his
eager listeners good morning, and hurried away into the
street.
After he left, the company sat some time, musing
in silence, as if debating in mind a question on which
they cared not to express themselves openly; when one
after another, they all quietly rose and left the store, and
before that day's sun had set, every one of them, watching
his opportunity in the street, had taken Equivoke aside
to make them full sharers in the enterprise.
From this time, all public discussion on the subject,
which, for the past few days, had caused so much agitation,
seemed strangely to subside. But though such was
the outward aspect, yet everything tended to show that
the scheme was being as rapidly, as it was silently, pushed
forward to the grand consummation. Equivoke, for the
next two or three weeks, seemed to be everywhere, and
everywhere equally busy; though none but the initiated
could divine the character of his business; for he not only
kept a close mouth himself, but enjoined secrecy on all
others to whom he disclosed his projects. So well, indeed,
was all this managed by him, that none of all whom
he had enlisted, exactly knew who, or how many had
joined the company. And with equal adroitness had he
conducted his dealings with every individual, especially
in steering clear of representations which could be construed
into false pretences to get money, relying wholly,
after stating all the facts yet come to light, on such hints,
and apparently indifferent remarks, as he judged best
calculated to excite curiosity and awaken the avarice of
the individual addressed. In this manner he conducted
his bold enterprise, and so diligently and successfully
did he pursue his object at the same time, that, by the
end of the third week, he had securely enlisted a company
of thirty men in the village and vicinity, of all grades
of wealth and character, including, as it afterwards leaked
deacon among the number.
“Riah Cutefight is a philosopher,” soliloquised Equivoke,
as he retired from a successful application made to
the last man he proposed to add to the company — “yes,
he was entirely right — there is indeed a chunk of human
nature in every man as big as a wood-chuck, else
our cake had been forever dough.”
The most difficult and delicate part of his task being
now accomplished, nothing more for the present remained
for Equivoke to do, but to watch the machinery he had
put in motion. And the many silent but significant
movements, which, to his gratification, he ascertained
were now generally beginning to be made among his recruits,
such as mortgaging small farms, journeys to distant
money lenders, and applications for loans at the nearest
bank, all to raise money for unknown purposes, and
in specific sums of $100 each, soon sufficiently assured
him, that everything was going right, and that, by the end
of the month when he was to go round to receive it, the
golden harvest would be ready for the reaping.
The eventful period was at length fulfilled, and the
long looked-for day, which was to be the last limit of
payment, had come and passed away. On the evening of
that day, as soon as night had securely drawn her curtains,
and while Cutefight and Versute were sitting, in
the most retired room of the house of the latter, in evident
expectancy of some arrival, the important Equivoke,
collection, suddenly, and with his usual stealthy step,
glided into the apartment.
“There!” he exclaimed, with a low exulting chuckle,
as glancing knowingly at the others, he unrolled from an
old newspaper a large number of assorted and labelled
packages of bank bills, and spread them out on the table
— “there, sirs! all finished up at last. Just thirty of them
in all, a hundred in each; so, exactly a clean, cool thousand
apiece! Now aint it great?— all just so — but run
them over for yourselves.”
The three now eagerly joined in the count of the packages,
found all right, divided them equally, and pocketed
their respective shares, while dancing about the room
gleefully snapping their fingers, and otherwise extravagantly
evincing the intense gratification they felt at the
almost unhoped for success of this their grand financial
enterprise.
“Well, Eph,” said Cutefight, as their demonstrations
subsided, “what do you say now to my philosophy about
that chunk of human nature? You have proved it true
by this time, havn't you?”
“Yes, it is that, old Rasp'em and the Devil aiding
which has enabled me to go through with my difficult
part of the scheme so cleverly. But what is now to be
the next move for you and Bill?”
“To be off as we told you, this very night, for some
snug prairie farm in the far West. We could probably
but it might not be exactly pleasant to live among
those whom we have taxed so heavily for the lessons of
wisdom we shall have given them — not that I should
count myself more guilty than they; for the readiness
with which they enlisted in our scheme, shows their willingness
to go secretly into practices more unlawful than
any we ever dreamed of. Yes, we are going. I have no
wife; Bill has lost his. We two can well go, and, with
a hint from you that we have gone after the treasure, get
off safely.”
“But have you arranged everything? There is a
mortgage or something aint there, where you raised the
money we agreed on for starting operations? I never exactly
knew how you managed matters when you were gone;
— tell me, if you please.”
“I will — well, after leaving here, we steered directly
for a man living about a dozen miles off, whom I knew
and who loaned us $300 on a mortgage of Versute's
house here, and a lien on my team. He let us have bills
all of one bank over the mountain; and with them over
we went, drew out the silver in half dollars, bought a
half barrel of flour, opened it, beat down a hole, put in
our little bag of money, headed it up tight again and
came home. You know the rest of that. Well, a few
days ago we took over the same money, mostly still on
hand, you know, to pay up the mortgage man, but was at
the same sum, which left my team clear, and the money
to be taken by Versute, who has also privately disposed
of his furniture. So every thing is fixed. The old
horse is eating his last mess of Vermont oats, and we shall
be far on our journey before morning.”
“All right for you; but I shall brave it out, for the
present, and that being so, all the better for me may be
your going, as folks may look on you two as the only responsible
ones.”
“Yes, and to favor that idea the more, for your sake,
Bill and I, before we go, will put something on paper and
leave it — say under those old newspapers there in the
corner, where you can contrive to have it found when the
storm bursts, which you must try to stave off as long as
you can.”
“I will; but the first thing for me to do is to go back
to the Corners before folks are abed, to drop the hints
necessary to have the right version put on your absence
to-morrow morning.”
“Thank you, Eph. You've done well throughout, and,
though not helping any about raising the starting funds,
have richly earned the full share you've got — perhaps
more; so we will give you that half barrel of flour, still
locked up at the tavern; and here is the key.”
And so the confederates parted; when Equivoke, calling
on several of his company, told them he had placed all
who were preparing to start with it before light the next
morning, and hinted at the great things now, in four or
five days, to be expected; while the two latter immediately
departed, but in a manner widely different from what
their credulous dupes were anticipating.
Equivoke was now calculating on a quiet of at least
four days; but he was a little mistaken. On the third
evening there was much anxious waiting for the arrival of
the expected men, and the next morning, when it was
fully ascertained they had not arrived, a great deal of
disappointment was expressed, and many significant questions
began to be raised. And, while many began to be
thus agitated by lurking suspicions, an event now occurred
that soon fanned those suspicions into an open flame. It
was accidentally discovered that Versute had sold out his
house and furniture. The news flew like the wind. Excited
men came flocking to the tavern from all quarters,
and clamored loudly for Equivoke, who, now appearing,
seemed as much alarmed as the rest, and proposed an instant
search of Versute's house, which was accordingly,
as soon as it could be reached, ransacked, but in vain,
from top to bottom for the money, or something to throw
light on the subject. While this was going on, Equivoke
found opportunity to secure the promised written missive,
and, unseen, placed it, with the key he had taken, on a
window sill, where they were soon espied, and snatched up
with the exclamations —
“A letter! a sealed letter, addressed, `To whom it
concerns.' What can it mean? Will it do to open it?
And then here is a key, too!”
“A key?” said Equivoke, coming forward at the mention
of the article. “Now I'll bet that is the key of the
tavern room, where they kept the half barrel of flour and
their money in it; and that reminds I bought that flour
of them some time ago, and was to have it when they took
the money away. But who knows whether the money
aint there yet? If 'tis, we'll just have it, and divide it
up among ourselves. Let's all hands go and see, and take
the letter along with us.”
Another rush was now made for the tavern, the mysterious
room entered, the half barrel opened, the flour
found safe, but the money gone. With low mutterings of
disappointment, the searchers came out to the door,
around which nearly the whole of the secret band, though
mostly unknown to each other as such, were by this time
assembled; when the letter was called for, torn open and
read as follows:
“To all good Deacons, church folks and others, who can honestly say
they are without the sin of abetting what they must have known to be,
if anything at all was to be made out of it, nothing more or less than
a scheme for passing counterfeit money — let them cast the first stone.
William Versute.”
This cool and significant missive was enough for them.
Their worst suspicions were all confirmed, and their eyes
truth. But it would have taken a painter adequately to
depict the varying expressions of wrath and chagrin that
marked their chop-fallen countenances. None now, however,
ventured to proclaim themselves particularly injured
or interested in the denouement; and all soon
sneakingly slipped away to their homes. But as each one
of course knew the part Equivoke had taken, individual
communion could be had with him without exposure;
and he was therefore fiercely beset by them all in turn —
some begging him to help them, or at least aid in ferreting
out the runaways, some accusing him of being an accomplice,
and some threatening him outright with suit or
criminal prosecution. But Equivoke was very innocent
— didn't know as he could blame them for thinking or
saying as they did, but he was in fact more to be pitied
than any of them; and now it would be as cruel as it
would be useless to go to bothering him with suits and
prosecutions. And because they believed, as he said, that
suits or prosecutions, with any evidence they could command,
would be useless, but more especially because they
were unwilling to have it known to the public that they
had enlisted in a scheme of so questionable a character on
the face of it, they did forbear to carry their threats into
execution, all except one man, who honestly owned up
that he was one of the secret company, swore he would
have his money back, and at length brought a suit to recover
had no great fears that the suit would go against him on a
trial, yet he would prefer, like the others, to avoid one if,
as he believed, he could dodge out of the scrape without it.
And with this idea in his scheming brain, he repaired to
the court, held in the dining-room of a tavern in another
part of the town, promptly answered to his name when
the suit was called, but begged a short delay of proceedings
with a view to a settlement. He then beckoned his
opponent in the suit to a distant corner, and meekly whispered
to him —
“Now you don't want to make a poor man like me pay
any cost?”
“Not a cent, if I can only get my money back.”
