 | CHAPTER XXII. The doomed chief, or, Two hundred years ago |  |
22. CHAPTER XXII.
Fix'd Passion holds his breath, until the hour
Which shall atone for years; none need despair;
It came, it cometh, and will come,—the power
To punish or forgive—in one we shall be slower.”
We have at last, in the progress of our story, found our
way round to the place whence we started. We are again in
Plymouth, the town of Pilgrim memories—memories of many
a stern virtue, in the times in which we write, it is true, but
memories also of
To some dear falsehood, hugged it to the last.”
It was twilight; and the shades of night were falling deeper
and deeper over the green lawn and unfolding shrubberies
surrounding the quiet and secluded mansion of the singularly
fortuned Southworths. The two faithful old domestics, Taffy
and his wife Maggy, who, since the mysterious disappearance
of their young mistress, had been the unmolested and unguided
occupants and managers of the establishment, were
now both, after the labors and duties of the day, listlessly
sauntering about in the yard, occasionally pausing, the one to
draw forth his pocket knife and prune a scraggy shrub, and
the other to stoop and scratch round the roots of some flower-plant,
just peeping through the old grass, dry leaves, or other
rubbish of winter. They had been kept in utter ignorance,
not only of the fate of the daughter, but also of her astounding
the land of the living; for the latter, knowing their ardent
temperament, and consequent liability to reveal by some unguarded
word, or leave to be inferred by their actions a secret
which he believed of great consequence to him to remain unknown
and unsuspected, for the present at least, decided that
the only safe policy to be pursued would be to keep them
equally in the dark with the public at large.
“What ye dumping and duling aboot there, Taffy?” asked
the woman, after a second enquiring glance at her husband,
who stood at a little distance with his fingers thrust into his
long, sandy hair, and in the attitude of one in a deep study.
“I wull tell ye, Maggy, an ye first tell me what is that long
ward the minister uses sometimes, whan he's spinning out his
sarment, near the eend on't, and says, from this, or that, I
draw the following—what is the ward he draws, Maggy?”
“Inference? inference, it is, ye forgetful loun, Taffy.”
“Ay, that's the ward, it is, aweel, its an inference I'm
trying to draw, Maggy.”
“Aboot what thing,—what cunning maggot's got into yer
head, now, Taffy?”
“It's aboot the why is it that church carl, the Deacon up
town, don't come speering round the wark an things here, as
he used to. He's not been here once since our young leddy
went off so strange. Seeing she's gone, I expectit he'd
come the more; so it an't nothing about that, I opine,
Maggy.”
“Sure enuf—ye sets me thinking; but what yer think is
the why, Taffy?”
“It was jest that vera why I was trying to draw the
inference aboot, Maggy. It may be because he thinks his
game is up; an he can't mak any more out of her, or so
much as he was mintin.”
“More like it he's found out somethin, Taffy—found out,
knew, the carl! an she don't know none too much, I opine. The
kurnel once had heaps of money, an all of it never came into
this family I know. Taffy, I never said much aboot it, but I
rather suspicion that man, if he is high Dacon.”
“Aweel, whether ye suspicion right or wrong, Maggy, we
are glad of one thing, an't we? We are glad the wark has
gone on jest as weel without the Deacon's speering an contrivin,
an that we've been done prudent and saving of our
young leddy's property, as we shuld, an she were here herself
Ay, we're glad of that, an't we, Maggy? for she sure be somewhere,
an will be back, soon, I've faith, to receive her own.”
“Amin to all that, Taffy; for 'twud mak my auld heart
jump to see her agin; an' if that goodly young man culd
only come too! But he is dead in the Injun battle, they
say. How our young leddy will gret an' grieve aboot it, to
be sure!”
As this confabulation now sunk into silence, Maggy slowly
retired into the house, leaving her husband to continue at
will his musings in the yard. She had been seated in
her room but a few minutes, however, before she heard him
raise a strange, sharp outcry, which seemed to be forced from
his lips by some sudden surprise and alarm. Starting instantly
to her feet, she sprang for the outer door, when she
encountered him rushing through the hall towards her, gibbering
in quick, suppressed tones and with startled looks.
“A wraith! a wraith! I've seen the old kurnel's wraith
standing in the yard, as sure as a gun, Maggy!”
“What?—fiddle-stick!—Why, yer clean gone daft, Taffy!”
exclaimed the woman, with look and tone, in which the emotions
of surprise, contempt, doubt, and fear, were strangely
mingled.
“I'm na dafter nor you, Maggy; it's true as the Book!” responded
Taffy, sufficiently reassured by the braver bearing of his
Lordy! what has we done to bring him up on us so? I'se
done nothing, sure—I wull swear that. It must be you.—
What has ye done, Maggy?”
