"Nor of Green?"
"No."
"Was Slade about when you left the tavern?"
"I saw nothing of him."
"What Judge Hammond fears may be all too true--that, in the present
condition of Willy's affairs, which have reached the point of disaster,
his tempter means to secure the largest possible share of property yet
in his power to pledge or transfer,--to squeeze from his victim the
last drop of blood that remains, and then fling him, ruthlessly, from
his hands."
"The young man must have been rendered almost desperate, or he would
never have returned, as he did, last night. Did you mention this to his
father?"
"No. It would have distressed him the more, without effecting any good.
He is wretched enough. But time passes, and none is to be lost now.
Will you go with me?"
I walked to the tavern with him; and we went into the bar together. Two
or three men were at the counter, drinking.
"Is Mr. Green about this morning?" was asked by the person who had come
in search of young Hammond.
"Haven't seen any thing of him."
"Is he in his room?"
"I don't know."
"Will you ascertain for me?"
"Certainly. Frank,"--and he spoke to the landlord's son, who was
lounging on a settee,--"I wish you would see if Mr. Green is in his
room."
"Go and see yourself. I'm not your waiter," was growled back, in an
ill-natured voice.
"In a moment I'll ascertain for you," said Matthew, politely.
After waiting on some new customers, who were just entering, Matthew
went up-stairs to obtain the desired information. As he left the
bar-room, Frank got up and went behind the counter, where he mixed
himself a glass of liquor, and drank it off, evidently with real
enjoyment.
"Rather a dangerous business for one so young as you are," remarked the
gentleman with whom I had come, as Frank stepped out of the bar, and
passed near where we were standing. The only answer to this was an
ill-natured frown, and an expression of face which said almost as
plainly as words, "It is none of your business."
"Not there," said Matthew, now coming in.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, sir."
But there was a certain involuntary hesitation in the bar-keeper's
manner, which led to a suspicion that his answer was not in accordance
with the truth. We walked out together, conferring on the subject, and
both concluded that his word was not to be relied upon.
"What is to be done?" was asked.
"Go to Green's room," I replied, "and knock at the door. If he is
there, he may answer, not suspecting your errand."
"Show me the room."
I went up with him, and pointed out No. 11. He knocked lightly, but
there came no sound from within. He repeated the knock; all was silent.
Again and again he knocked, but there came back only a hollow
reverberation.
"There's no one there," said he, returning to where I stood, and we
walked down-stairs together. On the landing, as we reached the lower
passage, we met Mrs. Slade. I had not, during this visit at Cedarville,
stood face to face with her before. Oh! what a wreck she presented,
with her pale, shrunken countenance, hollow, lustreless eyes, and bent,
feeble body. I almost shuddered as I looked at her. What a haunting and
sternly rebuking spectre she must have moved, daily, before the eyes of
her husband.
"Have you noticed Mr. Green about this morning?" I asked.
"He hasn't come down from his room yet," she replied.
"Are you certain?" said my companion. "I knocked several times at the
door just now, but received no answer."
"What do you want with him?" asked Mrs. Slade, fixing her eyes upon us.
"We are in search of Willy Hammond; and it has been suggested that he
was with Green."
"Knock twice lightly, and then three times more firmly," said Mrs.
Slade; and as she spoke, she glided past us with noiseless tread.
"Shall we go up together?"
I did not object; for, although I had no delegated right of intrusion,
my feelings were so much excited in the case, that I went forward,
scarcely reflecting on the propriety of so doing.
The signal knock found instant answer. The door was softly opened, and
the unshaven face of Simon Slade presented itself.
"Mr. Jacobs!" he said, with surprise in his tones. "Do you wish to see
me?"
"No, sir; I wish to see Mr. Green," and with a quick, firm pressure
against the door, he pushed it wide open. The same party was there that
I had seen on the night before,--Green, young Hammond, Judge Lyman, and
Slade. On the table at which the three former were sitting, were cards,
slips of paper, an ink-stand and pens, and a pile of bank-notes. On a
side-table, or, rather, butler's tray, were bottles, decanters, and
glasses.
"Judge Lyman! Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Jacobs, the name of my
companion. "I did not expect to find you here."
Green instantly swept his hands over the table to secure the money and
bills it contained; but, ere he had accomplished his purpose, young
Hammond grappled three or four narrow strips of paper, and hastily tore
them into shreds.
"You're a cheating scoundrel!" cried Green, fiercely, thrusting his
hand into his bosom as if to draw from thence a weapon; but the words
were scarcely uttered, ere Hammond sprung upon him with the fierceness
of a tiger, bearing him down upon the floor. Both hands were already
about the gambler's neck, and, ere the bewildered spectators could
interfere, and drag him off. Green was purple in the face, and nearly
strangled.
"Call me a cheating scoundrel!" said Hammond, foaming at the mouth, as
he spoke,--"Me, whom you have followed like a thirsty blood-hound. Me!
whom you have robbed, and cheated, and debased from the beginning! Oh!
for a pistol to rid the earth of the blackest-hearted villain that
walks its surface. Let me go, gentlemen! I have nothing left in the
world to care for,--there is no consequence I fear. Let me do society
one good service before I die!"