“Well, if I could only pay it in some way so 'twouldn't
be known what it was for —”
“I don't care in what way it is paid, so I get it.”
“Then suppose you meet me in the bar-room half an
hour hence, and I will see what I will do.”
The parties accordingly met in the designated room,
when Equivoke, seeing several respectable men sitting
there who appeared to be observant of all that was passing,
pulled out his wallet, counted out before them one hundred
dollars, with the bills in hand, approached his opponent,
and said to him aloud —
“Then you say you want to borrow a hundred dollars
of me to-day?”
“Why — yes,” replied the other, hesitating, but, under
the supposition that these words were only used to disguise
the matter, finally adding an emphatic “Yes.”
“Well, here it is then,” said Equivoke, openly handing
over the money — “don't want any note — only you
stop the suit and give me a receipt of settlement,” he added
in a whisper.
The man did so, and supposed that was the end of the
affair. But he was soon made to see his error. Within
a fortnight Equivoke sued him for money loaned. The
man swore terribly, but soon finding the evidence of the
loan, and of his own admission of it as such, so full that
he could not help himself, he reluctantly paid back the
money, and thus found himself just as much worse off
than he was when he began as the costs of both suits
amounted to.
This was the last act of this unique little drama.
Equivoke was molested no more. But in a few months he
appeared to grow very discontented, and to have become
fully convinced that a poor man could do much better in
the western country. Accordingly he soon packed up,
and with his family openly went off in that direction.
And this was the last ever known at Cozy Corners of
any of The Rustic Financiers.
THE COUNTERFEITER
Fifty years ago no name occupied a larger space in the
minds of the masses of the more northerly states of
New England than that of Stephen Burroughs, the notorious
counterfeiter. This famous personage was the son
of a worthy minister of the Gospel who trained him under
the closest religious discipline, gave him an excellent
education and commended him to the public for the high position
in life which, it was supposed, his education and
great native talent, would enable him easily to achieve.
But instead of turning these advantages to any good account,
this perverse son of a good father, soon commenced
prostituting his knowledge and talents to the worst of
purposes. Now engaging as a teacher and retaining his
post a few months, and till he was deprived of it for the
commission of some pitiful trick or other misdoing; and
now, having transferred himself to a distant locality, palming
himself off as a preacher, and taking advantage of his
position to commit moral outrages on the females of his
flock; and now again appearing in another place to obtain
money on false pretences, or engage in some scheme of
with deeds of wrong, from seduction to swindling, and
from swindling to theft and forgery. But evading the
meshes of the law with wonderful cunning and skill, he
defiantly continued his wicked courses for years, and it
was not till he had been several times imprisoned, as many
times broken jail, become an outlaw, and so well known
as to make him conscious that all his adroitness and ingenuity
would fail to shield him from punishment much
longer, that he fled for refuge into Canada. Here breathing
fierce hate against the people of the States, and quite
as much with a view of doing them great mischief as of
making money for himself, he soon got up an establishment
for counterfeiting the coin and bank note currency of his
native country. And here too, for the next dozen years,
he maintained, in wonderful secrecy, a school of counterfeiting,
from which, in the persons of his skillfully selected
and carefully trained pupils and agents, he kept constantly
scattered over the northern states, a band of more cunning
and successful adepts in that line of knavery, than
were ever before or since let loose on a suffering public.
From among the hundred stories related of the feats of
these adepts, in the Protean shape which their villainy
was made to assume, we select the following for the entertainment
of the reader:—
In a central part of the Green Mountains there is a
deep valley, nearly a mile long, and secluded from the
end. The eastern part of this valley is covered by a
pond, — a beautiful sheet of mountain waters about a
quarter of a mile wide, and extending almost the whole
length of the valley. Along the western borders of this
pond runs a road of considerable travel; while about sixty
rods still further back westward from the pond rises a
high, precipitous, ledgy hill, which only falls off at the
southern extremity of the valley, where opens a deep,
wooded gorge, running up obliquely from the road some
distance in the rear of this long, wall-like eminence. On
the road about mid-way of the valley, stands a comfortable
looking farming establishment, the owner's farm being
the long strip of land lying between the pond and the
hill, which was too steep and rocky to produce anything
but briars and a few stunted poplars.
The owner of this establishment, whose name was Joseph
Bidwell, was a middle aged farmer with a hungry,
eager look, and other tokens of the avaricious, selfish disposition
which he possessed, and which, rather than any
intelligence and sound calculation, had enabled him to become
the proprietor of this farm, and another small one,
outside the valley, that he had recently sold for a thousand
dollars — all cash in hand and now hoarded in the house,
awaiting some lucky investment. The other members of
the family were the wife, a very common-place, negative
sort of a woman, — a son of about twenty, whom they called
bearing the looks and general character of his mother,
and lastly, a daughter of eighteen, badly cross-eyed, but
quite pretty; while the keen, discriminating glances,
which she was occasionally seen to throw from her straight
eye, showed that Kate, for so they called her, was, to use
a common cant phrase, nobody's fool.
It was a warm summer evening; and farmer Bidwell,
the supper having been partaken, had drawn out a chair
and taken a seat out-side the door, to enjoy the coolness
of the evening and ponder over his half-formed
schemes for investing his money. Tom, who had that
afternoon been down to the store and tavern, situated on
the road, some three miles to the south, came out also,
and took a seat on a log near his father, and taking out
his jack-knife began industriously to whittle a stick.
“Father,” said the son, after a while, “I heard a dum
curious story down at the tavern this afternoon.”
“What was it, Tom?” asked the other with some interest.
“Why, there was a traveler there from the west side
of the mountains, who said a man had lately come among
them there to hunt for buried money; and his story was
that, in the old French wars, a company of four men had
come from Mexico with a large lot of silver dollars; and
being on their way to Canada had found themselves about
to be waylaid, when about mid-length of lake Champlain,
struck off directly east, in the line of the tallest mountain
in sight, and on beyond in the line of the tallest peak
in the Eastern range in order to reach Connecticut river.
But on the way somewhere between these two mountains,
they discovered they were dogged, and so, fixing a trail to
mislead the pursuers, they buried their money at the foot
of a small mountain near a pond.”
“Now that is a likely story! why did not those men
go back and carry off their money if they buried any,
which I don't believe.”
“Because, as the story went, they were pursued into
Canada, where they agreed to wait till the dangerous times
were over, when they further agreed they would all go
together and not go till they all could so go, and get the
money. They then scattered, and they all died or were
lost, but one, who waited so long for the others to come
that he got too old to go; so describing the route and place
to his son, he sent him for the money; and this son was
the man the traveler said was now on the hunt for the
buried money, but could not find any place that answered
the description.”
“That first tall monntain that they steered for, when
they struck off from the lake, must have been Camel's
Hump; but where do you suppose the other was, Tom?”
“Well, I've been thinking of that, and made up my
mind it was the high peak about fifteen miles easterly of
winter, and when we got to the top, we plainly saw that it
was the highest in the whole range. Why! we could
look down on the whole country round here; and I am
quite sure I made out the very mountain that rises here
by this pond, and if I did, this and the other two all lie
in almost an exact line.”
“Who was present when the man told the story, Tom?”
“O there were several when he began it, but before he
began to point out the route the men with the money took,
a horse and wagon in the yard broke away and all hands
run out but me and the man, who after inquiring where I
lived, then went on with the story for me alone, and when
the rest got back, the man had gone on his journey, and
his story seemed to have been forgotten.”
“But did you then tell them that part they did not
hear themselves?”
“No, I didn't; for, thinks I, who knows but I may
some day take it into my head to look for this buried money
myself, and if so, I should have the advantage of all
others.”
“There you were right,” said the father, who had been
listening to Tom's account with more interest than his
words might seem to imply — “yes, that was right, for
if such a story got round here, half the town would be
digging over my land, which you know runs back to the
foot of the other side of the mountain, and though there
land dug over, we will keep the matter to ourselves.”
It was too late, however, to have that matter kept
wholly to themselves. One ear had caught the whole of
it; and that was the ear of the shrewd and prying Kate.
She had accidentally heard Tom announce that he had heard
a curious story, and she stepped behind the door, as it
stood ajar, and listened through the crevice thus made,
till she heard the whole story, and laid it away in a corner
of her mind for future use, if such use should ever
come in play.
About one week after the little incident just narrated,
as Bidwell, the elder, was again sitting before his door
cogitating on money matters, and more especially on the
story Tom had told him, which had so stirred up his greed
of gain that he could not keep his mind from the subject,
a foot traveler, approaching along the road from the North,
came up and meekly asked if he could obtain lodgings
there for the night. Bidwell did not immediately reply,
but fell to scanning the stranger closely. The latter was
a youngerly man, respectably dressed, good looking, but
seemingly rather bashful, and assumed to be what would
be called green in the ways of the world.
“There is a tavern about three miles ahead,” suggested
Bidwell, after he had closed his scrutiny, making up
his mind evidently that the traveler was some simple and
moneyless fellow, who was trying to obtain lodgings for
little or nothing.
“Yes, so they told me along back,” replied the stranger,
“and I supposed I should be able to reach there to-night.
But one of my ancles failed me awhile ago — kind 'o
sprained I am 'fraid — and I feel as if I couldn't go any
further. So I hope you will let me stay. I have money
enough, I guess, to pay well for all the trouble I shall
make.”
“Well, I don't know but I must, then,” remarked
Bidwell as the word “money” and “pay” fell on his
ear. “Yes, we will keep you. You have had no supper,
I suppose?”
“No, sir.”
“Then the women folks will get you up something.
Wife! — no, she and Tom hav'nt got back from the store
yet — Kate, here is a traveler who is going to stay all
night, and he would like some supper.”
“I can get him some,” responded the girl coming to
the door, “I can get him some, if I can know what he
would like, and we have it.”
“O, bread and milk, cold victuals or anything you have
handy,” said the traveller.
Kate now disappeared; but in a short time came to
the door again, and said that the gentleman's meal was
ready.
