meet him to-night and let him know everything I can find out. He's
promised to help, though afraid to come to Appletop because of Moth."
"You thought he could aid you before, I know, but how can he do anything
if he dare not show himself?" she asked, as if not placing much hope in
anything he could do.
"Men like him know more than others about things of this kind, I've
heard say. They are more alert, I suppose, and Fox seems so clear in
his way of looking at things."
"I hope he can help. I'm sure he thinks a great deal of you or he would
not have come to make inquiries when you were sick. I wouldn't build
too much on him, though, if I were you, Gilbert, for Moth is weaving a
dreadful web about your uncle, I fear," the sweet girl answered, as if
looking forward to some great sorrow in store for me; and with the
words, she put her arms about my neck and pressed her face against mine
in comfort of companionship and tender sympathy.
*CHAPTER XXXIX*
*THE DEPTHS*
After breakfast I asked Constance to go with me to see Uncle Job, and
her father assenting, we soon reached the jail where he was confined.
It was a forlorn-looking place, built of rough logs, strips of wood and
plaster filling the intervening spaces. Gaining admission, we found
Uncle Job in a cell apart, and so cold and cheerless of aspect that we
could scarce restrain our tears at the sight of it. He, not expecting
us, was quite upset, but recovering himself, asked us to sit down on the
rude bench that half-filled the place and answered for both seat and
bed.
"Your faces are like a glimpse of heaven," he exclaimed, putting his
arms about us with tender affection.
To this we could make no reply, and for a long time sat bolt upright,
holding his hands and gazing at the blank wall before us. At last,
mustering some courage, I said:
"I would have been here before, uncle, but have been living at the
Blakes', and it was only yesterday that he came home and told us of your
trouble."
"Then that is where you have been?" he asked, surprised at what I said.
"Yes," I replied.
"They are kind people, and had I known you were there, I should not have
worried about you."
"It was foolish in me to run away, and I'm ashamed of myself; and now
more than ever," I answered, unable to say more.
"You need not have feared Moth; and now he is under bonds not to molest
you, so there will be no further trouble."
"I am glad of that, though I don't care for him any more. He is a
scoundrel and sneak, and I'm going to give him a thrashing when I see
him," I answered, and meaning to do as I said.
"That is foolish talk, Gilbert. You must not get into any trouble with
him. He is a man to fear and avoid. Wait; time will bring everything
out right."
"Yes, we hope so; but Moth deserves a beating just the same for mixing
up so much in our affairs," I answered.
"Nothing he attempts against us will succeed," Uncle Job answered, and
believing what he said. For he was in all things a very religious man,
and did not think it possible that the innocent could suffer wrong.
"What chance have you, Uncle Job, anyway, for we are all worried to
death?" I exclaimed at last, my emotion overcoming me.
"The chance an innocent man always has"; saying which he looked into my
eyes, as if to read there my inmost thoughts concerning him.
"We know you're innocent, we're sure you are," I answered; "but if they
don't believe it and find you guilty?"
"How can I help that, save by telling the truth? There is no other way,
for I can't make head or tail of it, and haven't a single witness.
Nothing save my word and what men know of me."
"They know nothing but good of you, but who did take the money? You
know, I'm sure."
"If I knew, I would say so; but I don't, and so can't accuse any one."
"Then who do you think took it?" I asked, standing up and facing him.
"What I think isn't of any account unless I know and can prove it, and
that I can't do."
"Yes, and keeping still, they will convict you!" I cried, stirred out of
all patience by his calm assurance.
"I hope not; but there is no other way that I know of, or that others
can devise for me, so far as I can see."
"Mr. Seymour says you were drugged."
"I was, but by whom I can't tell; and as regards the money, I know no
more about it than Constance here," he exclaimed, laying his hand on her
head. At this she burst into tears, and for that matter Uncle Job
himself could no longer maintain any semblance of calmness, so great was
his distress.
Long we talked, but without any result, for not a thing could I learn
likely to afford Fox a clew to work upon. When at last we returned
home, much discouraged, we were greatly surprised to find Mr. and Mrs.
