ABOUT SAM HAPLEY.
MR. HAPLEY, the father of Jessie and Sam, and the near neighbor of the
Pages, seemed to be growing more slack than ever, this winter. Fields
of corn-stalks were still standing on his farm, although it was well
advanced in December, he having neglected to cut them in the fall, for
his cattle. It was even reported that a good part of his potatoes were
frozen into the ground, as he had delayed digging them until it was too
late. His family and stock were not so well provided for that they
could afford thus to throw away the produce of the farm. Plenty by no
means reigned in the house, and as to the barn, its inmates bore
unmistakable testimony that poor hay, with few roots and less grain,
would not keep cattle in good condition.
One morning, after the last stick of cut wood had been consumed, and a
rod or more of the fence, also, had been used to “keep the pot
boiling,” Mr. Hapley mustered sufficient resolution to go up to the
wood-lot, with his team, after another load. He got a neighbor to go
with him, for although one might have supposed Sam was large enough to
chop wood, Mr. Hapley always said he was “good for nothing to work,”
and Sam was very careful never to give him occasion to alter his
opinion.
In all such expeditions as this, there were two things that always
accompanied Mr. Hapley. These were, a pipe and a jug. With something to
smoke, and something to drink, he considered himself amply fortified
against all the demands of appetite, for half a day at least. The young
man who accompanied him on this occasion, was not at all averse to an
occasional mug of cider, or whiskey, or, indeed to any other beverage
that could claim kindred to these. So an extra-sized jug, nearly full
of old cider of the hardest and sourest kind, was put on the sled, and
tied to one of the stakes, to keep it in place.
“Now, you children,” said Mr. Hapley, as he was about starting, “you
behave yourselves, all on you. You Sam, I want you to fodder them cows
this noon, if I don’t get home. And mother,” he added, addressing his
wife, “don’t let Benny play out in the wet, he’s got such a cold.”
[Illustration]
With these admonitions, the father departed. Unfortunately, there was
no one to admonish him to behave himself, though perhaps he needed such
a caution as much as his children. Arrived at the wood-lot, he and his
assistant took a full “swig” from the jug, and then commenced work. By
the time Mr. Hapley had felled one tree, he felt the need of another
draught of cider; and seating himself on the prostrate trunk, he again
tipped the jug, and then lighting his pipe, resigned himself to quiet
contemplation. The sturdy strokes of his more industrious companion, if
they reproached him, did not arouse him from his lazy lethargy for half
an hour, and then he returned to his work only for a short time, soon
seeking refreshment again from the jug and pipe. It was past noon when
the sled was loaded up with green wood, and by this time, Mr. Hapley
was in no amiable mood, the soothing influence of the pipe not having
been equal to the exciting effects of the cider, which always made him
as sour as itself. His companion, too, was not quite so cheery as when
he came into the woods. He thought it rather hard fare, to do more than
three-fourths of the work, and drink less than one-fourth of the cider.
So they mounted the load, and drove home, scarcely speaking to each
other on the way.
“My patience!” exclaimed Mrs. Hapley, as the team entered the yard;
“have you brought me a load of green stuff, at this time of year, and
not a stick of dry wood about the premises? What _shall_ I do!”
“Do? why, you can stick it up in the chimney corner, and dry it,”
replied Mr. Hapley, quite unconcerned.
“Well,” added his wife, with a sigh, “if I had only known you had no
wood seasoning up in the lot, I’d have gone and cut some myself, sooner
than try to burn that stuff.”
“You’re always a telling what _you’d_ do,” replied Mr. Hapley; “now I
wish you’d go and do it, just once, and say nothin’ about it. Plague on
’t! how is a feller going to chop wood, when he’s got the rheumatis’ so
he can’t stand up? It seems as though women hadn’t no consideration
about some things.”
Mrs. Hapley always refrained from bandying words with her husband, when
he was in an irritable mood, and she made no further reply. He took the
horses from the team, (for, according to his slack system, it was time
enough to unload the wood, when the sled was needed again,) and led
them into the barn. In a few moments he returned, and inquired, in a
stern tone:—
“Who fed them cows, this noon?”
“I did,” replied Mrs. Hapley. “Sam wasn’t here, at noon, and so I took
care of them.”