The stranger now took his seat at the table, and Kate
seating herself at a distance on the opposite side and sufficiently
in front of him to give her a fair view of his face,
seemed to become conscious that he was the object of her
scrutiny, and he several times lifted his eyes to her face,
but owing to her cross eyes, he mistook the direction of
her glances, every time he looked up, and finished his
meal without any further marks of uneasiness.
The wife and her son Tom, having arrived, in the meantime,
now came in and took their turn in looking at the
stranger, and glancing from him to Bidwell, seemed tacitly
to be asking, who the former was, and what was his
name and business? and the latter taking the hint, began
in a round about way to question the other on these points.
In answer to the implied or direct questions of the farmer,
the stranger said his name was John Gale — wa'n't ashamed
to own that anywhere, — that he lived a day's journey or
more to the north-west, and that he had come into this
section to see how he liked the looks of the farming lands,
being desirous of buying a small farm, if he could do so
“part pay on trust, and part down pay,” to which his father,
he added, had promised to help him, soon in case he
succeeded in suiting himself in a purchase. This mainly
closed the conversation for the evening. But just as the
family were on the point of retiring, Bidwell turned
partly to his son, and asked with a knowing wink.
“Say, Tom — did'nt learn anything more of what we
were talking about, did you, down there, this afternoon?”
“No, not a word,” replied Tom with an equally knowing
look.
The stranger, Gale, slightly started at this question of
the father, and sent a keen, searching glance at the face
of the farmer and then to that of the son as the question
was being asked and answered, and then instantly reassumed
his former simple, half stolid look. But this, as
slily as it was done, was not managed slily enough to escape
one watchful eye; and that again was the sharp eye
of the vigilant Kate. She had detected in Gale, the sudden
start and change that came over his countenance at
her father's question, which she was at no loss to understand
herself, had noted his keen and eager look of inquiry,
and his sudden relapse into indifference; and it all
set her to thinking and speculating.
The next morning Gale rose lamer than ever, and asserting
that it was impossible for him to travel, sought
and obtained leave to remain where he was a few days, or
until his ancle was better. He spent most of his time in
hobbling round with a stout cane after Bidwell, who was
at work near the house, inquiring the localities and prices
of lands in that section, asking the advice of the latter
about purchasing, and then striking off in a sociable strain
on other subjects, and in all showing the most flattering
deference to the other's opinions; so that by night the two
had apparently become the best of friends.
“Tom, what do you think of this Mr. Gale?” asked
Kate as the two sat near each other milking the yarded
cows that evening.
“Why, he is a right down clever fellow, I think, don't
you, Kate?”
“No. I don't.”
“Why now what's the reason?”
“No matter, I don't like him.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't.'
“O well, it is gal's natur, I s'pose. You have got hitched
to one fellow that fills your eye, and can't see nothing
that is quite right and agreeable in any other. That is
the reason of it, I guess, Kate.”
“Now I say it is no such thing, Tom. But I am not
obliged to tell you all my thoughts, nor whys and wherefores.
So we'll let it drop.”
Tom had not hit the mark exactly; but he might have
shot more widely from the truth than he did. Kate's conduct
and feelings were indeed influenced by the circumstance
to which he had alluded, but not in the manner he
had hinted. She was engaged to be married to a young
man in the vicinity; and the young couple were anxious
to marry the ensuing winter. But the young man's
means were very limited. He had a small farm and
house, which he had barely paid for, but had not a dollar
left to stock it and commence operations; so it became evident
that the marriage must be postponed another year,
unless Kate's father would give her a portion sufficient to
help them out of the difficulty, and she had appealed
then refused her on the ground that he had no ready money,
and had no means of getting any. He however soon
unexpectedly found a cash sale for his other farm, as he
called it, which deprived him of his old excuse for not
helping her. And she appealed to him again with redoubled
earnestness and determination. But here, again,
he put her off with evasive answers; while all the time
he, selfish and hypocritical even towards his own family,
was secretly casting about him for an opportunity of investing
all his money, so as to put it out of his power to
comply with her wishes. This she shrewdly suspected;
and she resolved she would thwart his purposes, and try
some means or other, so to manage as to compel him to do
her what she believed to be an act of simple justice; for
should he give her the whole thousand dollars, instead of
the half which she asked for, even then, the bulk of the
property would be left for the eventual inheritance of her
brother Tom.
With such thoughts and feelings prevailing in her mind,
it was no wonder that she keenly watched all, who, whatever
their pretences, approached her father, as we have
seen her in the case of the newly arrived stranger. She
had disliked his appearance from the first, thinking she
saw in him a sort of affected humility, and a simplicity of
demeanor, which she inferred must be assumed to cover
some secret design; and the sensation and look she detected
matter which they had reason to believe was only known
between themselves, more than confirmed her suspicions.
It was the third morning after the arrival of Gale, that
the latter went into the yard, and, taking a seat on a
log near where Bidwell was at work repairing a farming
tool, sat some minutes in an apparent study, and without
speaking a word.
“Say, Mr. Bidwell,” at length said Gale addressing
the other with a tone of confident familiarity, which implied
that the two had by this time become intimate
friends — “Say, Mr. Bidwell, what is your belief about
dreams?”
“Well,” returned the other indifferently, “being never
much troubled with them, I never bothered my head with
them any way — about their ever being fulfilled, I suppose
you mean?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I can't say exactly what I do believe. I have
heard tell of cases where they strangely came out true
just as they were dreamed. But where there is one case
where they come out so, and mean something, no doubt
there are ten thousand that come out false, and have no
meaning at all. Don't you think so, Gale?”
“Yes, — I have not the least faith in dreams.”
“Nor can I say I have generally. But what made you
ask my opinion about the matter?”
“Because, I had a very curious dream myself last
night, which seemed so clear and real, and left such a
strong impression on my mind after I was awake, that I
could'nt help recalling it, and had just been doing so, when
I asked you the question.”
“Why, what was it, Gale? What kind of a dream
could it be, which left such an impression on your mind?”
“Well, I don't know about repeating the absurd thing.
I thought at first, I would not, for fear of being laughed
at.”
“O, no danger of that, so out with it, Gale. I begin
now to feel kind of curious to hear it.”
“Well, as the matter has gone so far between us perhaps
I may as well tell it to you — that is, if you will
not laugh at me yourself, nor tell it to your women folks
and Tom, so they can run a rig on me, as they would be
likely to do, if they knew it.”
“Go on.”
“I will. The dream was this — I remember it all distinctly.
I thought I was walking along down a road, that
seemed some like this — water on one side and hills on
the other, though I don't remember so particularly about
the road and appearances round it, as I do about the appearance
of things I soon after met with. Well, after
walking along the road awhile, I thought I came to a
piece of woods, where a woody valley opened on the right-where
something induced me to turn off from the road and
out from behind the high hills I had been passing when
coming down the road. As I passed up this valley, I took
notice of all the objects I encountered on the way, and remember
how the hills looked, here shutting down close
to my path, and there setting some ways back — how the
trees looked, and everything looked on the way. And
seeming to feel that some great good fortune awaited me
ahead, I continued to press forward till I came to a rather
dark looking spot, when that same something — what it
was, or whether it was a spirit or not, I did'nt know, —
that same something that had moved me to come there,
made me to understand I was to dig down near the
roots of a large, old, bulging tree. I did so, and soon
came to a thin flat rock, which I soon succeeded in raising
up on one edge; when, in a small, stoned-up inclosure
beneath, I beheld to my great surprise and delight, a large
lot, — nearly a peck it seemed to me, — of silver dollars!
The unexpected sight made me, I thought, almost crazy
with joy. I leaped up to hurra over my good fortune,
and in the seeming effort, I suddenly awoke.”
“There, Mr. Bidwell, you have all the substance of
my dream. Now was it not a curious one?”
“Well — yes — perhaps so,” replied Bidwell, who had
been listening to what he had heard with the most eager
interest, which now, however, he seemed trying to conceal;
“yes, curious enough,” he continued, with an assumed
true. But should you know the place if you could see
it?”
“To be sure I should — that is if there was really and
such place, and I could see it,” said Gale carelessly.
“But you don't believe in dreams, I think you said?”
rejoined the other.
“No; — they ar'n't any of them worth minding. But
the puzzle with me is to think what could have put such
a regularly built up piece of nonsense into my head.”
“Well, it was strange, seeing there was no cause for it.”
And Bidwell resumed his work with great industry,
and kept silent some time; when, suddenly starting up,
he said “There now! I had entirely forgot I promised
to meet my neighbor next north here, about this hour, to
agree where to place a division line fence we are contemplating;
so I must be off, leaving your company for the
women, or, if you prefer, to go a fishing with Tom, who is
fixing to go out on the pond, I see. Now let me see,
what tools shall I want? He will have an axe, and as
we may have to dig a few post holes, I will take a spade.”
So saying Bidwell took the tool he had named, and hurried
away in the indicated direction, leaving Gale, who
seemed to read the motives that were actuating him,
glancing after him with a sly look of scorn and triumph.
On reaching the woods, at the north end of the valley,
he, instead of going forward on his pretended business,
the hill, here only of moderate ascent. When he had
reached the summit, and paused a few minutes to take
breath, he turned short to the left and again struck off in
a southerly direction along the westerly slope of the here
heavily wooded mountain towards the head of the valley,
which we have before described, and which he had at once
unhesitatingly decided to be the locality of Gale's dream.
And he not only felt confident of this; but, coupling that
dream with the story Tom had heard about the former
burying of money in the rear of a small mountain, of
which this so well answered the description; he as confidently
believed in the dream itself, having, in his avaricious
blindness, no doubt but it truly indicated the exact
spot where that old treasure lay concealed. All this had
flashed through his mind almost as soon as Gale had finished
relating his dream, but he carefully kept his
thoughts to himself; and he felt thankful that Gale had
not the same reason to believe in the dream as he had,
for had the dreamer known anything about the old treasure,
he would either have never told the dream and gone and
got all the treasure; or, if he had told it, and they had
gone together and found it, he would have claimed at
least half for himself. “But now,” thought the mean and
blinded schemer, “I will have it all to myself, and let
the simpleton continue to flout his dream, as he appears
to do now; and the more he flouts it the better.”
