"Mrs Clancy is dead!"
The simple, but solemn speech, makes an impression on the assembled
backwoodsmen difficult to be described. All deem it a double-murder;
her death caused by that of her son. The same blow has killed both.
It makes them all the more eager to discover the author of this crime,
by its consequence twofold; and now, more than ever, do their thoughts
turn towards Dick Darke, and become fixed upon him.
As the announcement of Mrs Clancy's death makes complete the events of
the day, one might suppose, that after this climax, her neighbours,
satisfied nothing more could be done, would return to their own homes.
This is not the custom in the backwoods of America, or with any people
whose hearts beat true to the better instincts of humanity. It is only
in Old world countries, under tyrannical rule, where these have been
crushed out, that such selfishness can prevail.
Nothing of this around Natchez--not a spark of it in the breasts of
those collected about that cottage, in which lies the corpse of a woman.
The widow will be waked by men ready to avenge her wrongs.
If friendless and forlorn while living, it is different now she is dead.
There is not a man among them but would give his horse, his gun, ay, a
slice of his land, to restore her to life, or bring back that of her
son.
Neither being now possible, they can only show their sympathy by the
punishment of him who has caused the double desolation.
It still needs to know who. After all, it may not be the man arrested
and arraigned, though most think it is. But, to be fully convinced,
further evidence is wanted; as also a more careful sifting of that
already obtained.
As on the night before, a council is convened, the place being the bit
of green sward, that, lawn-like, extends from the cottage front to the
rail fence of the road. But now the number taking part in it is
different. Instead of a half-score, there is nearer a half hundred.
The news of the second death has been spreading meanwhile, and the added
sympathy causes the crowd to increase.
In its centre soon forms a ring, an open space, surrounded by men,
acknowledged as chief on such occasions. They discuss the points of the
case; state such incidents and events as are known; recall all
circumstances that can be remembered; and inquire into their connection
with motives.
It is, in short, a jury, _standing_, not _sitting_, on the trial of a
criminal case; and, with still greater difference between them and the
ordinary "twelve good men and true," in that, unlike these, they are not
mere dummies, with a strong inclination to accept the blandishments of
the barrister, or give way to the rulings of the judge, too often wrong.
On the contrary, men who, in themselves, combine the functions of all
three--judge, jury, and counsel--with this triple power, inspired by a
corresponding determination to arrive at the truth.
In short it is the court of "Justice Lynch" in session. Every
circumstance which has a possible bearing on the case, or can throw
light into its dark ambiguity, is called up and considered. The
behaviour of the accused himself, coupled with that of the hound, are
the strongest points yet appearing against him. Though not the only
ones. The bullet extracted from the cypress knee, has been tried in the
barrel of his gun, and found to fit exactly. About the other ball,
which made the hole through the skirt of his coat, no one can say more
than that it came out of a rifle. Every backwoodsman among them can
testify to this.
A minor point against the accused man is, his having changed his clothes
on the two succeeding days; though one stronger and more significant, is
the fact that the boots, known to have been worn by him on the former,
are still missing and cannot anywhere be found.
"Can't they, indeed?" asks Sime Woodley, in response to one, who has
just expressed surprise at this.
The old hunter has been hitherto holding back; not from any want of will
to assist the lynch jury in their investigation, but because, only
lately arrived, he has scarce yet entered into the spirit of their
proceedings.
His grief, on getting the news of Mrs Clancy's death, for a time holds
him in restraint. It is a fresh sorrow; since, not only had her son
been long his friend, but in like manner her husband and herself.
In loyal memory of this friendship, he has been making every effort to
bring the murderer to justice; and one just ended accounts for his late
arrival at the cottage. As on the day before, he and Heywood have
remained behind the other searchers; staying in the woods till all these
returned home. Yesterday they were detained by an affair of _bullets_--
to-day it is _boots_. The same that are missing, and about which
questions have just been asked, the last by Sime Woodley himself.