Blake awaiting us. Mrs. Blake greeted me in the most affectionate way,
throwing her arms about my body and holding me against her bosom for a
long time without speaking. At last overcoming her agitation, she
exclaimed between her sobs:
"How could you leave us in the way you did, Gilbert; and the horror of
it, too! You can never know, you foolish boy, how my heart sank when I
found you were out in that dreadful storm. How could you have been so
cruel?" and stopping, she held me from her, as if to assure herself that
it was I and no one else she clasped in her arms.
"I had no thought of the storm or that I ran any risk. Indeed, it was
not so bad, after all, for when I reached the Eagle's Nest I found
supper and a warm bed. I'm not a bit the worse, you see, for the
journey; but I'm sorry to have caused you so much anxiety and trouble,
and hope you'll forgive me," I answered, much cast down at her distress.
"I never saw a storm so fierce and wild. We scarce slept for the cold
and rocking of the house in the wind; and when, late in the night, I
went to your room to see how you were getting on, I thought I should
have died when I found you gone and your bed untouched. Sitting about
until there was a bit of light, we started after you, stopping, with our
hearts in our mouths, to stir every mound of snow by the wayside,
expecting to find your body beneath it. Oh, it was dreadful!"
"Oh, Gilbert, you never told us a word of this," Constance cried, coming
to my side. "How could you have kept it back?"
"It was not nearly so bad as Mrs. Blake thinks, Constance. I reached the
tavern all right, and in a little while was as good as new. If the
night hadn't turned out as it did, I would have been here by twelve
o'clock, and none the worse for the tramp, either."
"Yes, but think, Miss Constance, of his being in the forest alone, and
on such a night and clad as he was! We will always blame ourselves for
not bringing him here yesterday, as he implored us to do."
"Please don't talk of it any more, I love you so much!" I cried out at
last. "I couldn't help doing what I did."
"I know you couldn't; and we are happy in finding you alive and well.
You will go back with us, or if not now, when your uncle's trouble is
fixed up, as we hope and pray it will be soon. You know we love you as
if you were our own son."
"That we do, Gilbert, and wish you to live with us always," Mr. Blake
now broke in for the first time.
"Sweet lady," Mr. Seymour here interposed, coming forward and taking
Mrs. Blake's hand and kissing it reverently as a son might, "I want to
thank you and Mr. Blake for your kindness to Gilbert and love for him;
and I am made happy, madam, by having an insight into a heart so
affectionate and true and every way worthy of regard. Gilbert is as my
own son, and I kiss your hand again, madam, to show my respect and love
for you," and Mr. Seymour bent over and lifted her hand to his lips with
as much deference as he would have shown his queen. Constance, who had
stood by with tears dimming her eyes, now put her soft arms about Mrs.
Blake and embraced and kissed her, as if she could not show plainly
enough how much she loved her for her tender heart.
As the Blakes had left home without their breakfast, and it was now
midday, Constance ordered luncheon spread for them in the Treasury, and
while they were satisfying their hunger we sat about or waited upon them
with loving attention. Afterward, as they could not be prevailed upon to
stop longer, Constance and I went with them to the edge of the town,
where we watched till they were out of sight. When it was dark, I went
to meet Fox, as we had agreed, but without hope, so little had I been
able to learn that would be of use to him. He was there before me, and
upon hearing my voice, which I could by no means render cheerful, cried
out in great spirits:
"Don't be downhearted, you little vagrant, but tell me all you have
found out, not forgetting the smallest thing, as I told you. It is in
some trifle that the rogues always give themselves away, the
thief-catchers say. I ought to have been a constable, and not a
preacher, my boy," he went on; with cheerful unconcern; "but many a good
man has made a like mistake. It shows, you see, how little we know what
we are good for when young. Come now, commence at the beginning and
tell me what you have discovered, and take your time about it, for there
is no hurry."
Thus encouraged, I told him all I had found out, not omitting anything I
could remember, however trifling.
"So Miss Constance thinks Rathe is the thief, does she? A bright girl,
I'll wager; but why does she think that?" he asked, when I had
concluded.
"Because neither of us like him, and because he and Mr. Seymour were the
only ones there when the money was sealed up the evening before the
robbery."
"So they sealed it up, did they? What was that for, I wonder?"
"I don't know, unless to make sure."
"Well, it was business-like, anyway; but Miss Constance must have some
other reason for disliking Rathe?"
"Yes, because he and Uncle Job are rivals."
"Rivals! rivals! For what, I'd like to know?"
