embraces of his wife and daughter, who clung about his knees;--“it be
no use; let go, or I'll hurt'ee!--There now,” continued he, as he freed
himself, “once vor all, good night. It won't do vor I to bide here
another minute.”
Braintree now rushed out of the cottage, leaving his wife and daughter
on their knees: each of them clasped the other to her breast, and
listened, without a sob, until the receding footsteps of Saul were no
longer audible. They then attempted alternately to solace each other;
but the comforter of the moment was so violent in her own sorrow as to
increase that of her whose grief she tried to allay; and thus the hours
passed on with them till dawn. They felt the misery of seeing the
sun rise and chase away the morning mists as usual; the autumnal
song-bird,--the robin,--much loved of men, chirrupped merrily on their
cottage-roof as he did a week before, when they were comparatively
happy; and the sleek old cat, brushed his glossy sides against their
garments, as if nothing was the matter. There are few persons in
existence, whose lot it has been to pass a night of such extreme mental
agony, as that was with Margaret Braintree and her daughter; and yet,
strange to say, at six o'clock in the morning, Meg was raking together
the embers of the turf fire, and piling fresh fuel on the hearth;--the
kettle was, soon after, singing merrily above the blaze; and, before the
church bells had chimed seven, Meg and her pretty daughter, miserable as
they were, with swollen eyes and aching hearts, sat down to that womanly
comfort,--a cup,--or as it is still called in the west--a _dish_ of tea.
We must now return to the Hall, which, before day-break, became a scene
of uproar and alarm. Every body seemed to be in a bustle, but no pursuit
was made, or plan of action determined on. The 'squire had sent for a
neighbouring justice of the peace, who was so far stricken in years,
that it was necessary for one of his own men, assisted by Stapleton's
messenger, to lift him on horse-back, and hold him on the saddle, the
whole distance between his own house and the Hall. The old man, although
of a remarkably irritable disposition, was scarcely wide awake when he
arrived. The 'squire, however, without waiting to inquire whether or no
his auditor was in a proper state to receive his communications, began
to give a minute history of the capture, brief imprisonment, and escape
of Braintree. He had gone as far as Saul's seizing the constable, when
old Justice Borfield, for the first time, interrupted him, by inquiring,
with warmth, what they all meant by using him as they had done? “Here
have I been,” added he--“Ay, now, I recollect--Yes--the scoundrels broke
into my bed-room;--so I suppose, at least;--dragged me out of bed;
and when I awoke,--for, odd! sir, and as I'm a gentleman, all this was
hurry-skurry, and passed on like a dream,--but when I awoke, I found
myself in my best wig, on the back of a high-trotting horse; and lo, and
behold! I saw--for my miscreant of a man had fastened on my spectacles,
though, as you see, he forgot my left shoe--I saw one of them on each
side, holding me down to the saddle, by my waistband. I struggled and
exclaimed; but the villains heeded me not!--Now, sir, what the devil
does all this mean? What am I accused of? I insist upon being answered.”
“My dear neighbour, my very worthy friend Borfield,” said Stapleton, “I
need your assistance--your presence--your advice in this matter.”
“You're very complimentary, indeed!--What! now you've made a blunder,
you drag me into your counsels to bear half the blame!--Neighbour
Stapleton, I'm a very ill-used man, and I won't put up with it. Talk
of the liberty of the subject, and the power of a justice of the
peace!--Why, I've been treated like a tetotum! At this rate, a
magistrate's an old woman; or worse--worse by this band! Brute force
beats the King's commission! I'm dragged out of my bed at midnight,
by lawless ruffians--lifted into a saddle, when I haven't set foot
in stirrup these twenty years--and brought here, on the back of a
rough-trotting galloway, close prisoner, to sign some documents, I
suppose, which wouldn't be legal without the formality of a second
magistrate's name. I'll tell you what, James Stapleton, I don't like
it--If I'm an old man, I'm not a machine. Your satellites have brought
the horse to the brook, but you can't make him drink. I'll sign nothing;
I'll die first:--for I'm hurt and insulted.”
The old man now grew exhausted, and Stapleton once more attempted to
pacify him. By dint of excuses, and a few flattering compliments on the
freshness and vigour of his intellectual powers, and the value of
the advice of a man who had so much experience, Stapleton, at length,
prevailed upon him to hear the end of his statement relative to Saul's
escape.
“Well, well! then order coffee and dry toast,” said Borfield; “for if
you need advice, I lack refreshment. Order coffee, and let the toast he
cut thin, and baked by a steady hand--by-the-by, let my own miscreant do
it,--and then we'll see what can be done.”