“Na a single thing!” promptly retorted the woman, who,
besides being naturally of a firmer nerve than her husband,
was now nettled into daring by his last intimation—“na the
least thing, for cheatery or offence; an' I daur go an' face
him on it, this vera minute!” she added, making resolutely
towards the door.
Taffy made a confused attempt to catch and detain her, as
she brushed by him; but it was in vain. The next moment,
she threw open the door; when her eye falling on the questionable
figure she was looking for, standing in the path with
face averted towards Willis and Madian, then just coming into
view, she stopped short on the threshold, and gazed out in
the utmost perplexity and astonishment.
“Gude guide us! if the old mon ben't right!” she at length
muttered—“dead or alive, that's the kurnel, sure, now! But
what's that?” she continued, now catching a view of Willis.
“Why, there is another of them! and—and—no—yes—yes,
thank God, it is! and flesh and blude, too, every inch of her,
I know. And here goes for her, any way.”
So saying, she bounded forward through the yard, and
giving a wide berth to each of the ghosts as she passed them,
pounced upon the surprised Madian, like a hawk upon a
dove, and threw her arms around her neck with a scream of
joy.
It was many minutes before the newly arrived company
could discover and comprehend the cause of the singular appearance
and behavior of the two old domestics, especially of
Taffy, who stood timorously peering out from behind the
door as mute as a fish; and it was equally long, before the
latter could be made to realize that his old master was still
length did, he became almost crazy with delight, dancing
about, leaping up, throwing his hat into the air, and exclaiming—
“Huz—huz—huzza! huzza for the kurnel! in the body
and bones, worth a dozen empty wraiths! Huzza for our young
leddy, who outwitted the Deil and the Dacon! Huzza for
the young Captain, who wasn't killed by the bludy salvages!
Huzza for everybody, and auld Oliver Cromwell besides!”
“Look out there,” laughingly said the Colonel—“have
a care, Taffy, or King James will serve you as he did
me.”
“Dang King Jeems!” returned Taffy snapping his fingers
—“dang all kings—I'se a rip publican! Dang the Dacon,
an' every body that ever speeched, thought, or did any thing
against the kurnel or our young leddy; for the dead be
comed to life, the lost be found, an' I wull kill that fatted
calf the morrow mornin'—I wull!”
“Ter—ter—Taffy!” interposed Maggy, choking with emotions
of the same joy, but of the opposite manifestation—
“Taffy, yer acting like a fule; yer daft, ye auld child.”
“Fule an' daft, is it?” retorted Taffy. “Which be the
biggest auld child fule: to be sniveling and skirling like a
great booby, as yer doin' there, or to be caperin' an' laffing
like I do? Ha! ha! ha! Huzza!”
“That's right; let it off, now you are at it, my man,” here
broke in the grum, half-laughing, half-choking voice of Captain
Mosely, who, unnoticed, had approached, and stood
witnessing the scene, a little aloof. “All right, sir, and no
blame; for, really, I don't see much to choose in the plight
of any of you,” he added, chuckling, and dashing away a tear
that had started in his own eye as he glanced round on the
company, who all seemed to have caught the infection of the
commander as I had counted. After leaving your carriage
and sending it back, when two miles off, so that you could walk
into town in the dusk undiscovered, this display in the open
yard, where the neighbors will be so likely to hear and
suspect, hardly comports, does it?”
“True,” responded Colonel Southworth, seeming to recollect
himself—“true, Captain Mosely, true. So, now, all hands
into the house; for it is agreed, for certain reasons, to keep
close mouths and a close garrison to night, and till the hour
arrives for showing ourselves to-morrow.”
On this intimation, they all soon disappeared within the
newly honored walls of the old homestead, where we will leave
the happy circle to the social enjoyment which the circumstances
were so well calculated to impart—to the enjoyment
of emotions as pure and felicitous, probably, as ever gladdened
the home and hearth of any family on earth.
It was about nine the next forenoon when Deacon Mudgridge,
who had not been out in the street that morning,
suddenly started from a reverie in which he seemed to have
been for some time deeply buried as he sat alone in his room,
rose, went to his desk, took out a thick parcel of deeds, and
counted them over, muttering to himself something about
their respective values as he glanced at each and laid it aside,
his mind being evidently engaged on a sort of running
computation of the amount of his possessions.
“Twenty farms and ten houses. Ay, a full score of
valuable farms, and half as many good tenements, besides my
money bonds; and I should like to know how any body is to
get them away from me?” he said, putting up the papers, and
beginning to pace the room with a certain look of unrest and
secret apprehension, which sadly belied the boastful and
defiant words he was uttering. “Then, what need this
blessed and favored his servant above other men, is now about
to desert him and give him over to the buffetings of Sathan?