“Just the way with that plaguy Sam,” added Mr. Hapley. “He’s never
about when anything’s to be done. Here, Sam! Sam!” he called at the top
of his voice; but Sam did not respond, and Mr. Hapley continued, “What
did you give ’em such a mess of hay for? They’ve wasted more’n half of
it, and got it all over the barn. I don’t see what you was thinking of.
We can’t afford to litter the critters with hay, when it’s as skerce as
’tis now.”
“I don’t think I gave them too much,” replied Mrs. Hapley. “The fact
is, they don’t like the hay, and they wont eat it up clean.”
“Where’s Benny?” inquired Mr. Hapley, suddenly noticing that his
youngest boy was absent.
“He’s gone out to play,” replied his wife.
“I told you not to let him go out in the slosh—he’ll be sick ag’in, you
see if he aint,” said Mr. Hapley.
“He’s dressed warmly, and got his thick boots on,” replied Mrs. Hapley.
“It is so pleasant that I thought it would do him good to be out a
little while in the air.”
Mr. Hapley withdrew to the barn, and was feeding his horses, when a
loud scream from Benny startled him. Running to a window in the back of
the barn, he saw the cause of the outcry. Sam had thrown Benny down in
the snow, and was pushing him about in it, and rubbing it into his face
and neck. They were by the roadside, a few rods from the barn. Mr.
Hapley flew to the door, and called to Sam, but Benny’s outcry drowned
his voice. He then ran towards them, but Sam had finished the assault,
concluding with a few vigorous kicks, before he saw his father
approaching. Mr. Hapley was so enraged at what he had witnessed, that
he could hardly listen to a word of explanation. Benjamin, a lad of
nine years, was his youngest child, and was supposed by the rest of the
family to be the father’s favorite. He was not at this time in robust
health, which added to Mr. Hapley’s excitement, on seeing him abused by
Sam. The origin of the assault, which Mr. H. did not stop to
investigate fully, was this. Benny, seeing his brother coming up the
road, hid himself behind a stone wall, until he had passed, and then
playfully threw a soft snow-ball at him, which chanced to hit him on
the head, though not with much force. Sam instantly started for his
little brother, who fled; but overtaking him, the unfeeling boy pitched
him into a snow bank, and rolled him in it, then “washed his face in
snow,” sprinkled several handfuls of the fleecy element down his neck
and back, and finally kicked him, as has been stated.
Mr. Hapley led the boys as far as the barn, and after telling Benny to
go into the house, and ask his mother to take care of him, he pushed
Sam into the barn, assuring him that _he_ would attend to him. Having
closed the doors, he ordered Sam to take off his coat, but the
refractory boy refused. Enraged at this, the father seized him, and a
desperate struggle ensued, the boy resisting even to blows, and the
anger of the other waxing fiercer every moment. But Mr. Hapley was a
powerful man, and the result of the contest was not long in doubt. The
coat was stripped from the boy’s back, and despite his efforts to
escape, he soon found himself bound hand and foot to a post, utterly
helpless. As it was useless to struggle, he now betook himself to
yelling, which he did with such effect that all the family were soon
drawn to the spot. But Mr. Hapley sternly ordered them all away, and
then taking a heavy cart whip, commenced beating the boy with great
severity. Soon the cries of the sufferer again brought the mother and
the younger children to the spot, and despite the father’s commands,
Mrs. Hapley and Jessie entered the barn, and with tears pleaded for
Sam. But the father, whose natural feelings were now blunted and
benumbed by liquor, and whose wrath was stirred almost to its lowest
depths by the resistance Sam had offered, took no notice of the
sympathizing intruders, but kept on with the cruel punishment.
Marcus, who had heard the first outcry, and suspected the nature of the
trouble, ran at once over to Mr. Hapley’s, and entered the barn just at
this juncture. The mother and daughter both besought him to interpose
in behalf of the unfortunate boy, whose shirt was already slightly
stained with blood. On his entrance, however, Mr. Hapley stayed his
hand, and, looking somewhat abashed, as Marcus thought, inquired—
“What do you want here, sir?”
“Don’t you think you have punished Sam about enough?” inquired Marcus,
mildly.
“I guess I can flog my children without any advice from you—you’d
better go home and mind your business,” was the reply.
“I didn’t mean any offence, Mr. Hapley,” continued Marcus, in the same
calm tone. “I heard Sam screaming, and I thought I would run over and
see what the matter was, for I didn’t know but somebody was abusing
him. You would have done the same thing, if you had been in my place,
Mr. Hapley.”