It appeared that Braintree's escape had been discovered sooner than he
expected. The old earth-stopper, on his return from Gorbury, where he
had been following his vocation, saw somebody cross a field, at full
speed, on a horse which he well knew to be Martin Stapleton's pie-bald
hunter. He fancied, too, that the rider bore some resemblance to
Braintree. But whether the man were Braintree or another, it was clear
that all was not right. The earth-stopper, therefore, thought proper
to put spurs to his poney, and, instead of turning down the next lane
toward his own cottage, to push for the main road, and trot up to
Stapleton Hall. As he passed the paddock he looked round it; but saw no
horse. When he reached the gate-way leading to the house, he raised
such a clatter, by ringing the bell and beating against the door, that
several of the servants, and Stapleton himself were soon roused from
their beds. Before the earth-stopper was admitted, Stapleton inquired
from the window, what had occurred. “I beg your honour's pardon,”
replied the old man; “I reckon I ha' zeed Zaul Braintree,--or iv 'tean't
he, 'tis a man like un,--riding athirt tailor Mudford's 'tatee-patch,
in Misletoe-lane, zaving your worship's presence, upon a zpringy
zwitch-tailed pie-bald, a bloodlike weed ov a thing, zo var as I
could zee; but I'll zwear he were a zwitch-tailed pie-bald; and the
young'zquire's yean't in the paddock.”
Stapleton threw on his dressing-coat, and hurried up stairs to the room
where Saul had been confined. The lamp was still burning; and, by its
light, he discovered, at a glance, that the prisoner had effected his
escape. Abel's staff lay upon the mattress, and, at a little distance
from it, Stapleton beheld the constable on the floor, apparently
lifeless. “The villain has murdered him!” thought he; but his fears were
instantly dispelled, and his indignation roused, by a sonorous snore,
which evidently proceeded from the nostrils of Abel.
Stapleton took up the staff of office, and turned the constable over
with it two or three times, before he could wake him. In reply to the
questions put to him by the 'squire, Abel gave a tolerably clear account
of what had taken place: the last thing he recollected was seeing
the eyes of Ponto glaring at him, as he lay on the floor. Search
was immediately made for the dog, but without success: he had either
effectually concealed himself in some part of the house, or made his
escape. Abel begged for a warrant from his worship to apprehend and hang
the animal. “He aided and abetted the prisoner,” said he, “in getting
his liberty; and I am ready to swear, and what is more, with your
worship's leave, I do insist upon swearing, that I lay in bodily fear o'
the beast. But Ponto,” continued he, “was not the sole and only one that
lent the delinquent a helping hand; he hath a friend in court: the rope
was cut for him, that's dear; for he never could have done it himself.
Your worship, this looks awkward against somebody.”
The morning dawned through the eastern window of the library, as
Stapleton finished his statement, and old Borfield his second cup of
coffee. The latter now suggested that all the persons in the house
should be rigidly examined, and the depositions of Abel and the
earth-stopper formally prepared. The whole of the household, as well as
the two last-mentioned worthies, were then called in; and after a few
questions had been put to the domestics in a body, it came out, that
somebody had heard Sam say, before he went to bed, that the poacher's
dog had burst into the Wainscot-room when he (Sam) went up to call the
young 'squire down to supper. Sam, upon being questioned, prevaricated
and became confused. Perceiving this, Stapleton inquired for Martin. “He
ha'n't left his room yet, sir,” said Sam; “I'll step and call him.”
“No, no!” exclaimed Borfield; “by no means: stay you there, and let the
constable go for him.”
“I forgot to say,” said Abel, “that Master Martin did certainly
condescend to be beadle over the prisoner while I took needful
refreshment.”
“Then you ought to be whipped for suffering him to do so,” quoth
Borfield. “Mr. Stapleton, this begins to be serious,” continued
he;--Stapleton turned pale as he proceeded, and now wished he had not
sent for his brother magistrate;--“the youth's your son; but it is
our duty, in such an investigation as this, to pay no respect to
persons.--And so, when you returned,” he added, turning to the constable
again, “the bird was flown, was he?”
“I will be judged by any man here, if I said so!” replied Abel. “Saul
and I had some chat after my return; he was there, and, seemingly, safe
enough; but the cord must have been cut by somebody while I was away.”
“And who did you find in the room besides Saul?” was the next question
put by old Borfield.
“Sam ran against me, as I went up over the stairs, and the young 'squire
did the like, more disagreeably, just after I had crossed the
threshold.”
Borfield shook his head, and said to Sam,--“Young man, consider yourself
in custody; and, constable, fetch down Master Martin Stapleton;--it is
strange, amidst all this uproar, he has not made his appearance!”