There is none! Then, begone with ye, phantoms! I will
not—but, hush! hark! Was that not a rap on the door?
Ay, it is Dummer's rap. Come in! Come in, brother
Dummer. I know you by your rap almost as well as I do by
your voice. Sit down, and tell me the news. I am glad you
dropt in, brother; I was feeling quite lonely this morning.”
“A little lonely, peradventure, our honored Deacon may
sometimes feel; yet he is never alone—the Lord is always
with him,” observed the Shadow, obsequiously.
“Your words are of kindly intent, albeit they do over
much exalt me in the matter of spiritual desert, brother
Dummer,” rejoined the Deacon, with affected meekness.
“Yea, verily, I fear so; but I was inquiring about the news
—is there any thing in particular stirring abroad in the streets
this morning?”
“Why, not much,” replied the Shadow, slightly hesitating.
“Nothing, in truth, I may say, save the assembling of the
court, which seems to be going on, and the which—”
“Assembling of the court!” interrupted the Deacon,
starting—“Assembling of the court, Dummer, and I know
nothing about it? — I not consulted—not even notified!
What does that mean? What is it for? What is to be done
there, Dummer?”
“Well, touching that, now, Deacon,” replied the Shadow,
“I can't say as I know myself, exactly. As I was going by,
I noticed people going into the court room, and was moved to
drop in it also. But though most of the usual sitting magistrates
were assembled, I heard no announcement whereby I
could hear the occasion thereof.”
“But didn't you hear anybody say what matters were to
other, with a disturbed and suspicious air.
“Yea,” said the Shadow—“yea, Deacon, now I bethink
me, I did hear one man tell another, that he guessed the
court were going to try some criminals. But there was no
show of any such questionable characters there to confirm it;
albeit, there was one there who should be held as a criminal
by the whole household of faith—I mean that scoffing Captain
Mosely, who so audaciously obstructed the course of the
law here last summer, in the matter of the contumacious Vane
Willis, and who then again afterwards, broke away so offensively
from service, at the time I made my great prayer for
the strengthening of the army.”
“That Mosely—that bold scoffer, do you mean? Are you
sure it was he you saw there, Dummer?” sharply demanded
the Deacon.
“Verily, it was the same man, Deacon,” answered the
Shadow, looking up inquiringly at the former, as if at loss to
account for his disturbed manner. “It surely was the man;
though I could but marvel how his presence could be tolerated
there as it was. But you do know, Deacon, how strangely his
forwardness has been winked at by some of our temporal
rulers; and more so than ever to-day, methought; for I saw
him actually whispering with the governor.”
On this the Deacon hastily rose, and, with visible perturbation,
rapidly paced the room several minutes in silence;
when turning short on the Shadow, he abruptly asked—
“Dummer, where is Dick Swain?”
“Well, now, really, Deacon, I do not recall having seen him
this morning,” replied the other; “nay, I have not, nor
even yesterday, as for that matter. He don't seem to have
been about as usual.”
“Worse and worse,” muttered the Deacon to himself, as
he resumed his hurried walk, with increasing agitation.
has come; but it must be met boldly. Dummer,” he continued,
again stopping before the wondering Shadow, with an
effort at calmness—“Brother Dummer, you always professed
to be my friend—stand by me to-day—I greatly suspect some
evil is designed against me; but it is a device of Sathan to
destroy my influence, and must be put down; and may I not
safely count on the aid of your powerful spiritual arm, in case
anything untoward shall befall?”
“Of a verity you may, my honored Deacon,” warmly replied
the Shadow, his enthusiasm instantly kindling at this
flattering appeal, as little as he could comprehend any necessity
for making it. “But what is there untoward that can
happen? And what has my Deacon to fear, if there should?
Doth not the Scripture say the arms of the wicked shall be
broken; but the Lord upholdeth the righteous?”
“As steel sharpeneth steel, so do your words of faith reassure
and strengthen me, brother Dummer,” responded the
Deacon. “I shall feel strong with you battling by my side.
But do not be baffled by Sathan into any doubts and misgivings
in the matters of accusation he may instigate against
me.”
“Nay, I will not,” rejoined the Shadow, boldly; “I will
put on my whole armor and dare the adversary to his face.”
“Then let us hence to the court room,” said the Deacon,
hurriedly taking his hat and leading the way out of the
house.
On reaching the court room, the presentient Deacon and his
church-militant champion, found the governor, his assistants,
the minister, and the licensed religious teacher, all occupying the
bench in silence, and with no apparent business before them.