“I wouldn’t punish him any more, now, father,” said Mrs. Hapley; “I
think it’s time to stop when the blood runs.”
“Are you sorry for what you did?” inquired the father, addressing Sam.
“Yes,” replied the boy, in a surly tone.
“Well, then, I’ll let you off, with this,” said Mr. Hapley. “But mind
you, you wont get off so easy another time, if you don’t behave
yourself, so look out. I’ve let you alone till you’re almost sp’ilt,
but I’m going to turn over a new leaf with you, now. You’ve got to toe
the mark, or else I’ll put the marks onto your back—one of the two.”
Mr. Hapley, as he said this, unbound the boy, who, on being released,
went into the house, followed by his mother and the children. Marcus,
finding himself alone with the misguided father, thought it his duty to
address a word of remonstrance to him against such punishments.
“Mr. Hapley,” he said, “do you think this is the best way to discipline
a boy? Isn’t it a rather harsh remedy?”
“I wont have nothing to say to you or anybody else about that,”
responded Mr. Hapley. “It’s nobody’s business if I choose to whip my
boy, and I wish folks would mind their own affairs, and let me alone. I
guess I’m old enough to know what I’m about, and if I aint, I don’t
want your advice.”
“I am aware no one has a right to interfere,” replied Marcus, “unless
you _abuse_ your child. In that case I suppose you know the law will
protect him. If you didn’t abuse Sam, just now, I think you came very
near it.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Hapley. “Do you come over here to sarce
me, in my own premises, you young upstart?”
“I see it is of no use to talk with you now, Mr. Hapley,” Marcus calmly
replied, and then withdrew.
The next morning, Jessie, with tears in her eyes, informed Marcus that
her brother was missing. He had evidently gone off in the night,
intending to seek his fortune elsewhere, for he had taken a change of
clothing. Before starting for the academy, Marcus called on the Hapleys
to see if he could be of any service to them, in their new trouble.
“No,” said Mr. Hapley, gruffly, “we aint a going to send after that
boy, nor no such thing. If he’s a mind to run away, let him run, that’s
all. I’ll warrant he’ll get enough of it, and be glad to get home
ag’in, before a month’s out.”
Mrs. Hapley looked anxious, and the children sad, though the father
seemed quite unconcerned. No steps were taken to bring back the
fugitive, or even to ascertain in what direction he had gone, and
nothing was heard from him, until about a week after, when he suddenly
made his appearance one evening. He was in a sorry plight, his feet
being somewhat frosted, his clothes having suffered from rough usage,
and he being very tired and hungry. His parents received him with
unexpected kindness, and even Mr. Hapley himself was more pleased at
his return than he was willing to confess. Sam, however, did not seem
inclined to say much about his adventures, during his week’s absence,
and the curiosity of the family, on that point, was far from satisfied.
Two or three days after Sam’s return, a couple of strangers drove up to
the door, and having found Sam, told him he was their prisoner, at the
same time showing him a writ authorizing his arrest. They also informed
Mr. Hapley that they were empowered to search the house for stolen
property; adding that a robbery had been committed in a town about ten
miles distant, and there was reason to suspect his son had some
connection with it. The shock of this intelligence so affected Mrs.
Hapley, that she fainted. While her husband was using means for her
recovery, the officers put a pair of hand-cuffs upon Sam’s wrists, to
prevent his escape, and then took him up into his chamber, where they
commenced the search. There was an old bureau in the room, which they
examined very thoroughly. They also scrutinized the boy’s clothing,
peered into the fire-place and up the chimney, looked for loose boards
in the flooring, and examined holes in the plastering, but all to no
purpose. They then overhauled the bed, and soon drew out from among the
feathers a package which was found to contain a breast-pin, several
silver spoons, and a watch. With this they announced themselves as
satisfied, and soon started off with their prisoner.
The news of Sam’s arrest spread through the village like wild-fire.
Marcus heard of it as soon as he was out of school, in the afternoon.