And chuckling to himself over these thoughts, and
thrown completely off his guard against any deceptive
scheme in anybody else, Bidwell confidently descended
into the valley and eagerly pressed forward till he thought
he must have reached the locality which Gale had described
as the spot of the buried money. But he soon
found that the description he had received was altogether
too indefinite to prove any regular guide to his search.
There were a great many dark and shaded spots, and a
great many rough looking old trees, but which was the
right spot, and which was the right tree where he should
dig for the money, he felt utterly unable to determine.
Indeed, after wandering about awhile, he could feel no assurance
that he could hit within half of a mile of the
spot he would find. But though greatly discouraged, he
yet determined he would not leave the place without making
some effort, and so, for the next hour or two, he went
round thrusting his spade down near every old tree in the
vicinity of the different shaded places; but always striking
into strong roots or gravelly hard pan which he knew could
never have been dug up for burying anything, he reluctantly
gave up the chase and bent his steps homeward,
muttering to himself as he went, “It's no use hunting
any more. I must take him along with me to find the
place, if I do have to go halves with him. Yes, it must
be done, and we will be at it to-morrow morning.”
Wishing for a little more time to think over his newly
them into execution, he did not broach the subject to
Gale that night; but the next morning following him out
into the yard, he soon introduced it by carelessly saying,
“I have been thinking over what you told me yesterday
morning, Gale, and —”
“Told you about what, Mr. Bidwell?'
“About your singular dream.”
“My dream! Why, it had entirely passed out of my
mind. But what about it?”
“Well, though I did not at first attach much consoquence
to it, yet in thinking it over in my absence yesterday
afternoon, and after I went to bed, I began to feel as
though it must mean something.”
“You did? Well, that goes beyond me. But are you
really beginning to have faith in dreams?”
“No, not in them generally; but you was so clear and
rational, that it has struck me it might be one of those
which they say people sometimes have to put them on the
track of something important for them to know. And I
have been thinking I would propose to you to go with me,
to-day, and see what discoveries we can make in the matter.”
“Go where? Do you know of any such place as I
saw in the dream?”
“On reflection last night I felt confident I did!”
“Where?'
“Nearer than you would suspect. I will lead you to
it if you will go with me, this forenoon. What say you,
Gale?”
“Why, it will be nothing but a wild goose chase. Besides,
as my ancle is now nearly well, I was thinking of
starting on my journey to-day.”
“O don't be in a hurry about that. You can at least
stay another day.”
“Yes, I suppose I might. I am willing to do almost
anything to oblige you, Mr. Bidwell; and if you really
wish it, I will go with you — that is, if we can go and
come without its being known to your folks; for I can't
bear being laughed at.”
“I will manage that, Gale: for whether our jaunt
amounts to anything or not, I am as anxious to have it
kept dark as you are. So I'll fix matters, and will be off
at once.” With this Bidwell went into the house, gave
Tom his task in hoeing for the day, and told his wife and
Kate that he was going a few miles down towards the store
and tavern, with Mr. Gale, to look at some land he had
been recommending him to purchase. He then came out,
slily put a spade under the long smock-frock he wore,
joined his companion, and the two leisurely took their
way down the road. When they reached the woods, Bidwell
soon came to a halt, and pointing up the valley,
opening, as we have before said, near this place, looked
sharply to the other and said —
“There, Gale! Do you remember ever seeing that
place before?”
Gale hesitated some time, then began to look bewildered,
then surprised, and finally replied —
“It does seem as if I had seen such a place as the one
you have pointed out. But how could I? I have never
been here before in my life.”
“Except in your dream, Gale.
“My dream! O yes, — yes, — Well, now, who knows
what this business is coming to, after all? But let us
push on up the valley, I can soon tell whether this is going
to prove the place I saw in my dream.”
They now hurried forward up the gently ascending
slope of the wooded valley, Gale every few rods pausing
to point out objects he professed to recognize as those
seen in his dream, and growing continually more confident
and animated as he went. When they reached that
part of the valley which Bidwell had vainly explored the
day before, the latter slackened his pace, and peering backward
and forward, asked —
“Is not the place somewhere round here?”
“No, no,” promptly replied Gale — “further up —
further up the valley. But we will soon be there now —
so courage and forward, is the word.”
Bidwell's countenance, which, from the remembrance
of his own vain search yesterday, had thus far worn a
doubtful expression, now visibly brightened, and he followed
came near the head of the valley, which, at this point,
spread out to nearly double its previous width — a place
that Bidwell had, the day before passed on one side and,
without pausing to examine, feeling sure from the description
which Gale had artfully given, that the spot in
quest must be at least a quarter of a mile below.
“There!” said Gale, pausing and turning towards the
southerly side of the valley, “this must be very near the
spot, — yes, it is, — it certainly is, Mr. Bidwell. You see
that thick clump of trees about ten rods in front of me?
Well, they stand near the place, and now for the old bulged
tree — O, there it is, a few rods beyond! We have it —
we have it, Mr. Bidwell, as sure as a gun — come on, sir
come on!”
So saying he bounded forward, shouting, to the designated
spot where Bidwell, the next moment coming up,
found him standing near the roots of the tree in question,
gleefully snapping the fingers of one hand above his head,
and with the other significantly pointing downward
“About there,” he said, in a low exulting tone as he lowered
his pointing finger nearly to the ground, “about
down there, — a little more than a foot below the surface.”
Bidwell needed no further incitement to action; but
grasping his spade and hurriedly scraping away the old
leaves and rotten twigs over the space of a yard square, he
commenced, with trembling eagerness, throwing out the
out with his cane. After excavating this space evenly to
the depth of nearly a foot, he struck down his spade in
the centre, but some unseen obstruction prevented it from
entering but a few inches. “There is nothing but stones
down there,” he said with an air of disappointment.
“Why, aint it the rock? said Gale — “the thin flat
rock, which, as I told you, I found in my dream, laid over
the money? Don't be discouraged, but strike down again
stiffly, and see if it don't jar and give out a hollow
sound?”
It was done; and the jar, indicating a thin, loose rock,
and the hollow sound, indicating the cavity under it, instantly
followed the blow.
“There, I told you so!” exclaimed Gale exultingly.
“Now clean off the dirt from that rock, clear to the edges;
so that we can raise it.”
This was speedily accomplished also; and the two men
quickly reached down, and seizing one side of the rock,
brought it with a sudden effort, to an upright position;
when eagerly peering over it, they beheld, with greedy
and wildly flashing eyes, the identical pile of dollars,
which Gale had described as having found in his dream.
“O, by the living Job!” exclaimed Gale in a seeming
ecstacy of delight. “Now who would have expected this?
Why, my share, — for we shall go shares of course, — will
be enough to buy me a farm and pay all down for it on the
“Hush! hush! your noise may attract somebody to the
spot,” said Bidwell, while he and Gale simultaneously
reached down, and each clutched up a handful of the dollars.
“Why, how rusty they all are — what makes them so
rusty?” said Gale.
“Reason enough for that, — they have been buried
here more than fifty years, — that is, if —” and Bidwell
here checked himself; for believing he only was master
of the secret of the Spanish party burying treasure in
this vicinity, as he made it out; and believing, also, that
there must be more of it concealed somewhere near, he
meant to secure all these advantages to himself.
“These are Spanish coins, and of an old date, too,” remarked
Gale, scrutinizing one of the dollars, without appearing
to hear what the other had been saying.
“Yes, — I expected that too; for —” and Bidwell
again checked himself.
“Well, Mr. Bidwell,” now remarked Gale, still apparrently
oblivious of what the other had said, “Well, sir,
what is to be done with this in the first place?”
“Why, take it out and fill up the hole as we found it,”
replied the other. Then, as I have strings in my pocket,
I will take off my frock, make it to serve as a bag, and
put the money into it, so that it can be carried off without
secret, for the present.”
“Yes, but where do you propose to carry the money,
then. You will let your family know it of course, if you
carry the money home.”
“But I don't propose to carry it home. I know of a
safe place where we can deposit it without being seen by
any of my folks at the house, whom I have my reasons for
keeping in entire ignorance about our good fortune.”
A short time sufficed to transfer the newly found treasure
to the frock, fashioned into a bag for the purpose as
before proposed, fill up the hole and make everything
ready for leaving the place. Bidwell then raised the
treasure burden, and, balancing it on his shoulder, like a
bag of grain on the back of a horse, led the way down
the valley, followed by Gale, with a sly, exultant look,
which told how well he was satisfied with the manner in
which everything was working for the furtherance of his
schemes. After passing out of the valley, they struck
into the road, and, with quickened steps, proceeded along
up it homewards, about a quarter of a mile, or about half
way between the woods and the house; when, reaching a
long narrow swell which here shot out from the hill transversely
across the road, of elevation sufficient to cut off all
view of the house from those approaching it from the
south, Bidwell, significantly pointing towards the hill,
struck off into the field on his left, and proceeded stealthily
standing near the point where the swell was merged in
the steep sides of the long mountain barrier, walling in
the valley as already described.
“There, Gale, is the place for our money, for the present,”
said Bidwell, stepping behind some tall bushes that
screened him from the road, and pointing to what appeared
to be an excavation into the side of the hill, which had
been pieced out in front by embanking, with the entrance
closed by a rude plank door. “It is a sort of hill-side
cellar-hole, which I built for storing my surplus potatoes.
It is clean and empty, except the straw left there;
and as it is hidden from the road and field by the bushes,
our money might lie there six months before any body
would find it; so let us go in and conceal it.”
They then, after throwing open the door, peering in,
and finding everything as expected, entered, cleaned off a
small spot in a corner, poured down their dollars and carefully
covered them with straw.