And, with one vigorous effort, he swept himself clear of the hands that
were pinioning him, and sprung again upon the gambler with the fierce
energy of a savage beast. By this time, Green had got his knife free
from its sheath, and, as Hammond was closing upon him in his blind
rage, plunged it into his side. Quick almost as lightning, the knife
was withdrawn, and two more stabs inflicted ere we could seize and
disarm the murderer. As we did so, Willy Hammond fell over with a deep
groan, the blood flowing from his side.
In the terror and excitement that followed, Green rushed from the room.
The doctor, who was instantly summoned, after carefully examining the
wound, and the condition of the unhappy young man, gave it as his
opinion that he was fatally injured.
Oh! the anguish of the father, who had quickly heard of the dreadful
occurrence, when this announcement was made. I never saw such fearful
agony in any human countenance. The calmest of all the anxious group
was Willy himself. On his father's face his eyes were fixed as if by a
kind of fascination.
"Are you in much pain, my poor boy!" sobbed the old man, stooping over
him, until his long white hair mingled with the damp locks of the
sufferer.
"Not much, father," was the whispered reply. "Don't speak of this to
mother, yet. I'm afraid it will kill her."
What could the father answer? Nothing! And he was silent.
"Does she know of it?" A shadow went over his face.
Mr. Hammond shook his head.
Yet, even as he spoke, a wild cry of distress was heard below. Some
indiscreet person had borne to the ears of the mother the fearful news
about her son, and she had come wildly flying toward the tavern, and
was just entering.
"It is my poor mother," said Willy, a flush coming into his pale face.
"Who could have told her of this?"
Mr. Hammond started for the door, but ere he had reached it, the
distracted mother entered.
"Oh! Willy, my boy! my boy!" she exclaimed, in tones of anguish that
made the heart shudder. And she crouched down on the floor, the moment
she reached the bed whereon he lay, and pressed her lips--oh, so
tenderly and lovingly!--to his.
"Dear mother! Sweet mother! Best of mothers!" He even smiled as he said
this; and, into the face now bent over him, looked up with glances of
unutterable fondness.
"Oh, Willy! Willy! Willy! my son, my son!" And again her lips were laid
closely to his.
Mr. Hammond now interfered, and endeavored to remove his wife, fearing
for the consequence upon his son.
"Don't, father!" said Willy; "let her remain. I am not excited nor
disturbed. I am glad that she is here, now. It will be best for us
both."
"You must not excite him, dear," said Mr. Hammond--"he is very weak."
"I'll not excite him," answered the mother. "I'll not speak a word.
There, love"--and she laid her fingers softly upon the lips of her
son--"don't speak a single word."
For only a few moments did she sit with the quiet formality of a nurse,
who feels how much depends on the repose of her patient. Then she began
weeping, moaning, and wringing her hands.
"Mother!" The feeble voice of Willy stilled, instantly, the tempest of
feeling. "Mother, kiss me!"
She bent down and kissed him.
"Are you there, mother?" His eyes moved about, with a straining motion.
"Yes, love, here I am."
"I don't see you, mother. It's getting so dark. Oh, mother! mother!" he
shouted suddenly, starting up and throwing himself forward upon her
bosom--"save me! save me!"
How quickly did the mother clasp her arms around him--how eagerly did
she strain him to her bosom! The doctor, fearing the worst
consequences, now came forward, and endeavored to release the arms of
Mrs. Hammond, but she resisted every attempt to do so.
"I will save you, my son," she murmured in the ear of the young man.
"Your mother will protect you. Oh! if you had never left her side,
nothing on earth could have done you harm."
"He is dead!" I heard the doctor whisper; and a thrill of horror went
through me. The words reached the ears of Mr. Hammond, and his groan
was one of almost mortal agony.
"Who says he is dead?" came sharply from the lips of the mother, as she
pressed the form of her child back upon the bed from which he had
sprung to her arms, and looked wildly upon his face. One long scream of
horror told of her convictions, and she fell, lifeless, across the body
of her dead son!
All in the room believed that Mrs. Hammond had only fainted. But the
doctor's perplexed, troubled countenance, as he ordered her carried
into another apartment, and the ghastliness of her face when it was
upturned to the light, suggested to every one what proved to be true.
Even to her obscured perceptions, the consciousness that her son was
dead came with a terrible vividness--so terrible, that it extinguished
her life.
Like fire among dry stubble ran the news of this fearful event through
Cedarville. The whole town was wild with excitement. The prominent
fact, that Willy Hammond had been murdered by Green, whose real
profession was known by many, and now declared to all, was on every
tongue; but a hundred different and exaggerated stories as to the cause
and the particulars of the event were in circulation. By the time
preparations to remove the dead bodies of mother and son from the
"Sickle and Sheaf" to the residence of Mr. Hammond were completed,
hundreds of people, men, women, and children, were assembled around the
tavern and many voices were clamorous for Green; while some called out
for Judge Lyman, whose name, it thus appeared, had become associated in
the minds of the people with the murderous affair. The appearance, in
the midst of this excitement, of the two dead bodies, borne forth on
settees, did not tend to allay the feverish state of indignation that
prevailed. From more than one voice, I heard the words, "Lynch the
scoundrel!"