"For Miss Betty's favor."
"What is that you are saying? Pray, who is Miss Betty?"
"Miss Betty Singleton, a young lady in Appletop."
"How long have they been rivals?"
"I don't know, but before I came here."
"Well, this is what I call gossip, Gilbert, and makes me feel as if I
were in Boston again. We ought to have a cup of tea and a bit of toast
and a cozy fire to enjoy it fully, though. Which of the suitors, pray,
does Miss Betty favor--your uncle or the other man?"
"Uncle Job, Constance thinks."
"I'll bet she is right, too, if Miss Betty is a girl of sense, and she
is or your uncle wouldn't care for her. So the rivalry has been on for
a long time--before you had that scare in Murderer's Hollow, probably?"
"Yes, long before that."
"Well, you have a fine ear for gossip, Gilbert, if you are not much of a
detective. Let me see now," he went on, "if I have everything
straight"; and with that he began to question me afresh about the
robbery, and the money, and the shape it was in, and how and where Uncle
Job lived, and about his business and love affair, and a thousand other
things of which I could see no point whatever.
"You have not told me when the trial is to come off," he exclaimed,
finally, "or isn't that decided yet?"
"In three days from now."
"Whew! but they are speedy! Let me see, the robbery happened eight days
ago. That is hardly giving him time to turn around."
"That's what I think, but Mr. Seymour says it's the way, and that Uncle
Job wishes it hurried," I answered.
"Yes; and it's as good a way as any. The sooner men are tried and
afforded a chance to prove their innocence, or stand convicted, the more
likely justice is to be done. Only time enough should be given to get
together the evidence. More than that is a trick."
"Enough time hasn't been allowed Uncle Job," I answered, "for there's
only three days more, and nothing has been done."
"I don't know. A good many things might happen in three days, Gilbert;
so don't be too downhearted. Go back to town and see what more you can
learn, and don't forget to spy out what Moth and the constable are
doing. Then come here the second night from this, crammed with news,
and I will be here to meet you. You are sure, though, that you have
told me everything you have heard?" he added.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Well, then, if that is all, give me your hand and I will help you to a
ride to town."
On our way back he sought to cheer me up, but not with much success, for
I could see no loophole by which Uncle Job could escape, so closely was
the web drawn about him--unless, indeed, his good name should serve him
with the jury, as he thought; but of this I had not much hope, so
greatly did I fear Moth's misrepresentations and sarcasm of speech.
The next day, when on my way to visit Uncle Job, I met Blott as he was
leaving the jail. Jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction
of Uncle Job's cell, he remarked, in his slow way:
"He's in the spider's web, sure; Pickle's got him, the little ant!"
"Yes," I cried; "and he is the man who saved your life. Now he's in
trouble why don't you save him, and pay your debt?" I asked, in a heat.
"There's nothin' in the world I wouldn't do to help him. He saved my
life an' saved me from other things worse'n dyin'," Blott answered,
mournfully. "I could git him out of jail easy enough, if that was all,
an' offered to, but he won't budge."
"I spoke without thinking, Blott," I answered, ashamed of myself; "but
he is in trouble, and needs friends, and hasn't any."
"He's lots of friends, an' that's all the good it does; but the Lord
ain't goin' to let a man like him be eaten up by moths, I don't believe,
though how he's to be saved I don't see."
"Can't anything be done?" I asked, in despair.
"Not as it appears now; but be cheerf, Gilbert, be cheerf. It'll all
come out right in the end, an' truth'll triumph, if what the
Sunday-school teachers preach is true. To make sure, though, git your
uncle into the idea of movin', an' I'll have him clear of the place an'
out of the country in twenty-four hours"; saying which, Blott wrung my
hand and hurried away, as if not daring to trust himself to speak
further.
Save what I have related, the two days passed without my being able to
find out anything new or of interest to Fox. Upon my going to the
meeting-place, as we had agreed, however, he was not there, nor did he
come. This I could not account for, unless, indeed, he was discouraged
like the others, and seeing no hope for Uncle Job had avoided meeting
me. This I thought was the case, but waiting until midnight, I at last
returned home, worn and discouraged, without one comforting thought
regarding the trial to come off the following day.