“It is now about noon, I suppose,” said Bidwell putting
on his frock; “so let us now go home to dinner;
and in the afternoon we will come back here, and count
and divide the money.”
They then, after ascertaining that no one was passing
in the road, went along leisurly homeward, congratulating
themselves, not only on their wondrous haul of money,
but that nobody could have suspected it, and no eye could
their treasure.
But in this they counted without their host. One
mind had suspected the business in which they had been
engaged that forenoon, and one eye had seen them approach
from the woods; cross over into the field, bearing
something heavy, concealed in her father's frock, as she
judged by his being in his shirt sleeves; enter the old potato
cellar, and then come out without their load. And
that mind and eye were once more those of the keen
witted, and keenly interested, Kate Bidwell. She had noticed
her father's departure the previous afternoon, and,
after learning his pretended business to their next neighbor
about a division line, which she knew was a false excuse
as that neighbor had been several days absent from
home, she at once suspected he was gone on a money diging
excursion on the other side the mountain; though, not
knowing the extent of his meanness and duplicity, she
could not conceive why he did not take Gale along with
him. She had seen them both depart that morning, after
detecting her father stealthily putting his spade under his
frock, and, notwithstanding their pretence of land-looking,
she felt very confident they had gone by another
route to the other side of the mountain with the same object.
And having, in search of berries, before that time,
discovered an easy way of passing obliquely up the almost
perpendicular ledge against the house, to a certain
commanded a clear view of the road south and everything
between it and the hill as far as the woods including the
mouth of the gorge, she, after they had left, by way of
testing her suspicions, ran to the hill and clambered up
to her lofty look-out, from which she watched the objects
of her suspicion till they reached the woods, and then
saw them leave the road and turn up the valley. Being
thus confirmed, as it drew towards noon, when they might
be expected to be making their appearance on their return
home, she went up the ledge again to see if she could
make any more discoveries, and it was then, that she saw
them approaching with a burden, enter the old cellar, and
soon come forth without it. All this she had seen, drawn
her own inferences, and got down unobserved into the
house before they reached it for their dinner.
During the repast that now followed, the men did not
seem inclined to talk much, but Kate easily detected an
expression of unusual satisfaction in the countenance of
her father, and one of sly triumph in that of Gale.
After dinner the two men, this time forgetting in their
eagerness to be fingering their treasure, to invent any
new excuse for a renewed absence, again took their way
down the road. Kate, to fortify her conclusions deemed
it expedient again to watch them; and such was the celerity
of her movements, that they had barely passed out
sight of the house before she was at her old perch on the
field beyond the swell, approach and enter the old cellar;
when she musingly returned to the house.
We will now return to the treasure finders, who were,
by this time, intently engaged in counting and laying out
in separate piles their rusty dollars.
“There!” said Gale, whose fingers had moved more
nimbly than those of his companion. “I have counted
out into my pile just one clean thousand dollars — how
many have you got? — O, you aint through yet — I'll
help you out,” he added, suiting the action to the word,
and assisting till the remainder of the pile was disposed of.
“And mine, too, now,” returned Bidwell as he took up
the last dollar, “mine, too, amounts to the same sum, and
two or three dollars, I think, to spare.”
“All right then — I thought there must be somewhere
in the neighborhood of two thousand dollars in the whole
— a fine sum for each of us. But what do you propose to
do with your share, Bidwell?”
“Keep it, Gale — keep it for the present, and everything
connected with it, a profound secret. What are
you going to do with yours?”
“Lay it out for a farm — that is, I should, if I had it
where I happened to make the purchase. But I have
been thinking how I should get it away. With my still
weak ancle, it will be as much as I can do to carry my
pack as it was; and if I put in this heavy load, I could
shall I do?— Can't I get this specie changed into good
bank notes down there at the store, do you suppose?”
“Well, I should doubt whether they would have bank
bills enough on hand to exchange for all your silver — and
if they should, I hope you will not think of making such
an exchange there,” responded Bidwell deprecatingly.
“I should like to know why not?” said Gale, with affected
surprise.
“Because they will soon find out where you got the
money; and then it will set the whole country around
agog in a useless search for buried treasures, and especially
on my land, to its injury; and I wont have it.”
“Yes, but what am I to do?”
“Well, I will tell you what can be done. I have a
thousand dollars now in my house in bank money, which I
took for an extra farm I lately sold,” said Bidwell, after
some hesitation.
“You have?” exclaimed Gale, feigning surprise on being
told what he well knew from the first.
“Yes, and I don't know but I had better let you have
it for your share of the silver. I have some family reasons
for putting all my money into specie; for then I can
say I have invested it, which will put an end to the troublesome
teasings I should otherwise have to endure from
a certain quarter.”
“But are you sure all your bank bills are good, correct
money?”
“Every one of them.”
“It is a bargain, then — at least on my part.”
“Well, I guess I will say on my part also; and you
shall have your money to-night, or before you wish to
start in the morning.”
Kate, in the meanwhile, having contented herself with
household duties several hours after seeing her father
and Gale enter the old cellar the last time, thought she
would go up once more to her look-out, thinking that, by
this time they would soon be coming out, and that, in so
doing, she might, perhaps, make some additional discoveries.
But lest she should be detained in accomplishing
her object, she took the precaution of carrying a small
basket, and telling her mother she perhaps might find
some raspberries for supper. Thus prepared, she once
more ascended to the cliff, and seating herself under a
screening bush, and keeping her eyes on the old cellar,
patiently awaited the result. Within a half hour, her
patience was rewarded. She saw her father and Gale issue
from their concealment, move along under the swell
stealthily as before, till they got over into the road, and
then, assuming their usual gate, leisurely proceed homeward.
It was evident to her that they had brought out
nothing with them from the cellar. And whatever was
the object there which had been engaging their attention
so long, it must still remain there. What could it be,
which should require such secrecy and care for concealment?
It was not her father's paper money she was convinced;
for she knew where he kept it. She had seen him, when
he first brought it home in a compact thick package, deposit
and lock it up in a small trunk before containing
only a few light, loose papers. By lifting and raising one
end of this trunk, her ear would plainly detect the presence
of this package by its tumbling about within. She
had almost daily given the trunk this inspection, especially
every time, and soon after, her father had left home
under whatever pretense he might have gone; and that
afternoon, after he and Gale left, she had been to the
trunk, and, in the way we have just named, had fully ascertained
that the package was still lying safely and untouched
within. The money in the old cellar then must
be, as she had before concluded, hard money. But was
it good or was it bad money? She could not believe it
to be good; and if not, what else could it be but counterfeit
hard dollars? Were this so, what would she not give
to know it? It would furnish her such power over her
father to compel him to grant her request; and especially
ly it would afford such certain means of punishing Gale for
attempting, as she still feared he would do in some way,
to defraud her father out of his good money, or if not, to
entrap him into crime. And why could she not know it?
And as she reached this point in the current of thought
that had been thus rapidly flashing over her busy brain,
she suddenly formed a bold resolution.
All along the foot of this steep, ledgy hill, ran a narrow
belt of thick copsewood, extending from a point some
distance north of the house all the way to the old cellar,
and in pursuance of the resolution just formed, the sly
and determined girl quickly descended from her look-out,
without coming out so as to be seen from the house or the
road, turned to the south, and, carefully keeping within
the bushes, she ran, or rather flew, like a retreating bird
on half wing, rapidly threading her way among the obstructing
trees and brush, until she reached the place for
which she had started. Here pausing a moment to peer
out towards the road, she hurried down into the old cellar,
and commenced turning over the straw on the floor in full
confidence of soon finding what she sought, and she was
not to be disappointed. In a few minutes while removing a
pile of carefully laid straw she suddenly came upon the
very pile of dollars of which she was in search. Without
pausing longer than to note the general appearance of the
dollars, she caught up two of them, taken at random
from different parts of the pile, and transferred them to
her pocket; when, carefully replacing the straw, she hurried
out, and regaining the copse, made her way back homeward
as fast as she came. But, by way of precaution,
she kept within the bushes some little distance north of
the house, when she emerged into the field, and leisurely
approaching, entered the room, where her father and Gale
were unsuspectingly sitting, with the careless remark, as
she put away her basket, that “the berries were all gone.”
That night after Kate had retired to her sleeping
apartment, she took out one of the suspected dollars, examined
its rusted and discolored sides closely, and passed
her tongue several times over it with the view of wetting
it and then trying to rub off the rust and stains; when
she thought the coin imparted a remarkably saltish taste.
But not succeeding to her mind by rubbing it, she had
recourse to some soap and water she had in the room,
which she soon saw was having the desired effect, and by dint
of further washing and scouring, she, after a while, reduced
it to a clean, palely bright dollar, the hue of which at
once reminded her of a counterfeit coin, that on some previous
occasion, she had seen tested. Here she paused a
moment to account for the saltish taste the coin had so
strongly left on her tongue; when the truth quickly
flashed over her mind — that whole pile of dollars had
been artificially rusted with salt and water for the purpose
of deception. But there were other tests that, it
now occurred to her, could be applied, and she fell to paring
and scraping one edge of the coin with the sharp
blades of her scissors, which process soon cut away what
was evidently a thin, specious looking plating, and disclosed
another kind of metal which she knew was anything
but pure silver. This with her, fully settled the question,
and she went to bed, exulting in the power she now
held, when the occasion should arrive for her to use it,
which she did not then suppose would very immediately
least several days longer. But that occasion was to arrive
much sooner than she supposed.
