THE NEXT MORNING.
Oh, such a day!
So fought, so followed and so fairly won
Came not till now to dignify the times.
Since Caesar's fortunes.
--Shakespeare.
Capitola lay upon the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, the
greater portion of the time from two o'clock until day. An
uncontrollable horror prevented her from turning lest she should see
the yawning mystery in the middle of the floor, or hear some awful
sound from its unknown depths. The very shadows on the walls thrown up
wildly by the expiring firelight were objects of grotesque terror.
Never--never--in her whole youth of strange vicissitude, had the nerves
of this brave girl been so tremendously shaken and prostrated.
It was late in the morning when at last nature succumbed, and she sank
into a deep sleep. She had not slept long when she was aroused from a
profound state of insensibility by a loud, impatient knocking at her
door.
She started up wildly and gazed around her. For a minute she could not
remember what were the circumstances under which she had laid down, or
what was that vague feeling of horror and alarm that possessed her.
Then the yawning trap-door, the remnants of the supper, and Black
Donald's coat, hat and boots upon the floor, drove in upon her reeling
brain the memory of the night of terror!
The knocking continued more loudly and impatiently, accompanied by the
voice of Mrs. Condiment, crying:
"Miss Capitola--Miss Capitola--why, what can be the matter with her?
Miss Capitola!"
"Eh? What? Yes!" answered Capitola, pressing her hands to her feverish
forehead, and putting back her dishevelled hair.
"Why, how soundly you sleep, my dear! I've been calling and rapping
here for a quarter of an hour! Good gracious, child what made you
oversleep yourself so?"
"I--did not get to bed till very late," said Capitola, confusedly.
"Well, well, my dear, make haste now, your uncle is none of the
patientest, and he has been waiting breakfast for some time! Come, open
the door and I will help you to dress, so that you may be ready
sooner."
Capitola rose from the side of the bed, where she had been sitting, and
went cautiously around that gaping trap door to her chamber door, when
she missed the key, and suddenly remembered that it had been in Black
Donald's pocket when he fell. A shudder thrilled her frame at the
thought of that horrible fall.
"Well--well--Miss Capitola, why don't you open the door?" cried the old
lady, impatiently.
"Mrs. Condiment, I have lost the key--dropped it down the trap-door.
Please ask uncle to send for some one to take the lock off--and don't
wait breakfast for me."
"Well, I do think that was very careless, my dear; but I'll go at
once," said the old lady, moving away.
She had not been gone more than ten minutes, when Old Hurricane was
heard, coming blustering along the hall and calling:
"What now, you imp of Satan? What mischief have you been at now?
Opening the trap-door, you mischievous monkey! I wish from the bottom
of my soul you had fallen into it, and I should have got rid of one
trial! Losing your key, you careless baggage! I've a great mind to
leave you locked up there forever."
Thus scolding, Old Hurricane reached the spot and began to ply
screw-drivers and chisels until at length the strong lock yielded, and
he opened the door.
There a vision met his eyes that arrested his steps upon the very
threshold; the remains of a bacchanalian supper; a man's coat and hat
and boots upon the floor; in the midst of the room the great, square,
black opening; and beyond it standing upon the hearth, the form of
Capitola, with disordered dress, dishevelled hair and wild aspect!
"Oh, uncle, see what I have been obliged to do!" she exclaimed,
extending both her arms down toward the opening with a look of blended
horror and inspiration, such as might have sat upon the countenance of
some sacrificial priestess of the olden time.
"What--what--what!" cried the old man, nearly dumb with amazement.
"Black Donald was in my room last night. He stole from his concealment
and locked the door on the inside and withdrew the key, thus locking me
in with himself, and----" She ceased and struck both hands to her face,
shuddering from head to foot.
"Go on, girl!" thundered Old Hurricane, in an agony of anxiety.
"I escaped harmless--oh, I did, sir--but at what a fearful price!"
"Explain! Explain!" cried Old Hurricane, in breathless agitation.
"I drew him to sit upon the chair on the rug, and"--again she shuddered
from head to foot, "and I sprang the trap and precipitated him to--oh,
heaven of heavens!--where? I know not!"
"But you--you were unharmed?"
"Yes--yes!"
"Oh, Cap! Oh, my dear Cap! Thank heaven for that!"
"But, uncle, where--oh, where did he go?" inquired Capitola, almost
wildly.
"Who the demon cares? To perdition. I hope and trust, with all my heart
and soul!" cried Old Hurricane, with emphasis, as he approached and
looked down the opening.
"Uncle, what is below there?" asked Capitola anxiously, pointing down
the abyss.
"An old cellar, as I have told you long ago, and Black Donald, as you
have just told me. Hilloe there! Are you killed, as you deserve to be,
you atrocious villain?" roared Old Hurricane, stooping down into the
opening.
A feeble distant moan answered him.
"Oh, heaven! He is living! He is living! I have not killed him!" cried
Capitola, clasping her hands.
"Why, I do believe you are glad of it!" exclaimed Old Hurricane, in
astonishment.
"Oh, yes, yes, yes! For it was a fearful thought that I had been
compelled to take a sacred life! to send an immortal soul unprepared to
its account!"
"Well! his neck isn't broken, it appears, or he couldn't groan; but I
hope and trust every other bone in his body is! Mrs. Condiment, mum!
I'll trouble you to put on your bonnet and walk to Ezy's and tell him
to come here directly! I must send for the constable," said Old
Hurricane, going to the door and speaking to his housekeeper, who, with
an appalled countenance had been a silent spectator of all that had
passed.
