A LAST LOOK AT OLD FRIENDS.
I made my deposition minutely and circumstantially, from the time of my
conversation with Adam Hows until the time when, accompanied by George
Norton, we encountered him and Bill Martin in the plantations, and took
the latter prisoner. My statement was so clear, so plausible, so
perfectly matter-of-fact, that this hideous lie was received by wise and
well-educated men as God's truth. I heard myself spoken of as a sober,
excellent young man, well worthy of the confidence and affection of the
'Squire, and extremely grateful for the many favours he had bestowed
upon me; while the character that Martin bore, and his previous
pursuits, were enough to condemn him, independently of the startling
evidence that I, and others from among his own wild companions, had
given against him. A conversation that one of these men had accidentally
heard between him and Adam Hows, proclaiming their intention to rob and
murder Mr. Carlos, was indeed more conclusive of their guilt than my own
account, though that was sufficient to have hung him twice over.
Bill kept his eye fixed on me during the examination. I met it with a
degree of outward calmness; but it thrilled me to the soul, and has
haunted me ever since. He made no attempt at vindication. He said that
the evidence brought against him was circumstantially correct, yet, for
all that, neither he nor his accomplice had actually murdered the
Squire, and that God, who looked deeper than man, knew that what he said
was true.
Of course no one listened to such an absurd statement. But, to cut this
painful part of my story short--for it is agony to dwell upon it--he was
tried, condemned, and finally executed at ----. I saw him hung.
Yes, Reader, you may well start back from the page in horror. To be sure
that my victim was dead, I actually witnessed his last struggles, and
returned home satisfied that the tongue I most dreaded upon earth--the
only living creature who suspected my guilt--was silenced and cold for
ever.
Shallow fool that I was! Conscience never sleeps! The voice of remorse
sounds up from the lowest deeps, with the clang of the archangel's trump
blasting the guilty ear with its judgment-peal. With him, my peace of
mind, self-respect, and hopes of heaven, vanished for ever!
I have since often thought, that God gave me this last chance in order
to try me--to see if any good remained in me--if I could for once
resist temptation, and act towards Martin as an honest man. I have felt,
amid the burning agonies of my sleepless, phantom-haunted nights, that,
had I confessed my guilt and saved him from destruction, the same pity
that Christ extended to the thief on the cross might have been shown to
me.
These dreadful events were the beginning of sorrows. When Mr. Walter
came to the Hall to attend his uncle's funeral, and the will of the
deceased was opened by the man of business, and read to him after the
melancholy ceremony was over, it was found that Mr. Carlos had named me
in this document as _his natural son by Anne Cotton_, and had left me
the house in which I now live, together with the fifty acres adjoining,
and two thousand pounds in the funds. The interest of the latter to be
devoted to my mother during her life, but both principal and interest to
devolve to me at her death.
This handsome legacy seemed to console my mother a great deal for the
loss of her wealthy lover; but it only served to debase me lower in my
own eyes, and deepen the pangs of remorse. How gladly would I have
quitted this part of the country! but I was so haunted by the fear of
detection, that I was afraid lest it might awaken suspicions in the
minds of poor neighbours. On every hand I heard that the Squire had made
a gentleman of Noah Cotton, while I cursed the money in my heart, and
would thankfully have exchanged my lot with the poorest emigrant that
ever crossed the seas in search of a new home.
The property bequeathed me by the Squire was a mile from the village, in
an opposite direction to the porter's lodge. My mother quitted our old
home with reluctance; but I was glad to leave a place which was
associated in my mind with such terrible recollections.
The night before we removed to the Porched House--for so my new home was
called--I waited until after my mother had retired to her bed, and then
carefully removed from its hiding-place the sack and its fatal contents.
The waggoner's frock and hat, together with the sack, I burned in a
field at the back of the Lodge, and then slunk back, like a guilty
wretch, under the cover of night and darkness, to my own chamber. It was
some time before I could muster sufficient courage to open the
pocket-book. It felt damp and clammy in my grasp.--It had been saturated
with his blood; and the roll of bank notes were dyed with the same dull
red hue. I did not unroll them. A ghastly sickness stole over me
whenever my eye fell upon them. I seemed distinctly to trace his dying
face in those horrible stains--that last look of blank surprise and
unutterable woe with which he regarded me when he recognised in me his
murderer!
It was necessary to put out of sight these memorials of my guilt. I
would have burnt them, but I could not bring my heart to destroy such a
large sum of money; neither could I dare to make use of it. An old
bureau had been purchased by my mother at a sale: she had given it to
me, for a receptacle for books and papers. I possessed so few of these,
that I generally kept my shooting apparatus in its many odd nooks and
drawers. While stowing away these, I had discovered a secret spring,
which covered a place of concealment in which some hoarder of by-gone
days had treasured a few guineas of the reign of the third George. These
I had appropriated to my own use, and had considered them a godsend at
the time. Into this drawer I now thrust the bloodstained pocket-book and
the useless wealth it contained. Never since that hour have I drawn it
from its hiding-place. My earnest wish is, that when I am gone to my
last account, this money may be restored to the family to whom it
rightfully belongs.