A part of the crowd followed the sad procession, while the greater
portion, consisting of men, remained about the tavern. All bodies, no
matter for what purpose assembled, quickly find leading spirits who,
feeling the great moving impulse, give it voice and direction. It was
so in this case. Intense indignation against Green was firing every
bosom; and when a man elevated himself a few feet above the agitated
mass of humanity, and cried out:
"The murderer must not escape!"
A wild responding shout, terrible in its fierceness, made the air
quiver.
"Let ten men be chosen to search the house and premises," said the
leading spirit.
"Ay! ay! Choose them! Name them!" was quickly answered.
Ten men were called by name, who instantly stepped in front of the
crowd.
"Search everywhere; from garret to cellar; from hayloft to dog-kennel.
Everywhere! everywhere!" cried the man.
And instantly the ten men entered the house. For nearly a quarter of an
hour, the crowd waited with increasing signs of impatience. These
delegates at length appeared, with the announcement that Green was
nowhere about the premises. It was received with a groan.
"Let no man in Cedarville do a stroke of work until the murderer is
found," now shouted the individual who still occupied his elevated
position.
"Agreed! agreed! No work in Cedarville until the murderer is found,"
rang out fiercely.
"Let all who have horses saddle and bridle them as quickly as possible,
and assemble, mounted, at the Court House."
About fifty men left the crowd hastily.
"Let the crowd part in the centre, up and down the road, starting from
a line in front of me."
This order was obeyed.
"Separate again, taking the centre of the road for a line."
Four distinct bodies of men stood now in front of the tavern.
"Now search for the murderer in every nook and corner, for a distance
of three miles from this spot; each party keeping to its own section;
the road being one dividing line, and a line through the centre of this
tavern the other. The horsemen will pursue the wretch to a greater
distance."
More than a hundred acquiescing voices responded to this, as the man
sprung down from his elevation and mingled with the crowd, which began
instantly to move away on its appointed mission.
As the hours went by, one, and another, and another, of the searching
party returned to the village, wearied with their efforts, or confident
that the murderer had made good his escape. The horsemen, too, began to
come in, during the afternoon, and by sundown, the last of them, worn
out and disappointed, made their appearance.
For hours after the exciting events of the forenoon, there were but few
visitors at the "Sickle and Sheaf." Slade, who did not show himself
among the crowd, came down soon after its dispersion. He had shaved and
put on clean linen; but still bore many evidences of a night spent
without sleep. His eyes were red and heavy and the eyelids swollen;
while his skin was relaxed and colorless. As he descended the stairs, I
was walking in the passage. He looked shy at me, and merely nodded.
Guilt was written plainly on his countenance; and with it was blended
anxiety and alarm. That he might be involved in trouble, he had reason
to fear; for he was one of the party engaged in gambling in Green's
room, as both Mr. Jacobs and I had witnessed.
"This is dreadful business," said he, as we met, face to face, half an
hour afterward. He did not look me steadily in the eyes.
"It is horrible!" I answered. "To corrupt and ruin a young man, and
then murder him! There are few deeds in the catalogue of crime blacker
than this!"
"It was done in the heat of passion," said the landlord, with something
of an apology in his manner. "Green never meant to kill him."
"In peaceful intercourse with his fellow-men, why did he carry a deadly
weapon? There was murder in his heart, sir."
"That is speaking very strongly."
"Not stronger than the facts will warrant," I replied. "That Green is a
murderer in heart, it needed not this awful consummation to show. With
a cool, deliberate purpose, he has sought, from the beginning, to
destroy young Hammond."
"It is hardly fair," answered Slade, "in the present feverish
excitement against Green, to assume such a questionable position. It
may do him a great wrong."
"Did Willy Hammond speak only idle words, when he accused Green of
having followed him like a thirsty bloodhound?--of having robbed, and
cheated, and debased him from the beginning?"
"He was terribly excited at the moment."
"Yes," said I, "no ear that heard his words could for an instant doubt
that they were truthful utterances, wrung from a maddened heart."
My earnest, positive manner had its effect upon Slade. He knew that
what I asserted, the whole history of Green's intercourse with young
Hammond would prove; and he had, moreover, the guilty consciousness of
being a party to the young man's ruin. His eyes cowered beneath the
steady gaze I fixed upon him. I thought of him as one implicated in the
murder, and my thoughts must have been visible in my face.
"One murder will not justify another," said he.
"There is no justification for murder on any plea," was my response.
"And yet, if these infuriated men find Green, they will murder him."
"I hope not. Indignation at a horrible crime has fearfully excited the
people. But I think their sense of justice is strong enough to prevent
the consequences you apprehend."
"I would not like to be in Green's shoes," said the landlord, with an
uneasy movement.