At almost any other time the Deacon would have entered the
room under the confident expectation of being immediately
conducted to a seat on the bench, by the attending officer, or,
Chief Judge, since he had often been called to sit among
the magistrates as one of the representatives of the over-shadowing
ecclesiastical part of the government. But now his
conscience-suggested fears and forebodings had so deeply
shaken his self-confidence, that he made no expectant pause
as he passed the officer near the door, and scarcely ventured a
glance at the governor for the notice by which he had been
so frequently distinguished on entering the court room, on
the eve of a session. And therefore, after a sort of hesitating
lingering in front of the bench, for a moment, he passed on
to a seat among the scattered audience, and with an assumed
air of unconcern, began to look around him a little, closely
scanning the expressions of the countenances of the leading laymen
present, and finally ending his inspection by a sharp, but
covert glance at the different members of the court. But his
anxious eye was greeted with little to comfort or assure him
from any quarter. The governor appeared unusually moody,
and an air of stern resolution was visibly brooding upon his
countenance. Two of the assistant magistrates sat with their
heads together, and with solemn, regretful looks, appeared to
be discussing, in low, subdued tones, some subject mutually
painful and repugnant to their feelings. And all the rest of
the officials, as well as many leading men among the spectators,
appeared singularly thoughtful or disturbed; their looks,
which were often turned furtively towards the door, plainly
indicating a more or less defined expectation in their minds
that something very unusual or unpleasant was about to
transpire.
At this juncture, a slight bustle at the door instantly drew
all eyes in that direction; when the brawny figure of Captain
Mosely was seen boldly pushing forward into the room, followed
by Captain Willis, and another and unknown personage,
with a slouched hat on, drawn down low over his eyes,
up so high and close on each side of his face, as, with the
hat, wholly to conceal his features from the view of all gazers.
One after the other, the strongly contrasted trio stalked
mutely along the aisle, passed on in front of the court, and
turned into a conspicuous seat in the rear of the bar at which
criminals were usually brought for their arraignment. The
two officers had removed their hats on entering, but the other
kept his on, and still retained it, together with his blanket
muffler, in place, after he became seated; exhibiting, as he
sat with low, drooping head, both in outward rig and deportment,
the general appearance of some sullen Indian prisoner,
as he was taken to be by most of the spectators. Presently,
Captain Mosely slowly raised himself to his feet, and looking
round over the gathering crowd, with a sort of mock gravity,
till his eye had singled out the squat, cowering form of Deacon
Mudgridge, and then turning to the court, and balancing
himself on his toes a moment, he bluntly asked the governor
if he was ready to proceed to business? And, taking the
affirmative nod of his excellency as a satisfactory answer to
the question, he quietly drew his broad palm across his
mouth to smooth down the mischief-boding pucker which had
gathered there, and soon began—
“Well, then, I suppose your honor and others will remember
a little bit of a word fracas we had in this town, last summer,
over an attempt to detain Captain Willis on charge of Quakerism,
or some such trumpery matter, at a time, when he and
I, with our companies, were pushing on to the frontier to help
put down the Indian outbreak; and when every minute's delay
might cost the scalp of a white man, and the lives of his wife
and babies. And your honor will pretty likely remember,
likewise how I interfered—a little roughly, may be, to get the
object of that muss off so that he could go about his business,
which God knows was urgent enough, at the time. Well,
getting well of wounds received in battle, with the leisure and
disposition to meet all claims the authorities may have on him,
I have brought him here to deliver him up, so that a certain
Deacon I wot of, who seemed to be the stirrer up of that
notable affair, shall not say that I have robbed him of the
chance of displaying his righteous indignation in the matter
he appeared so intent on prosecuting. And here is the man,
sitting on my right, so that his saintship yonder, the devil
helping, may now work his will on him,” added the rough
soldier, motioning carelessly with one hand to Willis, and
pointing significantly with the other to Deacon Mudgridge.
The court—especially the governor, seemed to be taken
with surprise by this singular announcement. It had been
as we presume the reader has already inferred, privately intimated
to his excellency what developments might be expected,
respecting the character and crimes of Deacon Mudgridge—
developments that, for reasons, which his observations the
past year had supplied, but which he had prudently kept to
himself, he was not wholly unprepared to witness; and he had
that morning, with feelings of the deepest chagrin, made
partial revelations of the painful occurrence to his assistants.