The next morning, immediately after breakfast, Bidwell
and Gale went out, and after some sauntering movements
about the yard, intended to put those off their guard
who might be watching them, they entered the barn and
remained together there nearly an hour. This was noticed
by the observant Kate with considerable uneasiness,
which was at length greatly increased by their long continued
delay in making their appearance, and she was beginning
to contrive some way by which, unseen, she could
reach a position behind the barn, where she could peep
through a crevice and see what they were about; when
her cogitations were cut short by their, at that moment,
unexpected entrance into the house, and their no less unexpected
announcement that Gale was about to take his
leave of them, and to resume his journey. Kate was not
prepared for this announcement, and it considerably non-plused
her; for she had not made up her mind in what
manner she would exercise her newly obtained power over
her father and Gale; and she had, till this moment, supposed
the latter would remain long enough to enable her
to come to a decision. What should she do? Boldly declare
her discoveries to them, and tell her father that his
supposed treasure was but a worthless mass of counterfeit
dollars? No; for he, under the sanguine belief in buied
had heard, coupled with the representations Gale must
have made, or the artifices he must have practised, had become
so infatuated and bat-blind, that he could not for
some days be brought to believe the truth; and before he
would be convinced, the man by whom he had been duped,
taking warning in season, would doubtless flee from that
part of the country; — No, that would never do. And
so, like many others whose first impulses have been checked
by suddenly occurring doubts, she did nothing.
In a short time, Gale completed the few preparations
he had to make for his journey; when he strapped on his
pack, bid the family good bye, and departed down the road
to the south; while Bidwell, after despatching Tom to do
some suddenly remembered job south of the swell, so that
his presence would prevent Gale from returning to carry
off any of the treasure, if disposed to do so — Bidwell
saddled his horse, and informing his family of his destination,
rode off to attend to some neglected business in the
north part of the town.
Soon after Bidwell left, Kate began to regain her scattered
wits; when all at once, she gave a wild start, and
exclaimed to herself,
“Stupid! after knowing they were so long in the barn
together in such a secret manner, stupid! stupid! that I
had not thought to go and see to this before.”
And with this she, with a startled look, ran to the
sound or movement such as had rewarded all her previous
tests of the kind, were perceptible from within. O madness!
the package of money was gone! and how gone,
and to whom, she was now no longer at a loss to understand.
For a moment she stood mute with consternation.
But she soon aroused herself for action; for she
clearly saw that if this great swindle, which must prove so
great a calamity to her father, and, indirectly, a worse
one to herself, was not to be tamely submitted to, something
must be done, and that promptly. But what should
that something be? To follow her father, — even if he
could be overtaken in time to avail anything, — declare
to him the fraud and try to induce him to return to pursue
the perpetrator and compel restitution, at least, would
be open to some of the same objections which had prevented
her from declaring to him her discoveries in Gale's
presence; and besides, she felt very reluctant to let him
know, as she must, that she had so often been to his money
trunk, or to the old cellar, in the manner which she had,
and with motives that had actuated her; or, in short, that she
had been such a spy on his actions. This brought her to
the other and only alternative, which was to follow Gale.
But who should do it? Tom? No, he would accomplish
nothing. Her lover, John Perley? He would
manage the business rightly, no doubt, but he lived miles
away over the other side of the pond, and before he could
reach. No, she must go herself; and in full confidence in
her courage, and in her sagacity to conduct the affair as
well, and, in the danger that her father, whom she would
shield, would be implicated, even better than any one else.
She firmly resolved she would go, and be immediately on
the way. And no sooner had she formed her bold resolution
than she went to her mother, whom she did not wish
to make a confidant in the case, and, on pretence of securing
a calico apron from a piece, which she was afraid
would be gone, if she delayed going for it longer, made
known her intention of walking that day down to the store.
Meeting here with no serious objection, she hurried to her
room, quickly changed her dress, and, within five minutes,
was rapidly making her way down the road on her adventurous
purpose.
After walking between two and three miles, at a pace
which fëw ordinary pedestrians would have equalled,
she arrived at a small house, situated close by the
road side, about a half mile from the little village, or
small collection of buildings scattered round the store
and tavern. This house being occupied by a seamstress
who, in summer was always found at her work at an open
window, Kate, mindful of this fact and feeling somewhat
acquainted with the occupant, concluded to call, and,
while resting herself a little, ascertain how long it had
been since Gale had passed by the house. But in reply
she described, the woman assured her that no such traveler,
nor any other foot traveler had passed by her house
that forenoon. This information disappointed, and greatly
perplexed the heroic girl. What could have become
of Gale? she mentally queried. He had not come this way,
it was clear; and there was no road that turned off from
her father's to this place. He must have then turned
somewhat aside into the woods. But where? Knowing
the character of the comparatively short reach of forest on
the road, she could think of no place where he would be
likely to do this but up the valley, which had been the
scene of the money digging. And had he not some secret
retreat back there in the widely extended forest which
she knew stretched back from the mountain westward —
a retreat which had been kept, in his absence, by some
such confederate as she had always suspected he had
somewhere in the vicinity? It must be so; and she now
recollected hearing her brother Tom, who had ranged all
the surrounding forests in fox-hunting, mention a solitary
log-house, standing, with a small patch of clearing around
it, in the midst of the woods; it having been erected a few
years before by a man who designed to settle there, but
for some reason soon relinquished his purpose, leaving the
place to be overrun with bushes and briers. Ah! that
was it — that must be the place, she thought, and though
she could not think of following up the villain into the
causing it to be done by other and more efficient agencies.
The sheriff of the county resided at this little village.
Kate had seen him at her father's house, where he had
once called to summon her father as a witness, and stopped
to dine; so that she felt somewhat acquainted with him,
and her newly formed purpose was to wait on this official,
at once, and lay before him the whole transaction. Accordingly,
bidding the woman good morning, she promptly
repaired to the residence of the sheriff, whom luckily she
found at home, and proceeded directly to disclose to him
the whole story, concluding by producing the two counterfeit
dollars.
“Ah! here may be something tangible,” exclaimed the
sheriff, who had been listening attentively, but doubtfully
to the story. “Yes, these are bogus enough I can plainly
see, though much art has been used to disguise them.
But can it be that all this has been detected and managed
so adroitly by you alone? Why, you must be a girl of
a thousand! It was a prodigious swindle, besides a clear
case of counterfeiting, and must be promptly seen to.
First, however, let me ask you a few questions. You say
this Gale, as he calls himself, turned off into the woods —
have you any idea where he may now be found?”
“I think I have,” replied Kate. “I have understood
there is a deserted log-house, with scarcely any clearing
around it, standing in the midst of the woods, about two
perhaps with him.”
“Very likely,” rejoined the sheriff. “These gentry
often hunt in couples. But who knows the way to this
place well enough to go to it, this afternoon, scout round
and ascertain whether the game is there? — You have a
brother, I believe?”
“Yes,” replied Kate, “and he is perfectly familiar
with the way; but it might be managed more prudently,
if some one went with him to take the lead — I have a
friend —”
“A friend — who is he?” asked the other with a
slightly amused look.
“John Perley,” returned the girl after a little hesitating
and blushing.
“John Perley? I know him well,” said the sheriff —
“a young man of sense and resolution — I am glad to
find you and he stand in the relation to each other in
which I perceive you do. I will be a friend to you both.
Now one question more — have you any personal interest
in the recovery of the money which has been so cunningly
swindled out of your father?”
Kate, encouraged by the sheriff's friendly manner,
frankly owned up all about this also, and made known the
consequence it would be to her and Perley if the money
was not recovered.
“I am glad you told me this, Kate; for that I think
have richly earned that money, and you shall yet have it.
I shall have the power to compel your father to relinquish
it to you.”
“But my father must not be hurt. I hope you won't
have him prosecuted,” responded Kate in a beseeching
tone.
“No, your father shall be spared — that is, if he will
do right by you. Probably a prosecution will not be much
pressed against him. If it is, we will make a State's evidence
of him, so he will go clear, of course. Now, my
brave girl, hurry home — send for Perley, and dispatch
him and your brother on their reconnoissance into the
woods, and tell them, that, after sending off men to watch
the roads on the west side of that wide forest, so as to secure
the rascal or rascals, if they come out in that direction,
I will come round and meet them at the edge of the
woods, bordering your farm.”
It was considerably past noon, when Kate, on her return,
reached the borders of her father's farm, and as she
did so, she was glad to perceive that her brother Tom had
just come back from his dinner to that part of the field.
south of the swell, in which he had been at work; for it
was not her wish to return to the house till she had secured
another object.
“Tom,” said she nimbly throwing herself over the
fence into the field, and approaching him, “Tom, where
is your boat left?”
“At the shore, right down against here — I have just
rowed it down coming from dinner, thinking I would fish
a little in this part of the pond towards night. Why,
did'nt you see me landing as you came out of the woods?”
“No, I did not happen to notice you till you was just
taking up your hoe to begin work; but I am glad the
boat is here.”
“Why are you glad, Kate? what are you driving at?”
“Well Tom, I must at least answer that question. I
want you should row me over to the landing, where the
old wood road comes down, leading to John Perley's
place.”
“Now I should like to know what that is for — what
can you be up to, Kate?”
“I want to see John immediately; and am going for
hat purpose. Will you row me over, Tom?”
“Yes, if you are in real earnest; but you have had no
dinner — you will go to the house first to get something
to eat, wont you?”
“No, I want none. Come, let us be off down to the
boat.”
“So be it then, come on yourself, and here is a
good plump biscuit I brought in my pocket for a luncheon
— take it, Kate, and be eating it while I am rowing
you over.”
In a few minutes more, Kate was seated on the bow of
the skiff, and the supple armed Tom was sending it surging
of less than a quarter of an hour brought them to the desired
landing; when the girl jumped on shore, leaving
the other hesitating and dallying with his oar on his seat.
“Stop! you look here, Kate,” he at length said.
“This queer wrinkle of yours coming over you so earnest
to go to see John, means something. Something or other
must have broke loose. Now I want you should tell me,
what it is. I can keep the secret, if it is one; but I
want you should tell me, at some rate.”
“I have been thinking about that while coming over,”
she responded after a hesitating pause, “and perhaps I
had better let you into a secret, which probably wont be
a secret twenty-four hours longer. Yes, I will; so come
ashore. We will take a seat on this log a little out of
sight, and I will tell you all.”
