It was not until May, 1881, that I returned to my former home, and then
for a short time only.
The next day after my arrival I had a caller at my hotel, and to my
surprise and pleasure it proved to be my old acquaintance and friend,
Christopher Gault.
"I saw your name in the list of arrivals in the morning paper, and came
up at once. I am delighted to find you here. I was in hopes to have met
you on my return from England, but learned that you had left 'The Hub'
entirely."
"Yes, I have been gone a year and a half. But tell me, Gault, where have
you kept yourself all of this time? I had nearly lost all trace of you.
You made your departure from this continent so suddenly, nearly two
years ago, that I thought you must have been"--
"Fleeing from justice?" he interrupted, laughing. "Seeking it, rather.
I see you don't quite understand," he added. "Well, you shall have an
explanation; but it is quite a little story, and I will not detain you
this morning."
"I shall see you again?"
"I hope so, by all means; and Mrs. Gault would be most happy to meet
you."
"Mrs. Gault!" I exclaimed, extending my hand,--"Mrs. Gault! Let me
congratulate you. And Mrs. Gault was formerly"--
"Miss Cecilia Crabshaw," he interposed, anticipating my guess.
"I could have guessed it," I remarked. "In fact, I think I was rather
more sanguine than you two years ago."
He laughed a little, with evident satisfaction. "I have been better
prospered than I anticipated then. We have now been married three
months. By the way, when do you return to Washington?"
"Probably a week from now,--ten days at the latest."
"Then let me make you a proposition. Besides my acquisition of which you
have just learned I have been favored in other ways, and I have just
purchased a house in the beautiful town of H----, where you and I met
for the first time. This house I have remodelled into a summer
residence; and Mrs. Gault and myself, with two or three friends, intend
going up tomorrow for a two-months' stay. Now, my proposition is this:
when you get ready to return, take a train on the Fitchburg Railroad,
and go by the way of Albany and the Hudson river. Stop off at the little
station of C----, and come up to H----, and spend a day with your old
friend. I will meet you at the station myself. Nothing would give me
greater pleasure, and I know the lady who was once your client would
unite with me in the invitation."
"The temptation is too great to resist," I responded, after a moment's
reflection, "and I accept with pleasure."
A week later I alighted from Christopher Gault's carriage at the door of
a beautiful summer cottage, not a mile from where my vacation had been
spent in '79. His own groom led the horse to the stable, and Mrs. Gault
met us on the veranda. She welcomed me in her charming manner, making a
pleasant allusion as she did so to our first meeting as attorney and
client. We chatted pleasantly for a half hour, when a bell announced
that dinner was ready, and we repaired to the dining-room, where a meal
was served, simply, but most tastefully. "Now," said Mr. Gault, as we
rose from the table, "perhaps you have in mind the promised explanation
of my rather precipitate departure from this attractive region some time
ago; and, if Mrs. Gault will excuse us, we will take a little walk.
"You will remember," he began, as we walked leisurely down the
well-shaded path in the narrow country road, "that two years ago I
showed to you a picture of a lady whom we have just left. You also
remember that, while I gave you to understand that we were strongly
attached to each other, I was very far from being enthusiastic about it
as a young lover might be. You did not know the reason then, but it was
simply a question of _blood_.
"In the year 1795 flagrant act of treason was committed against the
Government of Great Britain and His Majesty King George III. My
great-grandfather was then a large property holder, not far from London,
and he figured prominently in public affairs.
"Although he had always been of irreproachable character, trusted and
respected, yet the circumstances were such that suspicion was turned
towards him. A certain officer in the king's army appeared and declared
himself ready to testify as a witness to treasonable acts and words on
the part of my great-grandfather. A warrant was issued for his arrest,
and the process was about to be served when it was discovered that he
had fled. Then his house was searched, and in it was found strong
corroborative evidence. This was nothing less than letters, which, if
genuine, proved without the shadow of doubt that he was guilty. There
was no one to appear in defence of the accused, and he was convicted. As
he was not to be found within the king's domains, judgment of outlawry
was pronounced against him as a fugitive from justice. Then followed
those dreadful attendant penalties; confiscation of his estate and the
terrible 'attainder and corruption of blood.' His only son was in
America at the time, and, disgraced and with prospects blighted by the
news of his father's downfall, he resolved never to return. Twelve years
ago this son's youngest daughter, my beloved mother, died, leaving me
with little else than barely means enough to finish my education, and a
good amount of ambition.
"Although we lived in a republic where attainder is unknown in the laws
of the land, still my mother felt the disgrace keenly. She never
believed implicitly, however, that her grandfather was really guilty of
the crime for which he was convicted. In fact, after his sentence had
been pronounced, there were strong reasons for believing that he was not
in England at all at the time of the treason, and his son never ceased
in his unavailing efforts to find his whereabouts.
"The Crabshaw family had always been warm friends of ours, and, although
they had brought from England many British ideas and counted much on
loyalty, yet they were always ready to appreciate any true worth. After
I was left alone I valued their friendship highly. I was always welcome
at Mr. Crabshaw's house. Cecilia and I were companions in study, and
almost before I knew it we were--in love. As I found this sentiment
strengthening I grew alarmed; for, although no allusion to my family
disgrace had ever been made in my presence, I was aware that Mr.