“Has no one seen him?” inquired Stapleton, in a tone of unusual
solemnity: he looked anxiously round the circle, but no reply was made.
“Open that window,” continued he, pointing to one near him, in the
recess of which stood the earth-stopper, who obeyed him, as fast as his
stiff joints would permit A perfect silence reigned through the room for
nearly a minute, after Abel had quitted it, in obedience to Borfield's
commands, when the old earth-stopper said that he heard a tired horse
galloping up the high-road, about a mile distant, and he thought it was
the young 'squire's pie-bald. Upon being asked what induced him to think
so, he replied, “Why, your honour, Master Martin's horse were lame
vrom a zand-crack in the near vore-voot, and the horse I do hear, don't
ztrike the ground even; I be zure he's lame;--and az I do think--”
The earth-stopper would have proceeded, but Abel and Martin now entered
the room. The young man's dress was in disorder; his hair was matted;
his eyes were swollen; and his whole appearance indicated that he
had not passed the night asleep in his bed. “I understand,” said he,
addressing himself to Stapleton and Borfield,--“I understand that--”
“You have but one question to answer, Martin,” interrupted Stapleton.
“And answer it or not as you think fit,” said Borfield; “recollect,
young gentleman, that you are not compelled to implicate yourself:--be
careful!”
“The caution, sir,” said Stapleton, “is kind and well-meant, but, I am
sure, needless. Martin--did you, or did you not, aid Saul Braintree in
his escape?”
Martin was silent.
“Don't press him,” said Borfield, forgetting to whom he was speaking;
“we have quite sufficient, without his own acknowledgment, to warrant us
in concluding that he did.--The constable's evidence--”
“Borfield! Borfield!” cried Stapleton, casting on the old man a look of
reproach that silenced him; “let him answer for himself. What say you,
Martin? Acquit yourself, I insist--I entreat!--Did you cut the rope for
Braintree?”
“All that I have to say, sir,” replied Martin, firmly,--but his voice
faltered, and he burst into tears, and hid his face in his hands as he
concluded,--“All that I have to say, sir, is, that the man proved to me
he was my own father!”
“Martin, you're mad!” exclaimed Stapleton, starting from his seat.
“Braintree your father!” said Borfield, removing his spectacles, but
speaking in a calm and unconcerned tone; “How's this?--Then where's Mr.
Stapleton's son?”
“In the county gaol, abiding his trial for murder!” replied the young
man.
“Martin, your wits are wandering!” almost shrieked old Stapleton; “What
do you mean?”
“It is but too true, sir, I fear.--Meg Braintree changed us when
children at her breast.”
“No, zhe didn't, Master Martin,” said some one at the lower end of the
room; “No, zhe didn't; worse luck!”
To the amazement of all present, Saul Braintree, who had just entered,
now walked up toward the justices, and stood within three paces of the
table, behind which their chairs were placed. Old Stapleton was still
on his legs; and, with a vacant and almost idiotic stare, turned from
Martin, on whom he had been gazing, to the weather-beaten face of Saul.
“'Tis you ha' done all this mischief, 'zquire,” pursued Braintree; “Oh!
you used I--but, it doan't matter--Meg, too, to play zuch a trick,
and not tell me o't!--Master Martin, zhe didn't do as I tould her; but
never, avore this night, did I know I'd been made zuch a vool ov!--Your
horse vailed lame as a cat wi' me, coming back; but you'll vorgi'e me, I
do know, vor bringing'ee zuch news. I bean't your vather;--there--there,
it do zeem, he stands: 'zquire, this be, truly, your zon; mine be in
irons; but I'll vree un! I'll vree un!” repeated he, raising his voice
suddenly to a high pitch; “he sha'n't bide there long! I be bad enough,
vor zure and zartin; but I can't let un die vor I!--Oh! I be beat out
and out!--Tell ee I can't ztand it; zo, justice, take my convession.”
Borfield touched the elbow of Stapleton, who was now totally inattentive
to the scene before him, and affectionately embracing Martin. “Take the
pen, sir,” said Borfield; “and, prisoner, reflect a moment on what you
are about to do: you are in a state of great excitation; we are willing
to hear you; but, I repeat,--be cautious!”
“Cautious!--cautious, d'ye zay?--No, I won't! Caution's been the ruin
o' me. Caution doan't zeem to I to be any use in theze parts. I ha' zeed
men wi' no more forecast than chilver hogs, do well all their lives,
and keep out o' harm's way, vlourish-ing like trees:--now I ha' been as
cautious as a cat, and you do zee what I be come to.”