I looked him closely in the face. It was the punishment of the man's
crime that seemed so fearful in his eyes; not the crime itself. Alas!
how the corrupting traffic had debased him.
My words were so little relished by Slade, that he found some ready
excuse to leave me. I saw little more of him during the day.
As evening began to fall, the gambler's unsuccessful pursuers, one
after another, found their way to the tavern, and by the time night had
fairly closed in, the bar-room was crowded with excited and angry men,
chafing over their disappointment, and loud in their threats of
vengeance. That Green had made good his escape, was now the general
belief; and the stronger this conviction became, the more steadily did
the current of passion begin to set in a new direction. It had become
known to every one that, besides Green and young Hammond, Judge Lyman
and Slade were in the room engaged in playing cards. The merest
suggestion as to the complicity of these two men with Green in ruining
Hammond, and thus driving him mad, was enough to excite strong feelings
against them; and now that the mob had been cheated out of its victim,
its pent-up indignation sought eagerly some new channel.
"Where's Slade?" some one asked, in a loud voice, from the centre of
the crowded bar-room. "Why does he keep himself out of sight?"
"Yes; where's the landlord?" half a dozen voices responded.
"Did he go on the hunt?" some one inquired.
"No!" "No!" "No!" ran around the room. "Not he."
"And yet, the murder was committed in his own house, and before his own
eyes!"
"Yes, before his own eyes!" repeated one and another, indignantly.
"Where's Slade? Where's the landlord? Has anybody seen him tonight?
Matthew, where's Simon Slade?"
From lip to lip passed these interrogations; while the crowd of men
became agitated, and swayed to and fro.
"I don't think he's home," answered the bar-keeper, in a hesitating
manner, and with visible alarm.
"How long since he was here?"
"I haven't seen him for a couple of hours."
"That's a lie!" was sharply said.
"Who says it's a lie?" Matthew affected to be strongly indignant.
"I do!" And a rough, fierce-looking man confronted him.
"What right have you to say so?" asked Matthew, cooling off
considerably.
"Because you lie!" said the man, boldly. "You've seen him within a less
time than half an hour, and well you know it. Now, if you wish to keep
yourself out of this trouble, answer truly. We are in no mood to deal
with liars or equivocators. Where is Simon Slade?"
"I do not know," replied Matthew, firmly.
"Is he in the house?"
"He may be, or he may not be. I am just as ignorant of his exact
whereabouts as you are."
"Will you look for him?"
Matthew stepped to the door, opening from behind the bar, and called
the name of Frank.
"What's wanted?" growled the boy.
"Is your father in the house?"
"I don't know, nor don't care," was responded in the same ungracious
manner.
"Someone bring him into the bar-room, and we'll see if we can't make
him care a little."
The suggestion was no sooner made, than two men glided behind the bar,
and passed into the room from whence the voice of Frank had issued. A
moment after they reappeared, each grasping an arm of the boy, and
bearing him like a weak child between them. He looked thoroughly
frightened at this unlooked-for invasion of his liberty.
"See here, young man." One of the leading spirits of the crowd
addressed him, as soon as he was brought in front of the counter. "If
you wish to keep out of trouble, answer our questions at once, and to
the point. We are in no mood for trifling. Where's your father?"
"Somewhere about the house, I believe," Frank replied, in an humble
tone. He was no little scared at the summary manner with which he had
been treated.
"How long since you saw him?"
"Not long ago."
"Ten minutes."
"No; nearly half an hour."
"Where was he then?"
"He was going up-stairs."
"Very well, we want him. See him, and tell him so."
Frank went into the house, but came back into the bar-room after an
absence of nearly five minutes, and said that he could not find his
father anywhere.
"Where is he then?" was angrily demanded.
"Indeed, gentlemen, I don't know." Frank's anxious look and frightened
manner showed that he spoke truly.
"There's something wrong about this--something wrong--wrong," said one
of the men. "Why should he be absent now? Why has he taken no steps to
secure the man who committed a murder in his own house, and before his
own eyes?
"I shouldn't wonder if he aided him to escape," said another, making
this serious charge with a restlessness and want of evidence that
illustrated the reckless and unjust spirit by which the mob is ever
governed.
"No doubt of it in the least!" was the quick and positive response. And
at once this erroneous conviction seized upon every one. Not a single
fact was presented. The simple, bold assertion, that no doubt existed
in the mind of one man as to Slade's having aided Green to escape, was
sufficient for the unreflecting mob.
"Where is he? Where is he? Let us find him. He knows where Green is,
and he shall reveal the secret."
This was enough. The passions of the crowd were at fever heat again.
Two or three men were chosen to search the house and premises, while
others dispersed to take a wider range. One of the men who volunteered
to go over the house was a person named Lyon, with whom I had formed
some acquaintance, and several times conversed with on the state of
affairs in Cedarville. He still remained too good a customer at the
bar. I left the bar at the same time that he did, and went up to my
room. We walked side by side, and parted at my door, I going in, and he
continuing on to make his searches. I felt, of course, anxious and much
excited, as well in consequence of the events of the day, as the
present aspect of things. My head was aching violently, and in the hope
of getting relief, I laid myself down. I had already lighted a candle,
and turned the key in my door to prevent intrusion. Only for a short
time did I lie, listening to the hum of voices that came with a hoarse
murmur from below, to the sound of feet moving along the passages, and
to the continual opening and shutting of doors, when something like
suppressed breathing reached my ears, I started up instantly, and
listened; but my quickened pulses were now audible to my own sense, and
obscured what was external.