But neither he, nor they, had any expectation that the forth-coming
disclosures were to be prefaced by any such presentation
as Mosely, through some policy or whim of his own, had
made in relation to an old, gone-by case, which, even at the
time, was considered, to say the least, very unadvisedly got
up by the Deacon. And his excellency, scarcely knowing,
therefore, what response to make to the strange communication,
which seemed to be left so as to invite some action or
remarks on his part, turned, after a doubtful pause, to his
assistants, and went into a brief whispered consultation with
them on the subject. But the affair evidently had a very
different effect on the troubled Deacon. He had from time to
muffled figure, sitting mute and motionless near the two
officers whom he had followed into the court-room. As soon,
however, as Captain Mosely had brought his communication
to a close, in a manner to lead to the supposition that
nothing more was intended than what it purported to be, the
countenance of the Deacon began visibly to brighten, and
perk up into something like his old airs of assurance and holy
antagonism. Mosely's movement had misled him, and believing
the danger of the dreaded developement to be over,
he drew a long breath, as if relieved of an overpowering
burden, and began to rally his controversial forces for an
emergency, in which, if that were all, he felt himself strong
to give battle.
“I did,” he said, at length floundering on to his feet, with
hands, looks, and voice all in a flush—“I did—and it shameth
me not to confess it, though scoffers may revile and speak
tauntingly—I did, at the important crisis mentioned, verily
believe we had a duty to perform, in rebuking the crying
heresies, which were bringing the displeasure of Heaven on
the land, as seen in the threatened war with the heathen salvages.
And, wherefore, I did move in the matter of the
reported pestilent Quakerism of the man, Vane Willis, even
unto the pointing him out for the action of the authorities.
And I am bold to say, it was a daring offence, and one arguing
a guiltiness of the charge, for him to put them at defiance
in the contumacious way and manner he and his confederate
did, on that disgraceful occasion.”
“Amen!” here loudly chimed in the Shadow, suddenly
bobbing up from another part of the crowd, like a startled
kangaroo. “I, for one, can truly say amen to every word
just uttered by our God-loving brother, Deacon Mudgridge,
who has done but his conscience-directed duty, in striving to
purge the land from the abominations of its heresies, unto
people.”
“Ay,” rejoined the Deacon, warming up, “brother Dummer
hath spoken truly touching the dangers of our remissness,
in tolerating the pestilent heresies of the day. They are the
great curse-breeders of our American Israel. And yet,” he
continued with the air of an injured man—“and yet, for my
honest strivings against the alarming evil—for the attempting
my God-bounden duty, in that behalf, I am held up here, in
words of profane levity and scoffing, for the invited approach
of a Christian court! Ay, held up here as one called to
account, as if, forsooth, faithfulness to duty were some crying
offence!”
“Peace!” said the governor, who, having finished his
hasty consultation, had been listening, for the last few minutes,
with evident impatience, to the Deacon's back fire, as all in
the secrets of the hour, at once perceived it to be—“peace!
this discussion is needless. Nobody is to be called to account
in anything relating to the untoward affair of last summer,
whereof mention has been made. There is no charge against
Captain Willis before this court. On the contrary, I deem it
a duty to say here openly, that since witnessing his gallant
conduct in the taking of the Narraganset fort, and then investigating
for myself his previous course and character, I
have felt an increasing conviction of the injustice that has
been done him. But the error, I trust, will now soon be
atoned, by conferring on him the rank and commission, which
shall not only make amends for past neglect, but induce him
to continue his valuable services for the future.”
“There it is, at last!” said Mosely with a low, exulting
chuckle, turning to the young officer at his side, who appeared
like one doubting his own senses in what he had just heard—
“there it is, right from head quarters; and done like a man,
too! You now see what I was after, don't you, Willis?”
“Ay,” responded the other in the same undertone. “Ay,
and many thanks to you, sir, for bringing it out as publicly
as were the slights I have received. But I confess it has
taken me wholly unawares.”
“Well, my boy,” gleefully returned the other, “you are
evidently not the only one taken by surprise by such words
from such a source. Just cast your eyes round over that
squad of the Deacon's worshipers, that have gathered near
him, and see what wondering and wriggling there is among
them! and the Deacon himself! Only look at him, casting
doubtfully about him like a man in a blue maze! But hush!
The court speaks.”
“Captain Mosely,” said the Governor turning from another
brief interchange of opinions with one of his assistants, “if
you have further presentments or communications to make,
you can now proceed with them.”
“I will,” promptly replied Captain Mosely, rising, “I will
proceed, at once with my part in the forthcoming matter,
which I am happy to say consists merely in introducing
another, who is abundantly able to do his own speaking, and
make his own presentments of the extraordinary transactions
that have driven him here to-day for justice. And I accordingly
announce the man sitting here on my right, and bespeak
for him the favor—the only favor he asks—of the unprejudiced
audience of this honorable court.”