*CHAPTER XL*
*JOB THROCKMORTON'S TRIAL: THE TRAGEDY*
The next morning I arose at break of day and hastened to the jail, to be
with Uncle Job to comfort him in some measure, if that were possible,
before going to the place of trial. Afterward, seated beside him in the
crowded courtroom, I looked about, to see Miss Betty a few feet away,
her eyes red and swollen, as if she had grieved much and slept but
little. All the fun was clean gone out of the poor thing, and in its
place nothing but sorrow and deep anxiety. Her face, too, always so
rosy and smiling, was now pale and drawn, giving her the look of being
much older than she was. Meeting my gaze, she smiled upon me, as if in
gratitude for my being there. Constance sat beside her, and when I
caught her eye her face lighted, and this I knew to comfort me and give
me courage to abide the end, whatever it might be. Except these two and
Setti, who sat next to Constance, no friendly look met mine. Surely, I
thought, some of our friends might have come, or was our cause so
desperate that every one stayed away to hide their grief at the end they
so clearly foresaw?
Uncle Job bore himself like the fine gentleman he was, neither courting
nor shunning the eye of any one when he entered the room. Bowing
politely to those who recognized him, he passed others who avoided
acquaintanceship with the grace of unconsciousness that only well-bred
people possess. This happening led me to believe then and this belief
has only been strengthened by time, that no good man or woman ever can
refuse to recognize another whom they by chance know, however humble or
obscure, unless such person has been convicted of some crime that shames
our morals. Only the smaller parasites and hangers-on of social life, I
am assured, can commit such an offense against good manners. Uncle Job,
however, did not appear cast down by what he saw, though craving kindly
sympathy and being a man who would have freely offered it under like
circumstances.
Moth sat near by, looking pinched and meaner than ever, I thought,
though his appearance was always inferior to that of other men. The
cunning look he gave me from out his deep-set eyes when I glanced his
way I pretended not to see, so greatly did I loathe the man. Looking
beyond to the jury, I could not make them out, unless, indeed, they had
the air of expecting a treat, for which pay was to be forthcoming,
rather than having a duty to perform. Being men tanned in the sun and
simple of habit, however, I could not tell. Mr. Promb, Uncle Job's
lawyer, sat beside Moth, and suffered greatly, I thought, in comparison
with that saffron-faced and eager-eyed man. Otherwise he was wholesome
to look upon, and without doubt much the better man of the two. If
Uncle Job could but have had Mr. Lincoln to plead his cause, I mourned,
as we sat waiting, there would then be no need to borrow trouble. His
innocence would be made clear as noonday to every one by the honesty and
God-like persuasiveness of his advocate. Alas! neither he nor any other
fit person for occasion so great could be had, and Uncle Job must,
perforce, suffer whatever fate befell him.
Mr. Seymour had thought it greatly in Uncle Job's favor that the trial
was to be before Judge Douglas, a rising man, already much spoken of in
the state because of the brilliancy of his mind and his vast
comprehension of the world and its affairs. This truly great man was,
at the time of which I speak, just beginning the wonderful career that
for many years made him a power in the land and known of men far and
near, all finally to culminate in his strivings after the presidency
with Mr. Lincoln and his death at an early day thereafter. Of his
greatness, however, soon to be proven in the Senate and elsewhere, only
the more discerning had then, any inkling.[*]
[*] The Statesman Gilbert Holmes here refers to was Stephen A. Douglas,
called "The Little Giant" because of his sturdy form and the strength of
his intellect. Judge Douglas was afterward for many years United States
Senator from Illinois, and prominent in the politics of our country
immediately preceding the great Civil War. In 1860 he was a candidate
for President with Lincoln and Breckenridge, and upon the opening of the
war, in 1861, generously came forward and offered Mr. Lincoln his
support and that of his adherents. This act of unsolicited patriotism
proved of incalculable benefit then and afterward to the President and
the Union.--THE AUTHOR.
With the arrival of the hour set apart, the clerk arose and called the
trial, and loudly, as if the matter were unexpected and notice now given
for the first time. No sooner did he cease and the prisoner had
answered "Not guilty," than Moth arose, with great show of deference to
the judge and jury.