"It is only imagination," I said to myself. Still, I sat upright,
listening.
Satisfied, at length, that all was mere fancy, I laid myself back on
the pillow, and tried to turn my thoughts away from the suggested idea
that some one was in the room. Scarcely had I succeeded in this, when
my heart gave a new impulse, as a sound like a movement fell upon my
ears.
"Mere fancy!" I said to myself, as some one went past the door at the
moment. "My mind is overexcited."
Still I raised my head, supporting it with my hand, and listened,
directing my attention inside, and not outside of the room. I was about
letting my head fall back upon the pillow, when a slight cough, so
distinct as not to be mistaken, caused me to spring to the floor, and
look under the bed. The mystery was explained. A pair of eyes glittered
in the candlelight. The fugitive, Green, was under my bed. For some
moments I stood looking at him, so astonished that I had neither
utterance nor decision; while he glared at me with a fierce defiance. I
saw that he was clutching a revolver.
"Understand!" he said, in a grating whisper, "that I am not to be taken
alive."
I let the blanket, which had concealed him from view, fall from my
hand, and then tried to collect my thoughts.
"Escape is impossible," said I, again lifting the temporary curtain by
which he was hid. "The whole town is armed, and on the search; and
should you fall into the hands of the mob, in its present state of
exasperation, your life would not be safe an instant. Remain, then,
quiet, where you are, until I can see the sheriff, to whom you had
better resign yourself, for there's little chance for you except under
his protection."
After a brief parley he consented that things should take this course,
and I went out, locking the room door after me, and started in search
of the sheriff. On the information I gave, the sheriff acted promptly.
With five officers, fully armed for defence, in case an effort were
made to get the prisoner out of their hands, he repaired immediately to
the "Sickle and Sheaf." I had given the key of my room into his
possession.
The appearance of the sheriff, with his posse, was sufficient to start
the suggestion that Green was somewhere concealed in the house; and a
suggestion was only needed to cause the fact to be assumed, and
unhesitatingly declared. Intelligence went through the reassembling
crowd like an electric current, and ere the sheriff could manacle and
lead forth his prisoner, the stairway down which he had to come was
packed with bodies, and echoing with oaths and maledictions.
"Gentlemen, clear the way!" cried the sheriff, as he appeared with the
white and trembling culprit at the head of the stairs. "The murderer is
now in the hands of the law, and will meet the sure consequences of his
crime."
A shout of execration rent the air; but not a single individual stirred.
"Give way, there! Give way!" And the sheriff took a step or two
forward, but the prisoner held back.
"Oh, the murdering villain! The cursed blackleg! Where's Willy
Hammond?" was heard distinctly above the confused mingling of voices.
"Gentlemen! the law must have its course; and no good citizen will
oppose the law. It is made for your protection--for mine--and for that
of the prisoner."
"Lynch law is good enough for him," shouted a savage voice. "Hand him
over to us, sheriff, and we'll save you the trouble of hanging him, and
the county the cost of the gallows. We'll do the business right."
Five men, each armed with a revolver, now ranged themselves around the
sheriff, and the latter said firmly:
"It is my duty to see this man safely conveyed to prison; and I'm going
to do my duty. If there is any more blood shed here, the blame will
rest with you." And the body of officers pressed forward, the mob
slowly retreating before them.
Green, overwhelmed with terror, held back. I was standing where I could
see his face. It was ghastly with mortal fear. Grasping his pinioned
arms, the sheriff forced him onward. After contending with the crowd
for nearly ten minutes, the officers gained the passage below; but the
mob was denser here, and blocking up the door, resolutely maintained
their position.
Again and again the sheriff appealed to the good sense and justice of
the people.
"The prisoner will have to stand a trial and the law will execute sure
vengeance."
"No, it won't!" was sternly responded.
"Who'll be judge in the case?" was asked.
"Why, Judge Lyman!" was contemptuously answered.
"A blackleg himself!" was shouted by two or three voices.
"Blackleg judge, and blackleg lawyers! Oh, yes! The law will execute
sure vengeance! Who was in the room gambling with Green and Hammond?"
"Judge Lyman!" "Judge Lyman!" was answered back.
"It won't do, sheriff! There's no law in the country to reach the case
but Lynch law; and that the scoundrel must have. Give him to us!"
"Never! On, men, with the prisoner!" cried the sheriff resolutely, and
the posse made a rush toward the door, bearing back the resisting and
now infuriated crowd. Shouts, cries, oaths, and savage imprecations
blended in wild discord; in the midst of which my blood was chilled by
the sharp crack of a pistol. Another and another shot followed; and
then, as a cry of pain thrilled the air, the fierce storm hushed its
fury in an instant.