“I cannot write, indeed, Mr. Borfield;--I cannot write a word:--you must
excuse me,” said Stapleton, throwing down the pen.
“Well, well, then, as we've no clerk, and I have written nothing but
my name these seven years,” said Borfield, offering the pen to young
Stapleton, “suppose, Master Martin, you take down the prisoner's
confession.”
“Pardon me, sir,” said Martin; “_that_ I never will do.”
“Then we must adjourn the examination for an hour,” said Borfield; “let
the prisoner be searched, and conveyed to a place of security. I will
specially swear in the earth-stopper and my man to assist you, Abel; my
man shall remain in the room with you, and the earth-stopper may watch
outside the door: be attentive, earth-stopper.”
“And above all things,” added Abel, “take care that his dog don't get
in.”
“Doan't'ee be aveard o' he, Yeabel,” said Saul, “I ha' killed un, poor
blade!--It were the last zhot I shall zhoot. He ha' done much mischief
vor I, poor dumb beast, and he might ha' done more vor a worser
man;--vor I reckon I bean't zo bad az zome be, and that's a comvort.--I
knocked up varmer Zalter, and borrowed his double-barrelled gun, to
gi'e the dog his dose. Ponto knowed what a gun were, well enough; but he
zeemed to vancy I were in vun like, when I pointed the muzzle o't to
un; vor ay wagged his tail and looked as pleasant up in my vace, that
be dashed iv I weren't vorced to zhut my eyes avore I could pull the
trigger. But, oh! Master Martin, iv you had but heard his one zhort deep
howl, you'd ha' gone 'mazed--that is--iv you were I. Truly, I do think,
I zhould ha' zhot myzelf iv 'tweren't vor two things:--Virst, I couldn't
ha' vreed poor dear Bob, bless un! iv I had; and next, I'd a' given my
word and hand to varmer Zalter, I wouldn't harm myzelf avore he'd lend
me his gun.”
Martin now asked his father's permission to offer Saul a little
refreshment; the 'squire immediately acceded to his request, and the
kind-hearted young gentleman whispered Sam, in Saul's hearing, to get a
little brandy from the housekeeper. Braintree, however, much to Martin's
surprise, requested that no liquor might be brought for his use. “Master
Martin,” said he, “it yean't wi' me, as'twere last night I be past the
help o' brandy, now:--I be done vor. Ponto's gone, and I zhall zoon
vollow un; he did'nt deserve it,--nor I neither, may be;--but I zhall
ba't though, vor all that But Bob zhall be vreed--no offence, justices;
but, d'ye hear?--Bob zhall be vree! My buoy zhan't never zuffer vor I.
No, no, that wouldn't be like Zaul Braintree;--eh Master Martin?--would
it, neighbours?--My wife zhan't say to I again, as zhe did, poor zoul,
last night, 'Zaul, thee hast murdered my zon--'tean't pleasant--Your
servant, Justice Borfield: you ha' been my ruin, 'zquire Ztapleton; but
I doan't bear malice; I do vorgive'ee wi' all my heart--Will'ee be zo
good as to make vriends, zir, and think o' Meg, if aught zhould happen
to me?--will'ee, zir--will'ee--will'ee!”
Saul stretched forth his hand across the table, and Stapleton,
apparently without knowing what he did, or, possibly, actuated by a
return of those kind feelings which he had entertained for Saul, twenty
years before, so far forgot his own character and situation and those
of the prisoner, that he put forth his hand towards that of Braintree;
a short but hearty mutual squeeze ensued, and Braintree immediately
left the room, closely followed by Abel Harris, the earth-stopper, and
Justice Borfield's man. He had scarcely proceeded a dozen steps from the
door, when, as if something of importance had suddenly occurred to him,
he turned about, and earnestly inquired for the young 'squire. Martin was
soon by his side. “Master Martin,” said Saul, “there be one thing I've
a' got to zay to'ee--”
“Your wife, I suppose, Braintree--”
“No, no, not zhe; I zpoke to 'zquire about zhe:--besides, Bob will be
vree, and won't zee poor Meg lack pine zhe will--but he can't help
that.”
“Can I do any thing for you?” inquired Martin.
“Not vor I--not vor I,” replied Saul. “I ha' got but a vew words to
zay to thee, lad, and I'll zpeak 'em vreely. Peggy yean't your zister,
now:--when I be gone, iv you can't do her no good, doan't do her no
harm, vor my zake, lad; doan't, pr'ythee now!”
“I never will, you may depend, Saul.”
“Then God bless thee, and good bye!--Now, Yeabel!”