"May it please the honorable court and this intelligent jury," he went
on, "I appear here on behalf of the people to aid in the punishment of a
monstrous crime--a crime conceived in cunning and lust of wealth by one
who before stood high in the estimation of many good men. You will
notice I do not say all good men, and in this qualification I speak
advisedly. Many have never believed the prisoner honest; I never have,
and for good reason. He is young, of aspiring nature, of unknown
antecedents, and greedy of preferment and gain. This latter some of you
may have known before, but it is well to again call it to your
attention. His downcast look and the lean and covetous lines about his
face tell a story of duplicity and cunning no intelligent man, least of
all a jury so circumspect as this, can mistake," and Moth looked with
lowering eyes upon Uncle Job, whose countenance, truth to say, was
neither lowering nor covetous, but open and manly as one could wish.
Then turning to the jury, he cried, waving his hand: "I do not ask you
to believe me. Look for yourselves, gentlemen."
"I object to this line of procedure, your honor, in advance of the
evidence," Mr. Promb broke in, with considerable spirit, "as being
likely to prejudice the case of my client, and wrongfully."
"The attorney for the state will confine himself to the line of evidence
he proposes to present. The jury may properly be left to form their own
opinion of the prisoner's personal appearance," Judge Douglas responded,
with some severity.
"Very well, your honor; but it is impossible to prejudice a case so
plain to all men as this will be made to appear further on. Restricting
myself, however, as you justly observe, we shall prove all that I have
intimated and more. We will prove that a sum of money, great enough to
tempt the cupidity of a weak man, such as the prisoner at the bar, was
left in his care, and that taking advantage of the confidence reposed in
him, he deliberately and feloniously and with malice aforethought made
away with it, to his own advantage and the detriment of his patron and
the good morals of society. All this we will prove, may it please your
honor and the honorable jury."
When Moth concluded, Mr. Promb arose, but only to excuse himself from
addressing the court at this stage of the proceedings. Whereupon Moth
sprang to his feet again and asked that Mr. Henry Seymour, a friend of
the prisoner, be sworn. When thus called, Mr. Seymour, who sat some way
off, arose and made his way to the witness-stand, all eyes turned
expectantly upon him, as if he, too, might possibly be guilty, being a
friend of the accused. Passing Uncle Job, the latter smiled upon him as
if in assurance of unalterable good will, whatever his testimony might
be. When Mr. Seymour had been sworn, Moth proceeded:
"Were you present in the office of Throckmorton & Rathe on the evening
when the sum of money stolen, amounting to about ten thousand dollars,
was intrusted to the personal care of Job Throckmorton for safe-keeping
over night?"
"I was."
"Did the said Throckmorton receive the money?"
"He did."
"Did he not volunteer to perform this service without solicitation from
anyone? Nay, did he not insist upon assuming the care of the money when
Mr. Rathe asked to be allowed to perform the duty?" Moth went on.
"I do not understand that Rathe did more than volunteer to take charge
of the money."
"Answer my question, yes or no. Did not the prisoner insist upon
remaining at the office to guard the money?"
Upon this the witness turned to the judge, as if seeking guidance, and
the latter nodding assent, Mr. Seymour answered, but with manifest
reluctance, it was plain:
"He did."
"Afterward, on the following morning, when the money had been stolen,
what reason did Throckmorton give for its loss? Did he not claim he had
been drugged?" Moth asked, looking toward the jury rather than at the
witness.
"He did; and what he claimed I verily believe," Mr. Seymour answered,
with great promptness.
"I did not ask you what you believed; it is of no consequence, either
here or elsewhere. The prisoner lives with you, I understand, and pays
you for his board and lodging, and naturally, and because of this, you
would believe anything he said," Moth answered, addressing the jury.
"I call on the court to protect me from the insinuations of this
mountebank," Mr. Seymour cried, very red in the face, turning to the
judge.
"I call on the court to fine and imprison the witness for the use of an
epithet so uncalled for and so little in harmony with the dignity of the
place and the honorable judge and jury," Moth answered, loudly, and as
if grieved and humiliated beyond expression.
"The attorney for the state will go on with the case, confining himself
to its merits and the evidence in hand," Judge Douglas commanded,
addressing Moth.
"The witness having testified to the truth of what we look to to prove
the guilt of the prisoner, I have, your honor, no further questions to
ask him," Moth concluded.
Upon Mr. Promb's intimating that he did not desire to cross-examine Mr.
Seymour, Moth asked that Mr. Philetus Tipps be called.