And this she did, to the utter amazement of Tom, who
as she concluded, leaped up, shook his doubled fist and exclaimed,
“Why, the infernal scoundrel! I will help follow
him as long as I would a fifty dollar black fox, but
what I will dog him to his hole and have his pelt, in the
shape of that money he stole. Yes, I'll help put this
through with a will. But look here, Kate, you are tired
enough without going after John. You stay here and I
will go; and I'll have John here within an hour.”
“Thank you, Tom,” said Kate, nodding assent to the
proposition.
“But one thing more.— The sheriff said I had earned
all that money, if we got it back, as certainly as father
had forfeited it. Now if we do get it back, and I have
it as the sheriff says I shall, I will give you a hundred
dollars.”
“Good! Well, now I am off,” responded Tom rapidly
hurrying away on his destination.
Tom was nearly as good as his word. In a little over
an hour, he re-appeared, accompanied by John Perley —
a fine, frank looking young man of twenty-five.
“Has Tom told you all?” asked Kate, after the lovers
had silently shaken hands.
“Yes, and I am proud of your sagacity and resolution,
Kate; but it is now time this business was taken off
your hands,” said Perley.
“But do you understand that you are only to spy him
out this afternoon, and then meet the sheriff at the edge
of the woods at sunset?” again interrupted Kate.
“We do,” replied the other, “Tom knows the way to
the place where you suspect he is, like a book, and if he,
whether alone or with an accomplice, is in the old log
house, we will ascertain it — if not we may push on further;
for Tom is as keen in finding and following up a
trail as a blood hound.”
The party, by common consent now entered the boat,
and were soon at the opposite shore; when Kate, feeling
greatly relieved from having seen the enterprise on hand
her way to the house; while the young men proceeded at
once to the woods, and quickly disappeared within their
dark recesses.
Slowly, full slowly, to the greatly exercised Kate, lingered
the long hours of that weary afternoon. So painfully
oppressive was the suspense to her feelings; and so
intense was her anxiety for the result of the measures
she had inaugurated for the recovery of the money, and
the punishment of the villain, who had so wickedly obtained
it, that she could scarcely contain herself. She
could neither work nor sit still — talk connectedly, nor
entertain herself with any object which had usually been
sufficient to fix her attention. But with moving restlessly
about, going first to one window to gaze out vacantly a
moment, and then to another, sitting down one minute
and jumping up the next, or suddenly hastening out into
the yard to return as suddenly, and through the whole of
this unconscious routine, often glancing up at the declining
sun to note his tardy progress towards the mountains
of the west, she made shift to wear out the remaining
hours of this seemingly interminable day, until she had
seen the lengthening shadows of the hill covering all the
open fields and shooting out far on the gleaming waters of
the pond. She then could restrain her impatience no
longer; but seizing her berry-basket to signify her old excuse
appointed rendezvous at the border of the forest.
When she reached there, she was gratified to find the
sheriff, with two assistants, already on the ground, but
disappointed in finding that her brother and Perley were
still absent.
“We must wait,” said the sheriff, to whom she betrayed
her disappointment, which was evidently not unmingled
with concern for the safety of the two delinquents,
“we must wait patiently. We shall probably hear from
them soon, since, according to your account you succeeded
in getting them off on their mission so early in the afternoon.
Yes, whether successful in making discoveries or
not, they will be here soon; and in the meantime, my
brave girl, I want you should go with me and show me
that counterfeit money. It is my duty to take charge of
it at once. Besides, if the criminal is caught to-night,
it will be wanted at court to-morrow morning; and if he
is not, it will furnish good grounds for instituting a new
search for him to-morrow, not only in the woods but over
the country abroad.”
Kate promptly assenting to the proposal, the sheriff
brought up one of the buggy wagons, in which he and
his assistants had come, helped her in, and, following himself,
drove on to the swell; when, under her willing, guidance,
he proceeded to the old cellar, and, finding the bogus
dollars where she had seen them, transferred them all
in the small bags he had brought for the purpose, to the
left his assistants; and the next hour was spent by them
all in silently waiting, and anxiously listening for the approach
of the absent party from the woods. But no
sound of footsteps reached their ears, and nothing save an
occasional low, short trill of the retreating wood bird,
was heard from any quarter of the now fast darkening
forest; and they were about relinquishing all hope of the
anxiously expected arrival that night, when the loud report
of a pistol bursting suddenly upon the stillness of the
night air, from some point not over a quarter of a mile
distant, came sharply echoing down the valley, and a prolonged,
far-reaching halloo! as if earnestly invoking help,
almost immediately followed.
“It is John's voice — it is John Perley's voice. I
know it is! Run! run! — let us all run to his assistance,”
almost frantically exclaimed Kate, starting eagerly
forwards into the woods in the direction of those signficant
sounds.
“She is right,” said the sheriff, turning to his assistants.
“There may be trouble there, and the sooner we
can be on hand the better, but with your matches, light
the lanterns, which we shall need, and with them and the
hand-cuffs you will find in my wagon, follow me up as
close as you can.”
“Hold up, Mr. Sheriff,” cried one of the assistants.
“While a desperate criminal is ahead with fire arms in
be dashing forward alone?”
“I shall hardly stop to listen to lessons of prudence,
with the example of that girl before me tearing through
the bushes at such a rate for the spot,” replied the sheriff,
quickening his pace to come up with the half distracted
but determined Kate.
But with all his exertions he did not come fully up
with her, till having proceeded several furlongs up the
valley she had paused to listen.
“Do you hear anything?” asked the sheriff.
“Yes,” replied Kate, as soon as she could control her
agitation sufficiently to speak, “yes — a rustling among
the bushes near that dark place under the hill on our left,
a dozen rods ahead — I think they may be there. But I
would call out for John.”
“Halloo!” accordingly exclaimed the sheriff in a
measured, low, but distinct tone, “halloo, I say — John
Perley, where are you?”
“Here! at the foot of the hill,” promptly came the response.
“Is all safe?”
“The chief criminal is safe at least.”
`Good! good! we will soon all be there.”
The two assistants, by this time, came hurrying up with
the lighted lanterns, the hand-cuffs and strong cords to
secure the prisoner; when the whole party unshrinkingly
the scene of action. As they passed round a thick clump
of bushes, the light of the lanterns suddenly disclosed a
scene as picturesque as it was startling. John Perley,
with a face bathed with fresh blood, was crouching over
the writhing, prostrate form of the swindler Gale, with
one knee firmly planted on his breast and one hand desperately
grasping his throat.
“Are you much hurt, John?” anxiously inquired
Kate.
“Stay a moment Kate — let me secure the murderous
villain first, and then I will join you in the inquiry,”
interposed the sheriff, now coming forward with his manacles
and securely fixing them on the wrists of the passive
prisoner. “There, Perley, you can now release your
gripe; for I see, by the wretch's exhaustion and panting,
that he would not give us much trouble, even without
the hand-cuffs. So now for your answer to Kate's inquiry.
Your's, though it has cost you some blood as I see, it is
only a flesh wound, I conclude?”
“Yes, only that,” responded Perley rising and wiping
the blood from his face, “only that. The bullet which
the scoundrel, as I here overhauled him, intended for my
head, only made a furrow along the outside of my cheek.”
“A lucky escape indeed; but now tell us briefly how
all this came about so different from the programme?”
Perley then proceeded to relate how he and Tom, having
round several hours before they could feel fully satisfied
that there was anybody within, though they noticed several
indications that led them to believe so. But climbing
a thickly foliaged tree, standing but a short distance
from the house, and peering out, they at length obtained
a view of the interior; when they discovered not only
Gale, but a confederate, just rising from a sort of bough
bed, where they had evidently been taking a long nap, preparatory,
as it was inferred, to a night march and consequent
escape from the country; and in this conclusion,
Perley and his young associate were soon confirmed by
seeing the two confederates make up their packs and set
them near the door, and then produce some kind of victuals
and begin to eat. The two former then cautiously
descended to the ground, and, retiring to a thicket near
by, held a hurried consultation, and coming to the natural
conclusion that the criminals would inevitably escape
before they should have time to return and get the sheriff
on to the ground, they formed the bold resolution to undertake
the capture themselves. Accordingly, with their
heavy beechen cudgels in hand, after creeping noiselessly
along to the last covert next the house, they made a sudden
rush in upon the confederates, who, taken wholly by
surprise, and cowering under the uplifted clubs of the determined
assailants, at once yielded themselves up as prisoners.
They were then ordered to deliver up their arms;
over to Perley a dirk, while the other passed to Tom a
loaded pistol, which they solemnly asserted were the only
arms they had. The package of bank bills swindled out of
Bidwell, was next sternly demanded, with an intimation that,
as they were now known as counterfeiters, the case of
Gale at least might be materially benefited by a prompt
restitution. And the latter, after considerable wrangling,
reluctantly consented, and gave up the package, which
had not been opened, to Perley. As it was now sunset,
the prisoners were at once put on the march back towards
the head of the valley. But the latter had scarcely got
fairly into the dense woods, before they, in spite of all that
could be done to prevent, suddenly bolted aside into the
bushes, and, after making several quick tacks to confuse
their pursuers, fled off with desperate speed in opposite directions,
Gale, making towards the east, and his confederate,
towards the west. While Tom, with his pistol in hand,
put himself on the trail of the latter, Perley pursued
Gale, who, however, had gained so much the start, that
he could not be overtaken till he had passed more than
half way down the valley; when the fugitive, with the
evident object of avoiding being driven out into the road
below, took a sudden turn, and attempted to climb the
hill so as to escape into the broad forest on the south.
This movement being detected by the pursuer, he turned
across the angle thus made by the pursued, and came up
pistol shot there received, he bounded on the other with
the leap of a tiger, and soon succeeded in pommeling and
throttling him into submission.