As soon as the old woman had gone to do her errand he turned again, and
stooping down the hole, exclaimed:
"I say, you scoundrel down there! What do you think of yourself now?
Are you much hurt, you knave? Is every one of your bones broken, as
they deserve to be, you villain? Answer me, you varlet!"
A low, deep moan was the only response.
"If that means yes, I'm glad to hear it, you wretch. You'll go to the
camp-meeting with us again, won't you, you knave? You'll preach against
evil passions and profane swearing, looking right straight at me all
the time, until you bring the eyes of the whole congregation upon me as
a sinner above all sinners, you scoundrel? You'll turn me out of my own
bed and away from my own board, won't you, you villain? Won't you,
precious Father Grey? Oh, we'll Father Grey you! Demmy, the next time a
trap-door falls under you, you rascal, there shall be a rope around
your neck to keep you from the ground, precious Father Grey!"
"Uncle! Uncle! that is cowardly!" exclaimed Capitola.
"What is cowardly, Miss Impertinence?"
"To insult and abuse a fallen man who is in your power! The poor man is
badly hurt, may be dying, for aught you know, and you stand over him
and berate him when he cannot even answer you!"
"Umph, umph, umph; demmy, you're--umph, well, he is fallen, fallen
pretty badly, eh? and if he should come round after this, the next fall
he gets will be likely to break his neck, eh?--I say, you gentleman
below there--Mr. Black Donald--precious Father Grey--you'll keep quiet,
won't you, while we go and get our breakfast? do, now! Come, Cap, come
down and pour out my coffee, and by the time we get through, Old Ezy
will be here."
Capitola complied, and they left the room together.
The overseer came in while they were at breakfast, and with his hair
standing on end, listened to the account of the capture of the outlaw
by our heroine.
"And now saddle Fleetfoot and ride for your life to Tip-Top and bring a
pair of constables," were the last orders of Old Hurricane.
While Mr. Ezy was gone on his errand, Major Warfield, Capitola and Mrs.
Condiment remained below stairs.
It was several hours before the messenger returned with the constables,
and with several neighbors whom interest and curiosity had instigated
to join the party.
As soon as they arrived, a long ladder was procured and carried up into
Capitola's chamber, and let down through the trap-door. Fortunately it
was long enough, for when the foot of the ladder found the floor of the
cellar, the head rested securely against the edge of the opening.
In a moment the two constables began singly to descend, the foremost
one carrying a lighted candle in his hand.
The remaining members of the party, consisting of Major Warfield,
Capitola, Mrs. Condiment, and some half dozen neighbors, remained
gathered around the open trap-door, waiting, watching, and listening
for what might next happen.
Presently one of the constables called out:
"Major Warfield, sir!"
"Well!" replied Old Hurricane.
"He's a-breathing still, sir; but seems badly hurt, and may be a-dying,
seeing as he's unsensible and unspeakable. What shall we do long of
him?"
"Bring him up! let's have a look at the fellow, at any rate!" exclaimed
Old Hurricane, peremptorily.
"Just so, sir! but some of the gem-men up there'll have to come down on
the ladder and give a lift. He's a dead weight now, I tell your honor!"
Several of the neighbors immediately volunteered for the service, and
two of the strongest descended the ladder to lend their aid.
On attempting to move the injured man he uttered a cry of pain, and
fainted, and then it took the united strength and skill of four strong
men to raise the huge insensible form of the athlete, and get him up
the ladder. No doubt the motion greatly inflamed his inward wounds, but
that could not be helped. They got him up at last, and laid out upon
the floor a ghastly, bleeding, insensible form, around which every one
gathered to gaze. While they were all looking upon him as upon a
slaughtered wild beast, Capitola alone felt compassion.
"Uncle, he is quite crushed by his fall. Make the men lay him upon the
bed. Never think of me; I shall never occupy this room again; its
associations are too full of horrors. There, uncle, make them at once
lay him upon the bed."
"I think the young lady is right, unless we mean to let the fellow
die," said one of the neighbors.
"Very well! I have particular reasons of my own for wishing that the
man's life should be spared until he could be brought to trial and
induced to give up his accomplices," said Old Hurricane. Then, turning
to his ward, he said:
"Come along, Capitola. Mrs. Condiment will see that your effects are
transferred to another apartment.
"And you, friends," he continued, addressing the men present, "be so
good, so soon as we have gone, to undress that fellow and put him to
bed, and examine his injuries while I send off for a physician; for I
consider it very important his life should be spared sufficiently long
to enable him to give up his accomplices." And so saying, Old Hurricane
drew the arm of Capitola within his own and left the room.
It was noon before the physician arrived. When he had examined the
patient he pronounced him utterly unfit to be removed, as besides other
serious contusions and bruises, his legs were broken and several of his
ribs fractured.
In a word. It was several weeks before the strong constitution of the
outlaw prevailed over his many injuries, and he was pronounced well
enough to be taken before a magistrate and committed to prison to await
his trial. Alas! his life, it was said, was forfeit by a hundred
crimes, and there could be no doubt as to his fate. He maintained a
self-possessed good-humored and laughingly defiant manner, and when
asked to give up his accomplices, he answered gaily:
That treachery was a legal virtue which outlaws could not be expected
to know anything about.
Capitola was everywhere lauded for her brave part in the capture of the
famous desperado. But Cap was too sincerely sorry for Black Donald to
care for the applause.