When I settled upon the farm, it afforded me a good pretext to give up
my situation as gamekeeper. Mr. Walter, now Sir Walter Carlos, had just
come to reside at the Hall, and, being a great sportsman, he was very
unwilling to dispense with my services.
"Wait at least, Noah," he said, "until after the shooting-season is
over. I expect my sister Ella and her husband and a large party down
next week. No one can point out the best haunts of the game like you.
This will give me time to procure some one in your place."
I named George Norton as a fitting person to fill the vacant situation.
He promised to appoint him in my place, but insisted on my staying with
him until the end of October.
Reluctantly I complied. The words he had carelessly spoken respecting
his sister, had sent a fresh arrow through my heart. She, for whose sake
I had committed that fearful deed, in the hope of acquiring wealth, was
now the bride of another. How had I dared to form a hope that one so far
removed from me by birth and education would ever condescend to cast one
thought on me? Blind fool that I had been! I was conscious of my madness
now, when I had forfeited my own soul to obtain the smiles of one who
could never be mine.
The gay party arrived in due time at the Hall, and Sir Walter forgot its
old possessor, the friend of his boyhood, the gay, roystering, reckless
man who slept so quietly in the old churchyard, while pursuing his
favourite sport.
Captain Manners, the husband of my beautiful Ella, was a fine,
dashing-looking officer, and I felt bitterly jealous of him whenever I
saw him and his young bride together. In spite of her sables, she was
all smiles and sunshine--the life and soul of the party at the Hall.
One fine afternoon--I shall never forget it!--I was following the
gentlemen with the dogs, when we came to the fatal spot where Mr. Carlos
had been murdered.
I had never trod that path since the night of his death, though in my
dreams I constantly revisited the spot, and enacted the revolting scene
in all its terrible details. But there was no avoiding it now. I felt as
if every eye was upon me, and I stooped to caress the dogs, in order to
conceal the agitation that trembled through my frame.
Just as we drew near the gate, Sir Walter fired at a partridge, which
fell among the long fern just at my side.
"Hullo, Noah! pick up that bird. 'Tis a splendid cock," cried Sir
Walter.
I parted the fern with trembling hands to do his bidding. The bird lay
dead on the very stone over which my unhappy father's life-blood had
gushed! I saw the fresh, warm drops that had flowed from the breast of
the bird, but, beneath was a darker stain. I tried in vain to lift the
creature from the ground. Before me lay the bleeding, prostrate form of
Mr. Carlos, with the tender reproach gleaming in his eyes through the
deepening mists of death. My senses reeled--I saw no more--I sank down
in a fit,--the first of those dreadful epileptic fits which have since
been of such constant recurrence.
When I recovered, Sir Walter was supporting me; and Mrs. Manners, who
had followed her husband to the field, was fanning me with a small
branch of sycamore leaves.
"He's coming to," she said, in a gentle voice. "Why, Noah,"--addressing
herself to me--"what ails you?--Were you ever in this way before?"
I answered very faintly, "No; but that I had not been well for some time
past. When I stooped to lift the bird, every object seemed to turn round
with me, and looked first red and then black: and I remembered nothing
more."
"You must be bled, Noah," said Sir Walter, kindly; "this is a clear case
of blood to the head. Go home, and I will send Dr. Pinnock to see you as
I return to the Hall."
"I am better now," I replied, glancing towards Mrs. Manners, who was
regarding me with looks of interest and compassion. "To tell you the
truth, Sir Walter, I have not felt like myself since Mr. Carlos was
killed. It gave me a dreadful shock. It was on this very spot that he
was murdered. That stone is stained with his blood. When I saw it just
now, it brought the whole scene so vividly before me, that it made me
ill."
"No wonder," said Ella, thoughtfully. "My poor dear uncle! He was the
best-hearted man in the world; and was so fond of you, Noah."
"He had a good right to be," returned Sir Walter. "You are not perhaps
aware, Ella," he added, in a low voice, "that our friend Noah is his
son."
"Indeed!" she cried, in surprise; "that accounts for the affection we
both felt for him when a boy,--the interest we feel for him still."
"I wish I was more deserving of your good opinion," I said. "But believe
me, Mrs. Manners, I shall retain, during my life, a grateful remembrance
of your kindness."
I lifted my hat with profound respect, and looked long and sadly upon
her. It was for the last time; for she followed her husband to India,
and I never saw her again. Then whistling to my dogs, I pursued my
solitary way.