Matters having been brought to this issue, the whole of
the triumphant party, with the sadly disabled and sullen
prisoner in their midst, proceeded at once out to the road;
when with one wagon devoted to the use of the sheriff
and his prisoner, and the other to the use of Perley,
who wished to get his wound dressed that night, and the
loving and anxious Kate, who would not consent to be
separated from him, while the two assistants volunteered
to follow on foot, the whole company moved down the
road to the tavern, to obtain accommodations for the night,
and be on hand for the trial next morning.
By nine o'clock next morning — so swiftly flies the intelligence
of any new and startling event, even among
the widely scattered inhabitants of a country town — by
nine o'clock, a large crowd had assembled at the tavern to
witness the proceedings of the trial. The officers had
been active through the morning. The sheriff had gone
up, and, under a mere summons, so worded as to pass
for an order of arrest, brought down the miserable Bidwell;
who, on being informed of what had happened, was
utterly confounded, and swore revenge on Gale for so
swindling him; but who, on being further given to understand
he had implicated himself by having the counterfeit
and alarm. A deputy sheriff, who had been stationedon
the road on the west side of the great forest, had just
arrived with Tom and the prisoner, whom he had run down,
captured and delivered over to that officer at a late hour
the preceding evening. The magistrate and prosecuting
attorney had also arrived, and all was ready for trial.
The Court of Inquiry, which was now open, was held
in the largest room of the tavern. Behind a long table
placed near one of the walls of the apartment, sat the
magistrate; while facing him, on the opposite side, was
calmly seated the State's attorney, with two three law
books before him. At one end of the table were placed
the two sullen and crest-fallen prisoners, between two
sheriff's assistants; and at the other end sat Perley, with
a look of triumphant gratification, which the large patch
on his wounded and somewhat swollen cheek, did not at all
disguise. By his side sat Kate, glancing sharply around
on the assembled company, though no one could tell, at
any time, to what particular person her glances were directed.
And next sat the nonchalant Tom, coolly chewing
spruce gum, — these three persons being the only witnesses
whom it had as yet been decided to use on the trial.
Tom, Kate and Perley were then successively called to
the stand; but as their testimony disclosed nothing of importance,
which has not been made known to the reader
in describing the separate or united parts taken by them,
Tom's evidence which went to identify his prisoner as the
man who, about a fortnight before, had related to him the
story respecting the treasure once buried somewhere
among these mountains by the party fleeing from Mexico.
“Have the prisoners any counsel?” asked the magistrate,
glancing to Gale.
“No,” replied the latter morosely. “No, and don't
want any. You have proved nothing against me except
firing a pistol, which was done in self-defence. Even that
squinting spy, with all her long story about counterfeit
money, has wholly failed to show any such money in my
possession, and much less my trying to pass any.”
“Some things which this prisoner has said in his defence,
as rough and improper as has been his manner of
speaking in court, cannot be wholly gainsaid,” remarked
the magistrate, thoughtfully. “In prosecutions of this
kind, the accused must be shown either as passing, or attempting
to pass, counterfeit coin, or as having it in possession.
Has either of these been quite satisfactorily
shown? Are there any more witnesses to be offered on
the part of the prosecution?”
“We may have, — will the court suspend a moment,”
replied the attorney, rising and taking the sheriff aside,
and holding with him a brief whispered consultation.
This over, the former returned to the table, wrote a few
lines, signed the paper and handed it to the sheriff, who
room where Bidwell had been requested to remain until
called for.
“Now Bidwell,” said the officer closing the door after
him as he entered the room, “I have come to decide what
is to be done with you.”
“With me?” exclaimed Bidwell, trembling with alarm.
“They don't think of touching me, do they? Why
don't they condemn Gale, the only guilty one, and not try
to drag me into the scrape, who had not the least thought
I was doing anything wrong?”
“I am inclined to believe you innocent of any intention
of committing any crime,” replied the sheriff.
“But that may not be enough to protect you. As the
testimony now stands, the case looks quite as much against
you as against Gale. The Court has decided that to convict
a man it must be shown either that he has passed
counterfeit money, or has had it in his possession. Neither
of these facts has been proved against Gale; while you,
it is clearly seen, have been in possession of such money.
This is shown by the evidence of your daughter Kate.”
“Then I am gone!” groaned Bidwell, “while the
only guilty one will escape; and think! to be sent to the
State's prison by the testimony of my own daughter, who
must be meanly prying into the business!”
“And supposing your daughter, whom I will not hear
blamed, and whom you, yourself, should be proud of, instead
of bringing this sly and wicked plot of that consummate
villain to light, would not you soon have begun to pass
that counterfeit money, and thus made out your own passport
to the State's prison; while he would have long before
escaped the country with all the good money out of
which he swindled you?”
“It might have been so, possibly, but now she has
made it certain.”
“That don't necessarily follow, Bidwell; for if you are
saved, she is the one who havs done it. She has already
earnestly interceded with the authorities in your behalf.”
“She has? that's kind, — good girl, — good girl! But
after all, that wont cure it. No, no, I am ruined — O,
I am ruined!”
“The case certainly looks bad enough; but what would
you give, Bidwell, to have a way proposed to save you?”
“Give? Why, I would give half I am worth in a
minute.”
“Well, perhaps you can get it arranged at an easier
rate. Now suppose the money you got swindled out of,
can be recovered, will you freely consent to have it given
to your daughter?”
“Yes, yes, I will, — I will bind myself to do it. Now
what is it you propose, to save me?”
“To make you a State's evidence — to have you go immediately
into court and tell your whole story, which will
that he had the bogus coin in possession, and that he also
passed it to you.”
“I can, — and will. But what guarantee am I to have
that I shall not be prosecuted on my own testimony?”
“This,” said the sheriff, handing him the paper made
out by the State's attorney.
“All right,” responded Bidwell, with brightening look —
“All right, I am safe; and now they shall have my
whole story. So now for the court room. Lead on, lead
on, Mr. Sheriff.”
The request was promptly complied with; and the next
moment the sheriff ushered the new-made witness into the
court room, and led him forward to the spot nearly in
front of the magistrate, recently occupied by the other
witnesses.
Gale turned pale when he saw his late infatuated dupe
brought on to the stand, but soon rallying, tried to intimidate
him by turning on him looks of savage ferocity and
menace. Bidwell, however, in the consciousness of his
own safety, and under the sense of the outrageous fraud
that had been inflicted on him, proceeded, in a firm, determined
tone, with a minute and truthful detail of all
that had taken place in his intercourse with the prisoner
And notwithstanding the desperate attempts of Gale to
brow-beat and confuse him, and notwithstanding he was
compelled to admit that every movement in relation to the
himself; yet the court, and all present, could not fail to see
through the whole of the nefarious scheme; and that Bidwell,
from first to last, had been made the complete dupe
of the artful knave, into whose hands he had so blindly
and lucklessly fallen.
As Bidwell concluded his testimony the State's attorney
was rising to speak; when the magistrate interposed
and said: —
“Not a word, Mr. Attorney. It is needless to speak
when you have got your case without it; for this disciple
of Stephen Burroughs has done, in this transaction, too
good justice to the school of devilish cunning in which
he was evidently educated, to leave in the mind of any
rational man, who has heard the testimony, one single
doubt of his guilt. He is, consequently, to be held for
trial at our county court now in session. And though not
much has been proved against the other prisoner, yet the
presumption of his being an accessory in this scheme of
passing or selling counterfeit money is, I think, strong
enough to warrant his being placed in the same category,
for the present. You will, therefore, Mr. Sheriff, have
them both, as soon as may be, on the road to the county
jail.”
“Within this very hour it shall be done, your honor,”
promptly responded the sheriff, taking up his hat, and,
after whispering in Perley's ear to meet him with Kate
a few minutes Perley and Kate, to whom he in turn had
whispered a word, also departed, and at once repaired to
the indicated room, which was the one that had been occupied
by Bidwell, but was now empty. Here they were
soon joined by the sheriff, who, advancing, and seizing a
hand of each of the young couple, cheerily exclaimed —
“Now God bless you, my young friends! I sincerely
congratulate you on this signal triumph over wickedness
and wrong, which you have been the main instruments in
accomplishing; and here is your reward,” he continued,
drawing forth the recovered package of money, which
Perley had put in his hands for safe keeping the evening
before, and placing it in the hands of the gratified Kate.
“It is all right, I have examined it and there is not a
dollar missing.”
“And what is to be your reward, Mr. Sheriff?” asked
Kate playfully.
“Why, my brave girl, if it is to be more than will be
afforded me by the consciousness of having served the
ends of public justice, then let it be the privilege of partaking
with you both, say about next Thanksgiving day
night, your wedding supper.”
“Granted, sir,” said Kate with a blushing laugh
“Ay, and a thousand thanks besides,” added Perley.
The action of our story has now been brought to a
close; and one brief paragraph more need only be added
in the mind of the reader respecting the after fates and
fortunes of some of the personages we have introduced.
As before intimated, the county court, at its Grand
Jury term was in session at the time as a Court of Inquiry;
and before night, on the same day, the prisoners
had reached the seat of justice, and their case been laid
before the Jury, who, on the testimony of the sheriff alone,
it being understood there was to be no defence attempted,
the next day brought in their indictment against both;
when the accused, being brought into court and pleading
guilty, were convicted and sentenced, — Gale to ten years,
and the other to two years' imprisonment, and before
Saturday night, the same week, they were safely lodged in
the State's prison. Bidwell became a wiser and better
man, completely cured of all disposition to listen to any
more stories or dreams of buried treasure. Tom stuck
by, and finally inherited the homestead. And the sheriff
had the pleasure, the next Thanksgiving night, of sitting
down, with other invited guests, to the bountiful wedding
supper of Perley and Kate; who, through the means they
had received, through the court, as we have described,
together with their own united industry and good management,
became in the process of time, not only one of the
most respected, but one of the very wealthiest families in
all that part of the country.
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