Saul now followed Abel into the Wainscot-room again, and resumed his
handcuffs. Old Borfield, who had been roused to unusual energy, and even
displayed a portion of that acuteness, for which he had been famed in
the county twenty or thirty years before, sank into a doze. Long before
he opened his eyes again, Stapleton had received Saul Braintree's
confession; which, coupled with other circumstances, while it convicted
Saul, clearly exculpated his son from any participation in the offence.
The father and son were tried together; the former was found guilty, and
the latter acquitted. Saul, however, evaded the execution of the law: a
strong fear of death came over him, after his conviction; he made a
bold attempt to escape, the particulars of which it would be needless
to enumerate; suffice it to say, that he was not only unsuccessful,
but perished in a most resolute struggle with some of the gaoler's
attendants, who intercepted his progress. Another paragraph will finish
our tale.
Old Stapleton, who had long been in a declining state, died within a few
days after Martin came of age: the young 'squire shortly after sold off
his estates, and, as it was confidently said by some, but disbelieved by
others, dwelt happy and contented, as it falls to the lot of most men
to be, in a distant part of England, with his old nurse under his roof;
Robert Braintree, the tenant of a capital farm, within a morning's ride
of his mansion: and pretty Peggy his wife.
[Illustration: 111]
THE SHAM FIGHT.
“Well, Jones,--who's gone?--any body?” This was the first question which
the excellent hostess of The New Passage Inn put to the waiter, as she
descended one morning, rather later than usual, to her breakfast.
Jones replied, “Every body's gone, ma'am: two parties, and one single
gentleman, went across in the boat, without breakfasting--”
“Without breakfasting, Jones! I hope they've taken no offence.”
“Oh! no! I'm pretty sure of that, ma'am:--they went away very
comfortable, on rum and milk.”
“Rum and milk!”
“Yes, ma'am; glasses round, with biscuits.”
“Oh! well! come!--And how did the ladies in number nine go?”
“In the yellow chaise; and the people in the back drawingroom, went
with Tom Davis, in the green coach; and what with one and another, there
isn't a turn-boy but Sam, in the yard:--he's got no chaise, you know,
ma'am; and his hand-horse won't be fit to work, the blacksmith says,
till Tuesday.”
“Oh! well! come!” replied the hostess. “Then we've no company left.”
“Oh! yes,” said Jones; “one gentleman came over in the boat, this
morning, too late for a chaise; and there's a traveller got down from
Bristol, on horseback, too late for the boat.”
“And where have you put them, Jones?”
“They haven't come in-doors yet, ma'am.”
“What are they doing then, Jones?”
“One of them is throwing stones into the water, and the other is looking
at him, seemingly, ma'am.”
“Pretty amusement!” said the landlady, shaking her head as she peeped
through the bar-window, and saw the two gentlemen, at a little distance
from the house, amusing themselves as Jones had stated. The active
party was a man advanced in years, stout and squat in person, wearing
a profusion of powder, and having the appearance of a respectable
tradesman. He did not seem to be aware that he was observed, and
continued to exert himself very strenuously in throwing pebbles into the
water; until the other traveller, who stood within thirty paces of him,
burst out into a shout of laughter, which the tradesman no sooner heard,
than he, naturally enough, turned about to see from whose lungs it
issued, feeling by no means gratified at being made acquainted, in such
a manner, with the proximity of a stranger. He slyly dropped two or
three pebbles which he had in his hand; hummed the chorus of a song,
very much out of tune; and assumed a pompous and important stride, which
rendered him exceedingly ridiculous in the eyes of the stranger, who in
vain attempted to control himself, and laughed louder than before. The
tradesman now resolutely tucked up his sleeves and resumed his exercise.
He had thrown two or three dozen pebbles among the little waves, when
the stranger, to his surprise, approached, and, in a very handsome
manner, begged pardon for the circumstance which had peremptorily
obliged him to intrude with an apology. The elderly man protested that
he did not understand the gentleman who thus addressed him:--“Sir,”
said he, “I know not why you should apologize, for you have given me no
offence. I do not remember to have heard or seen any thing on your part,
at which I could possibly take umbrage. However, if my hand were not
dirty, I should be happy to offer it you, as I would to any military man
in the kingdom: though you seem to have but lately reached the years of
manhood, your weather-beaten face convinces me, sir, that you have seen
service. If there's no objection on your part, I should be happy to join
you at the breakfast-table. I've smelt powder myself; but I'll warrant,
now, you would hardly have been keen enough to detect any symptoms of
the soldier about me, if I hadn't let the cat out of the bag.”