"Who's shot? Is he killed?"
There was a breathless eagerness for the answer.
"It's the gambler!" was replied. "Somebody has shot Green."
A low muttered invective against the victim was heard here and there;
but the announcement was not received with a shout of exultation,
though there was scarcely a heart that did not feel pleasure at the
sacrifice of Harvey Green's life.
It was true as had been declared. Whether the shot were aimed
deliberately, or guided by an unseen hand to the heart of the gambler,
was never known; nor did the most careful examination, instituted
afterward by the county, elicit any information that even directed
suspicion toward the individual who became the agent of his death.
At the coroner's inquest, held over the dead body of Harvey Green,
Simon Slade was present. Where he had concealed himself while the mob
were in search of him, was not known. He looked haggard; and his eyes
were anxious and restless. Two murders in his house, occurring in a
single day, were quite enough to darken his spirits; and the more so,
as his relations with both the victims were not of a character to
awaken any thing but self-accusation.
As for the mob, in the death of Green its eager thirst for vengeance
was satisfied. Nothing more was said against Slade, as a participator
in the ruin and death of young Hammond. The popular feeling was one of
pity rather than indignation toward the landlord; for it was seen that
he was deeply troubled.
One thing I noticed, and it was that the drinking at the bar was not
suspended for a moment. A large proportion of those who made up the
crowd of Green's angry pursuers were excited by drink as well as
indignation, and I am very sure that, but for the maddening effects of
liquor, the fatal shot would never have been fired. After the fearful
catastrophe, and when every mind was sobered, or ought to have been
sobered, the crowd returned to the bar-room, where the drinking was
renewed. So rapid were the calls for liquor, that both Matthew and
Frank, the landlord's son, were kept busy mixing the various compounds
demanded by the thirsty customers.
From the constant stream of human beings that flowed toward the "Sickle
and Sheaf," after the news of Green's discovery and death went forth,
it seemed as if every man and boy within a distance of two or three
miles had received intelligence of the event. Few, very, of those who
came, but went first into the bar-room; and nearly all who entered the
bar-room called for liquor. In an hour after the death of Green, the
fact that his dead body was laid out in the room immediately adjoining,
seemed utterly to pass from the consciousness of every one in the bar.
The calls for liquor were incessant; and, as the excitement of drink
increased, voices grew louder, and oaths more plentiful, while the
sounds of laughter ceased not for an instant.
"They're giving him a regular Irish wake," I heard remarked, with a
brutal laugh.
I turned to the speaker, and, to my great surprise, saw that it was
Judge Lyman, more under the influence of drink than I remembered to
have seen him. He was about the last man I expected to find here. If he
knew of the strong indignation expressed toward him a little while
before, by some of the very men now excited with liquor, his own free
drinking had extinguished fear.
"Yes, curse him!" was the answer. "If they have a particularly hot
corner 'away down below,' I hope he's made its acquaintance before
this."
"Most likely he's smelled brimstone," chuckled the judge.
"Smelled it! If old Clubfoot hasn't treated him with a brimstone-bath
long before this, he hasn't done his duty. If I thought as much, I'd
vote for sending his majesty a remonstrance forthwith."
"Ha! ha!" laughed the judge. "You're warm on the subject."
"Ain't I? The blackleg scoundrel! Hell's too good for him."
"H-u-s-h! Don't let your indignation run into profanity," said Judge
Lyman, trying to assume a serious air; but the muscles of his face but
feebly obeyed his will's feeble effort.
"Profanity! Poh! I don't call that profanity. It's only speaking out in
meeting, as they say,--it's only calling black, black--and white,
white. You believe in a hell, don't you, judge?"
"I suppose there is one; though I don't know very certain."
"You'd better be certain!" said the other, meaningly.
"Why so?"
"Oh! because if there is one, and you don't cut your cards a little
differently, you'll be apt to find it at the end of your journey."
"What do you mean by that?" asked the judge, retreating somewhat into
himself, and trying to look dignified.
"Just what I say," was unhesitatingly answered.
"Do you mean to insinuate any thing?" asked the judge, whose brows were
beginning to knit themselves.
"Nobody thinks you a saint," replied the man, roughly.
"I never professed to be."
"And it is said"--the man fixed his gaze almost insultingly upon Judge
Lyman's face--"that you'll get about as hot a corner in the lower
regions as is to be found there, whenever you make the journey in that
direction."
"You are insolent!" exclaimed the judge, his face becoming inflamed.
"Take care what you say, sir!" The man spoke threateningly.
"You'd better take care what YOU say."
"So I will," replied the other. "But--"
"What's to pay here?" inquired a third party, coming up at the moment,
and interrupting the speaker.
"The devil will be to pay," said Judge Lyman, "if somebody don't look
out sharp."
"Do you mean that for me, ha?" The man, between whom and himself this
slight contention had so quickly sprung up, began stripping back his
coat sleeves, like one about to commence boxing.
"I mean it for anybody who presumes to offer me an insult."
The raised voices of the two men now drew toward them the attention of
every one in the bar-room.