Crabshaw knew the history well, and that the thought of an alliance with
the house of Crabshaw would be folly. It was at that time that my
mother's belief in her grandfather's innocence became more strongly
impressed upon me, and I formed the purpose, almost hopeless though it
seemed, of establishing the truth of this belief. The idea grew upon me.
I found myself getting nervous, and for the sake of my health I came
here two years ago to find relaxation in trout fishing and the study of
nature."
We had walked during the relation of my friend's narrative along the
road often travelled by me before, and which led to the three shattered
elms and the old cellar. We sat down beneath the shade of the trees once
more to rest, and as we did so Gault took from his pocket the old knife
which two years before had been discovered in the grass-grown cellar.
"There," said he, holding it before my eyes, "there is the name on the
handle that you read for the first time,--'Samuel Wickham,'--and you can
imagine my feelings when I tell you that that was the name of my
great-grandfather. When you told me that Deacon Thompson had a record of
this long past tragedy you doubtless remember the intense eagerness with
which I hastened to find him.
"In the diary was distinctly recorded the burning of the house, March 4,
1795. If Samuel Wickham was guilty of the crime it was utterly
impossible that he should have been out of England at that time. From
that moment my cherished belief became a settled conviction. My means
were limited, but I resolved to visit England at once, and, if possible,
substantiate the evidence found so unexpectedly under these elms; not
that I expected to obtain reversal of a sentence pronounced in a court
of law over eighty years ago, but Cecelia Crabshaw should know that my
blood was not tainted by an ancestor's crime. I can assure you that I
thought much more than I slept that night.
"The next day, as you know, I went back to Boston, and a month later was
in England. I went directly to S----, and there found the old mansion,
once the rightful property of my great-grandfather. I found proof that
he sailed for New York, January 23, 1795. But that was not all. The old
Wickham mansion had stood for years unoccupied. I learned that after its
forfeiture to the crown the whole estate had been granted for life as a
reward to the young officer who had brought to the government the
evidence of its former owner's treason. By him it was occupied for some
thirty years; then he suddenly disappeared. After that the estate was
sold to an eccentric and wealthy bachelor, who built a superb residence
thereon, letting the old mansion remain closed. Very recently he had
died, leaving no will and no heirs, and the estate again escheated to
the crown.
"I was very anxious to search the old mansion, and readily obtained
permission to enter. It was built in the time of Elizabeth, and was a
large building, similar in architecture to many others built in the
sixteenth century in this part of England. As I entered the deserted
building a strange feeling of desolation took possession of me. Hardly a
human being had been within its walls for fifty years. The dust lay deep
on the bare oaken floor, and almost muffled the sound of my footsteps.
On one exquisitely carved panel appeared, in defiance of attempts to
destroy it, the Wickham coat-of-arms.
"I was searching for nothing in particular, but everything had to me a
fascinating interest, and I opened every door and examined every nook
and shelf. In one room I came across an antique oaken desk. As I pulled
open one of its drawers a half-dozen scared spiders fled before the
intruding rays of light. In the drawer there was a small wooden box.
There was nothing in this box but a sheet of paper, folded and sealed,
and addressed to the attorney-general of England. I hesitated a moment,
and then broke it open with excited curiosity. It was the most thrilling
moment of my life. Even now, as I tell you this story, I feel the same
thrill go through me as when my eyes ran over that page. It was nothing
more nor less than a written confession of,--first, treason against the
crown of England; and, second, perjury and false witness against Samuel
Wickham. It was signed by the officer who appeared against him, and was
witnessed by two parties. Strange to say, both of these parties were
still living, and able to attest the validity of their signatures and
the genuineness of the other. They had merely witnessed this signature
at the time, without being aware of the nature of the document.
"The excitement and delight which followed this discovery were so great
that I could do nothing at all for a time. I then engaged the services
of an able barrister, and within six months the judgment of outlawry,
forfeiture, attainder, and corruption of blood, pronounced eighty-five
years ago upon Samuel Wickham by the Court of the King's Bench, was,
upon a writ of error, reversed by the Court of the King's Exchequer. I
then proved that I was the only surviving heir of the wrongfully
convicted man, and in a short time the estate became mine. After
consideration I decided best not to keep the property, and just before
my departure from England I sold it for ninety-two thousand pounds
sterling. Four months after my return Cecilia married a man whose blood
was, at least, free from the inherited taint of treason.
"And now, my dear fellow, you have the story. To be sure there are some
things connected with it not entirely clear; as, for instance, why did
my ancestor leave England when he did, and how came he to be travelling
over these hills? And, in regard to the traitorous officer, where did he
go after he had written the letter of confession?--that is a question,
although it has been said that he fled to America and settled in
Virginia."
"What was this officer's name?"
"His name was Richard Anthony Treadwell, and he was major of the seventh
regiment of cavalry."
The sudden mention of this name brought me to my feet. My surprise was
so great that for a moment I could say nothing. Then I said, coolly, "I
have Major Treadwell's commission in my pocket." Gault stared at me in
blank amazement. I drew from my pocket the old document found in the
little house in Virginia after the death of Nancy Blake, and handed it
to him. I had put it in my pocket just before I left Washington,
intending to at last give it to its owner.
He took the paper and glanced at the name. "Where did you get this?" he
exclaimed, bewildered with astonishment.