The muffled unknown who had been indicated by the last
speaker, and to whom all eyes had thus been drawn, now
quietly disrobed himself of his disguising outer rig, and
calmly rose to his feet, revealing to the wondering spectators
the ensemble of an oldish, dark-visaged, but richly appareled
English gentleman, of an unusually commanding person and
countenance. A low buzz of eager, broken whispers ran
through the crowd, and some half-uttered name seemed
struggling on the lips of many a doubting inquirer; but no
however, turned very pale, and, involuntarily starting partly
to his feet, and recoiling back against those crowding up from
behind him, stood, with one hand thrown forward, palm
outward, as if for defence, mutely glaring at the apparition
that had so suddenly emerged into view.
“There may be those here,” said the object of this curiosity
and commotion, in clear, self-possessed accents, after a momentary
survey of the mingled assembly—“there may be,
and doubtless are, those here present, both on the bench and
among the spectators, who will recognize in me Colonel
Richard Southworth, formerly a citizen of this good town of
Plymouth, but latterly a hunted outcast, and a homeless
wanderer in the woods, or among strange peoples abroad. But
I come not into this presence to complain of the acts which
drove me from home, or to speak of the adventures or
misadventures that befel me during the long, dark period of
my compulsory exile. I come for a different and more important
purpose. I come to claim the indubitable rights
which have been wrested from me in my absence. And in
this behalf,” he continued, glancing defiantly around him,
and raising his deep-toned voice to a pitch of startling loudness—“in
this behalf, I arraign before this honorable court,
Deacon John Mudgridge, on charge of the willful embezzlement
of my property, of gross fraud, and of other still more
heinous crimes and misdemeanors!”
“I deny! I remonstrate! I protest!” shouted the Deacon,
in quick, husky tones, rising almost to a scream. “Yea, I do
solemnly protest. I do deny the man's right to appear before
this court at all. He is an outlaw; and instead of allowing
him to come here to malign and arraign innocent men, the
authorities should see to it that he is arrested himself—and,
verily, I do suppose it is their bounden duty to do it—and
send him back to expiate his offenses in England. Can't you
Any of you—all of you! I order it! I command it!”
“Yea, and I, too,” here rang out the loud voice of the
Shadow, whose tall form, at the first pause made by the
Deacon for breath, was seen suddenly shooting up over the
crowd, with the jerk of an opening jack-knife—“and I, too,
must add my protest, my most signal rebuke, to such unheard
of doings; for I can hold my peace no longer, when words so
audacious, even unto the assailing of the very pillars of our
Israel, are permitted to be—”
“Will the gentleman,” interrupted the colonel, glancing
from the court to his opponents—“will both the gentlemen
spare their breaths till I can show, as I was about to do before,
my right to appear in court as I have, which the gentleman
has so pointedly denied. And here is my showing—here, in
this document,” he continued, drawing forth a parchment and
triumphantly waving it aloft—“here is a free and full pardon
and reversal of my cruel sentence, and a restoration to my
former rights and privileges, and all under the royal seal of
King James of England! Will that satisfy the gentleman
with whom I am about to deal? Here, Captain Willis, please
pass this up to the court,” he added, pausing till the document
could be examined.
“Yes, the paper is evidently authentic; so you can proceed,
colonel,” at length said the governor, with gloomy sternness.
“This thing, strike where it will, must be met. It is due to
the character of this court and colony, that there should be
no shrinking, even from the most painful of duties. Proceed,
sir.”
“I said I arraigned John Mudgridge for embezzling my
property,” resumed the fearless accuser; “and I do so charge
him, your honors. When I left Plymouth, I had ten thousand
pounds deposited in the bank of Amsterdam, only one-twentieth
of which has ever been drawn out for my personal
drawn the rest.”
“It is false! I deny it! that is, he can't prove a word of
it—no, not a word. And suppose I did draw, had I not authority
for it? Yea, even under his own hands, and I defy
him to gainsay it!” exclaimed the Deacon, blending his denials
and admissions all in one breath, in his confusion, as he returned
desperately to the fight.
“It is true,” coolly rejoined the colonel, pausing and casting
a contemptuous glance at the accused—“it is very true,
your honors, that I did give him discretionary power to draw
one thousand pounds for the use of my family in case of need.
But not one half of even that sum was ever expended by or
for them. Now, where was his authority for drawing the rest?”