"The devil! There's Judge Lyman!" I heard some one exclaim, in a tone
of surprise.
"Wasn't he in the room with Green when Willy Hammond was murdered?"
asked another.
"Yes, he was; and what's more, it is said he had been playing against
him all night, he and Green sharing the plunder."
This last remark came distinctly to the ears of Lyman, who started to
his feet instantly, exclaiming fiercely:
"Whoever says that is a cursed liar!"
The words were scarcely out of his mouth, before a blow staggered him
against the wall, near which he was standing. Another blow felled him,
and then his assailant sprang over his prostrate body, kicking him, and
stamping upon his face and breast in the most brutal, shocking manner.
"Kill him! He's worse than Green!" somebody cried out, in a voice so
full of cruelty and murder that it made my blood curdle. "Remember
Willy Hammond!"
The terrible scene that followed, in which were heard a confused
mingling of blows, cries, yells, and horrible oaths, continued for
several minutes, and ceased only when the words--"Don't, don't strike
him any more! He's dead!" were repeated several times. Then the wild
strife subsided. As the crowd parted from around the body of Judge
Lyman, and gave way, I caught a single glance at his face. It was
covered with blood, and every feature seemed to have been literally
trampled down, until all was a level surface! Sickened at the sight, I
passed hastily from the room into the open air, and caught my breath
several times, before respiration again went on freely. As I stood in
front of the tavern, the body of Judge Lyman was borne out by three or
four men, and carried off in the direction of his dwelling.
"Is he dead?" I inquired of those who had him in charge.
"No," was the answer. "He's not dead, but terribly beaten," and they
passed on.
Again the loud voices of men in angry strife arose in the bar-room. I
did not return there to learn the cause, or to witness the fiend-like
conduct of the men, all whose worst passions were stimulated by drink
into the wildest fervor. As I was entering my room, the thought flashed
through my mind that, as Green was found there, it needed only the bare
suggestion that I had aided in his concealment, to direct toward me the
insane fury of the drunken mob.
"It is not safe to remain here." I said this to myself, with the
emphasis of a strong internal conviction.
Against this, my mind opposed a few feeble arguments; but the more I
thought of the matter, the more clearly did I become satisfied, that to
attempt to pass the night in that room was to me a risk it was not
prudent to assume.
So I went in search of Mrs. Slade, to ask her to have another room
prepared for me. But she was not in the house; and I learned, upon
inquiry, that since the murder of young Hammond, she had been suffering
from repeated hysterical and fainting fits, and was now, with her
daughter, at the house of a relative, whither she had been carried
early in the afternoon.
It was on my lip to request the chambermaid to give me another room;
but this I felt to be scarcely prudent, for if the popular indignation
should happen to turn toward me, the servant would be the one
questioned, most likely, as to where I had removed my quarters.
"It isn't safe to stay in the house," said I, speaking to myself. "Two,
perhaps three, murders have been committed already. The tiger's thirst
for blood has been stimulated, and who can tell how quickly he may
spring again, or in what direction?"
Even while I said this, there came up from the bar-room louder and
madder shouts. Then blows were heard, mingled with cries and oaths. A
shuddering sense of danger oppressed me, and I went hastily
down-stairs, and out into the street. As I gained the passage, I looked
into the sitting-room, where the body of Green was laid out. Just then,
the bar-room door was burst open by a fighting party, who had been
thrown, in their fierce contention, against it. I paused only for a
moment or two; and even in that brief period of time, saw blows
exchanged over the dead body of the gambler!
"This is no place for me," I said, almost aloud, and hurried from the
house, and took my way to the residence of a gentleman who had shown me
many kindnesses during my visits at Cedarville. There was needed
scarcely a word of representation on my part, to secure the cordial
tender of a bed.
What a change! It seemed almost like a passage from Pandemonium to a
heavenly region, as I seated myself alone in the quiet chamber a
cheerful hospitality had assigned me, and mused on the exciting and
terrible incidents of the day. They that sow the wind shall reap the
whirlwind. How marked had been the realization of this prophecy,
couched in such strong but beautiful imagery!
On the next day I was to leave Cedarville. Early in the morning I
repaired to the "Sickle and Sheaf." The storm was over, and all was
calm and silent as desolation. Hours before, the tempest had subsided;
but the evidences left behind of its ravaging fury were fearful to look
upon. Doors, chairs, windows, and table's were broken, and even the
strong brass rod that ornamented the bar had been partially wrenched
from its fastenings by strong hands, under an impulse of murder, that
only lacked a weapon to execute its fiendish purpose. Stains of blood,
in drops, marks, and even dried-up pools, were to be seen all over the
bar-room and passage floors, and in many places on the porch.