“I was his agent. I was—I was his agent, I say,” stammered
the more and more confounded Deacon, halting in his
strait between the dangers of persisting in his denials, and
those of compromising himself by further admissions, while
attempting to find justification by avoiding both. “Yea, his
general agent, and he can't deny it—ay, the manager of his
whole property, and thereby could rightfully, supposing I had
drawn it, could rightfully draw the whole of it. I say, supposing
I had; but it all rests on his assertions—yea, the
assertions of—”
“Not on my assertions alone, as you will soon find, equivocating
miscreant,” impatiently interrupted the colonel, bending
his withering gaze upon the cowering Deacon. “I have
not come here to bandy words, empty handed of proof to back
my assertions. Here,” he continued, producing a package
of papers and holding them up to view—“here are the original
drafts, orders, and certificates, procured by my agents
abroad from the bank itself, all duly authenticated, and all
clearly showing where the money went to. Here they are! I
pass them up for the examination of the court; and we will
the damning evidence they contain.”
There was now another considerable pause in the war of
words; and while the court were engaged in examining and
comparing the papers which had been thus submitted to
their inspection, the whole assembly sat in breathless
silence, with their excited countenances turned expectingly
on the court.
“In looking at those papers,” resumed the cool, but determined
accuser, rising, as appearances indicated that the examination
of the papers was essentially concluded, “the court
will perceive that the first draft, in the order of time, is
signed by myself, and for the thousand pounds I have already
named, as drawn by the accused with my sanction. Next,
within the same year, another draft for five hundred pounds,
with my genuine signature also attached, but drawn by another
agent for my personal use, while in exile. Then follows,
under consecutive dates, two others drawn by the accused,
and signed by him as my agent, together with an accompanying
letter full of singularly false representations. And then,
as seen in this certified statement, the banker declining to
honor any more drafts so signed on account of some fears that
all was not right—then, at intervals, follow two others for
the remainder of the fund, which purport to have been signed
by myself, but which the court, I think, by comparing them
with my admitted, genuine signatures, and the general hand-writing
of the accused, cannot fail to believe to be, what I
here fearlessly pronounce them, — bold and shameless FORGERIES!”
The whole assembly, as may well be supposed, were thrown
into commotion by these last more definite disclosures and accusations,
which had been wound up by this astounding announcement.
The Deacon, whose intense anxieties had before
brought him to his feet, stood a moment like one suddenly
to work and twitch, showing signs of reviving oppugnancy.
And then he fell to gesticulating violently with both
hands, while his lips moved rapidly, in the evident attempt to
speak. But his flustered voice had become so hollow and
husky, that the half uttered word fa—fal—false! could only
be distinguished, as, with the sounds dying away into incoherent
mutterings, he dropped into his seat and covered his face
with both hands to hide his overwhelming confusion.
The Shadow—the poor, trusting, honest, but sadly duped
Shadow, even looked blank and bewildered, and glanced this
way and that, uneasily about him, a doubt of his great oracle's
infallibility now evidently for the first time crossing his simple
mind. And the whole audience, astonished at these unexpected
disclosures and accusations against one who stood,
as they supposed, immeasurably above the possibility even of
the imputation of crime, and still utterly unable to bring their
minds to the reluctant belief, everywhere gave token of intense
excitement, and with one accord, after exchanging a few hurried
looks and words among themselves, now turned again
eagerly to the court, and sat waiting in feverish anxiety, to
catch their response to the extraordinary charges they were
known to be considering.
That response at length came. Governor Winslow, after
an attempt, and then a successful effort, to conquer his emotions,
drew a tremulous sigh, and said—
“We have somewhat carefully examined the evidence you
have submitted to our inspection, Colonel Southworth, and
sad and humbling, indeed, is that duty which constrains us
to say that we cannot resist the painful conviction of its conclusiveness,
rebutted, as it only is, by confused denials and
unsupported assertions. This, especially in regard to the
wrongful appropriation of your property by the wretched man
before us. The property, however, can, and in truth shall be,
transfers of enough of his ill-gotten possessions, if he has
them, to make good the loss, process and decree shall at once
issue from this court to effect that object—yea, the property
can be restored; but what shall wipe away the foul stain of
reproach which has been brought on the good name and fame
of this Christian colony, by acts of such amazing turpitude?
The accused, howbeit, in the matter of the felonies which are
alleged, and we fear with too much reason, to have been coupled
with the embezzlement, must be allowed the ordeal of
grand jury and trial by God and the country, and I wish I
could better hope for his safe deliverance. Thus much for
what has thus far been brought before us. Are you through
with your presentments, Colonel Southworth?”
“Not yet, your honor,” said the latter, promptly returning
to the charge—“I have not done with the accused yet. In
addition to those I have specified, I now presentment make of
another, and not the least in the dark catalogue of his offenses.
I charge him with having, within this very year, secretly
conspired and attempted to take my life! I here fearlessly
aver that he, last summer, having through a singular
incident connected with the rescue of my daughter from his
infamous attempt to coerce her into marriage with a creature
of his own—he having discovered that I was alive and habiting
obscure places near the southern borders of this colony,
and carefully keeping the secret of my identity to himself,
did deliberately, and with murderous intent, put upon my
track, a band of his hireling spies and assassins, who dogged
me to the house of a friend; where, with their base instigator
and employer hovering near and giving orders for the deed,
they seized, and but for my timely rescue, would have despatched
me on the spot.”
With that lightning-like flash of thought which is sometimes,
in terrible emergencies, know to encompass heaven
reaction that in some measure succeeded his paroxysm of
shame and guilt at his exposure and condemnation on the
previous charges, had glanced over every part of the dark and
dubious prospect before him. He had at first given himself
up as irretrievably lost. But as his mind rallied, he saw, in
the law's delays, in the chances of invalidating testimony, or
of corrupting judge or jury, together with what his own tortuous
scheming could effect,—he saw in these enough of hope
for escaping punishment and saving a good portion of his property
to raise him once more partly out of the black gulf of
his despair. This new and totally unexpected charge, therefore,
fell upon him with much the same effect as would naturally
be produced by the fresh and ruthless assault of a conquering
aggressor on one who, with gathering hope of life, was just
rising from a murderous blow, the repetition of which was
wholly unanticipated. His countenance at first became the
picture of pitiable distress. But after pausing a moment in
his new and aggravated perplexities, his mind seemed to rally
with the belief that the accuser could not possibly, in this
case at least, be in possession of any tangible proof to support
the accusation, and with a last desperate effort at mustering
his forces of resistance, he made shift to hiss out his old asseverations—
“It is false!—false as Sathan himself; and I do—yea, I do
defy him to prove it!”
“I again accept his challenge!” promptly exclaimed the
bold and confident accuser. “As little as I expected the man
would find assurance to give it, I cheerfully accept this challenge
also; and I trust the required proof will not be long in
forthcoming. Mr. Richard Swain,” he added, calling aloud
to the recently enlisted Dick, who had been sitting unnoticed
in an obscure corner of the room—“Mr Swain, will you step
you know about the case on hand?”
Dick, with a sort of self-abased, deprecatory air, now hurriedly
shuffled forward, took the stand, went through the
forms of the oath, and with the eyes of the excited, but
breathlessly silent crowd bent intently upon him, proceeded
with sundry apologetic remarks about having been deceived
and acting from a mistaken sense of duty, to relate what, in
the progress of the story, may have already been learned or
inferred by the reader, respecting the secret and dastardly
attempt of Deacon Mudgridge and his hireling band of spies
and assassins, to pursue, entrap, and destroy the identified
Southworth; and having hurried through the general history
of the affair, he particularly described the last damning
details of his secret instructions, accompanied by the promised
reward of a farm in case of success, and wound up by lifting
his eyes to the court, and firmly emphasizing,
“I aver, then, that he did commission me to do the deed,
which I thank Heaven, I was spared the guilt of actually
committing at his instigation—he did employ, and especially
enjoin me to MURDER Colonel Southworth!”
The whole assembly sat almost aghast in the astonished
witnessing of such amazing depravity. And how felt he,
who was the loathed object of this significant demonstration
of universal abhorrence?—
Thus all unmask'd, as memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife;
Nor found one sunny resting place;
Nor brought him back one branch of grace?”
With soul-chilling awe, have we several times caught the
last conscious look of men about to perish by sudden and unforeseen
accident; with painful sadness, have we stood and
looked on at many a sick-bed, when the hope-cheated sufferer
reality; and with melancholy interest have we often
even noted the look of the death-doomed brute, glancing
wildly up at the descending axe—we have noted all these, and
found in them all, whether human or brute, the same strange,
frenzied look—the same indescribable expression of mortal
terror stamping the countenance, in those awful moments.
And so looked the wretched Mudgridge. With a first instinctive
impulse for life and safety, it is true, he cast a rapid,
furtive glance at the door, and began to sidle along in that
direction. But the quick eye of the secretly instructed Sheriff
in attendance instantly detecting the movement, and promptly
confronting him, he turned round with a look so despairing,
so frenzied, and so fearful, as to cause an involuntary start
through the whole crowd of shuddering beholders. Then his
face suddenly blanched to a corpse-like pallor, and then, as
suddenly, came the fatal revulsion of the blood towards the
gorged vessels of the brain, suffusing, one after another, neck,
lips, cheeks, and temples, till they glowed with crimson redness.
The next moment, with a quick, frightful glare, he
wildly threw up his arms, staggered, drooped, sunk crippling
to the floor, gasped, and was dead.
| CHAPTER XXII. The doomed chief, or, Two hundred years ago | |