In the sitting-room still lay the body of Green. Here, too, were many
signs to indicate a fierce struggle. The looking-glass was smashed to a
hundred pieces, and the shivered fragments lay yet untouched upon the
floor. A chair, which it was plain had been used as a weapon of
assault, had two of its legs broken short off, and was thrown into a
corner. And even the bearers on which the dead man lay were pushed from
their true position, showing that even in its mortal sleep, the body of
Green had felt the jarring strife of elements he had himself helped to
awaken into mad activity. From his face, the sheet had been drawn
aside; but no hand ventured to replace it; and there it lay, in its
ghastly paleness, exposed to the light, and covered with restless
flies, attracted by the first faint odors of putridity. With gaze
averted, I approached the body, and drew the covering decently over it.
No person was in the bar. I went out into the stable-yard, where I met
the hostler with his head bound up. There was a dark blue circle around
one of his eyes, and an ugly-looking red scar on his cheek.
"Where is Mr. Slade?" I inquired.
"In bed, and likely to keep it for a week," was answered.
"How comes that?"
"Naturally enough. There was fighting all around last night, and he had
to come in for a share. The fool! If he'd just held his tongue, he
might have come out of it with a whole skin. But, when the rum is in,
the wit is out, with him. It's cost me a black eye and a broken head;
for how could I stand by and see him murdered outright?"
"Is he very badly injured?"
"I rather think he is. One eye is clean gone."
"Oh, shocking!"
"It's shocking enough, and no mistake."
"Lost an eye?"
"Too true, sir. The doctor saw him this morning, and says the eye was
fairly gouged out, and broken up. In fact, when we carried him upstairs
for dead, last night, his eye was lying upon his cheek. I pushed it
back with my own hand!"
"Oh, horrible!" The relation made me sick. "Is he otherwise much
injured?"
"The doctor thinks there are some bad hurts inside. Why, they kicked
and trampled upon him, as if he had been a wild beast! I never saw such
a pack of blood-thirsty devils in my life!"
"So much for rum," said I.
"Yes, sir; so much for rum," was the emphatic response. "It was the
rum, and nothing else. Why, some of the very men who acted the most
like tigers and devils, are as harmless persons as you will find in
Cedarville when sober. Yes, sir; it was the rum, and nothing else. Rum
gave me this broken head and black eye."
"So you had been drinking also?"
"Oh, yes. There's no use in denying that."
"Liquor does you harm."
"Nobody knows that better than I do."
"Why do you drink, then?"
"Oh, just because it comes in the way. Liquor is under my eyes and nose
all the time, and it's as natural as breathing to take a little now and
then. And when I don't think of it myself, somebody will think of it
for me, and say--'Come, Sam, let's take something.' So, you see, for a
body such as I am, there isn't much help for it."
"But ain't you afraid to go on in this way? Don't you know where it
will all end?"
"Just as well as anybody. It will make an end of me or--of all that is
good in me. Rum and ruin, you know, sir. They go together like twin
brothers."
"Why don't you get out of the way of temptation?" said I.
"It's easy enough to ask that question, sir; but how am I to get out of
the way of temptation? Where shall I go, and not find a bar in my road,
and somebody to say--'Come, Sam, let's take a drink'? It can't be done,
sir, nohow. I'm a hostler, and I don't know how to be anything else."
"Can't you work on a farm?"
"Yes; I can do something in that way. But, when there are taverns and
bar-rooms, as many as three or four in every mile all over the country,
how are you to keep clear of them? Figure me out that."
"I think you'd better vote on the Maine Law side at next election,"
said I.
"Faith, and I did it last time!" replied the man, with a brightening
face--"and if I'm spared, I'll go the same ticket next year."
"What do you think of the Law?" I asked.
"Think of it! Bless your heart! if I was a praying man, which I'm sorry
to say I ain't--my mother was a pious woman, sir"--his voice fell and
slightly trembled--"if I was a praying man, sir, I'd pray, night and
morning, and twenty times every day of my life, for God to put it into
the hearts of the people to give us that Law. I'd have some hope then.
But I haven't much as it is. There's no use in trying to let liquor
alone."
"Do many drinking men think as you do?"
"I can count up a dozen or two myself. It isn't the drinking men who
are so much opposed to the Maine Law as your politicians. They throw
dust in the people's eyes about it, and make a great many, who know
nothing at all of the evils of drinking in themselves, believe some
bugbear story about trampling on the rights of I don't know who, nor
they either. As for rum-sellers' rights, I never could see any right
they had to get rich by ruining poor devils such as I am. I think,
though, that we have some right to be protected against them."
The ringing of a bell here announced the arrival of some traveler, and
the hostler left me.
I learned, during the morning, that Matthew, the bar-keeper, and also
the son of Mr. Slade, were both considerably hurt during the affrays in
the bar-room, and were confined, temporarily, to their beds. Mrs. Slade
still continued in a distressing and dangerous state. Judge Lyman,
though shockingly injured, was not thought to be in a critical
condition.
A busy day the sheriff had of it, making arrests of various parties
engaged in the last night's affairs. Even Slade, unable as he was to
lift his head from his pillow, was required to give heavy bail for his
appearance at court. Happily, I escaped the inconvenience of being held
to appear as a witness, and early in the afternoon had the satisfaction
of finding myself rapidly borne away in the stage-coach. It was two
years before I entered the pleasant village of Cedarville again.