On the way home, he overtook Jessie and Kate, who, full of spirits,
wondered that Marcus should be so sober. The sad news was not broken to
Jessie until she entered her home, where she found her father upon the
floor, drunk, and her mother sick in her bed, while Benny was silently
weeping, as though his heart were breaking. Henry alone was able to
explain to her what had happened. The poor girl could hardly help
sinking to the floor, as Henry related his story; but feeling that this
was no time to give way to her emotions, she controlled her nerves with
admirable coolness, and soon partly forgot her own sorrow, in her
efforts to relieve the others. She prepared some medicine for her
mother; put a pillow under her father’s head, having tried in vain to
assist him to a chair; spread an old coat over him, to prevent his
taking cold; spoke a few words of comfort to Benny; and then proceeded
to get supper.
It was soon whispered about town that Mr. Hapley, since the arrest of
his son, had abandoned himself to his cups worse than ever. Several of
his neighbors kindly remonstrated with him against the course he was
pursuing, and urged him to take some steps in aid of his misguided boy;
but their efforts were all in vain. Although Sam’s trial was to come on
in a few days, none of his friends had been near him, to offer him
advice or assistance. In this extremity, Mrs. Hapley appealed to Marcus
for assistance, who readily consented to do all he could in behalf of
the boy. The next day he drove over to the town where Sam was awaiting
his trial, accompanied by Mrs. Hapley. They found the boy alone in a
cell, looking very dejected. He burst into tears, on seeing his mother,
and for several minutes neither of them could speak. Marcus, in a kind
tone, told him they had come to see if they could do anything for him,
and urged him to tell them frankly all about the stolen property found
in his room, that they might the better know how to proceed. Sam at
once expressed his willingness to do so, and then related his
adventures, from the time he left home until his return. His story, in
substance, was as follows.
He left home on a pleasant moonlight night, as soon as he was satisfied
all the family were asleep. He walked seven or eight miles, and then
forced an entrance into a barn, where he slept the rest of the night.
The family gave him a breakfast, the next morning, and he then resumed
his journey. In the course of the forenoon he reached a large town,
where he concluded to stop and see what he could do; for he had but
half a dollar in his pocket, and began to feel a little uneasy. There
was a large tavern in the village, which was much frequented by
sleighing parties, and for a day or two Sam managed to pick up a little
change, by holding horses, and performing other small chores for the
company. He was allowed to sleep in the barn, and got his meals at a
low “saloon” near by. The associates among whom he was thus thrown,
were not of the best kind, and one of them, a young man several years
older than himself, was an offender against the law, having served out
two or three sentences in jails. His name was Mack. There was something
in the face, the conversation, or the peculiar circumstances of Sam,
that led him to propose to the boy a sort of partnership in crime; and
as he set forth the gains to be derived from such a course in the
brightest colors, the boy’s easy virtue made but slight resistance, and
without much persuasion, he agreed to the proposition.
[Illustration]
The next night after the matter had been settled, Sam made his first
attempt as a burglar, in connection with Mack. They chose for the scene
of operations a large and substantial house, occupied by a widow of
reputed wealth, and her family of young children. The moon shone
bright, but as the house was in a retired neighborhood, they thought
they could elude detection. Mack entered the dwelling first, by a
second story window, standing upon Sam’s broad shoulders to reach the
sash, which proved not to be fastened down. He then descended to the
basement, and opened the doors, that they might easily escape in case
of alarm. Sam now entered, and the two ransacked the lower part of the
house, helping themselves to a quantity of silver ware, some jewelry,
two watches, and a good supper. After securing a few articles of value,
Sam was in haste to escape, but his companion seemed in no hurry, and
went about the house as leisurely as though he were at home. This free
and easy bearing doubtless seemed quite professional to Mack, but he
happened to carry it a little too far for his own safety. Sam,
impatient of his dilatory movements, was awaiting him outside, when he
heard a movement in the house which led him to take flight. It seemed
the widow had been awakened by the burglars, and, arousing her oldest
son, a brave boy of fourteen, they descended as noiselessly as
possible. Mack had just before lighted a lamp, and gone down into the
cellar, to see if he could find a bottle of wine, leaving his plunder
on the kitchen table. Suddenly the cellar door was closed and locked
upon him, and he heard strange voices, one of which, the voice of a
boy, assured him that he had a loaded rifle, and would put a bullet
through him “in less than no time,” if he attempted to get away. The
burglar tried to escape by a window, but the rifle was quickly pointed
at him, outside, and he gave up the attempt. In a few moments help
arrived, and he was secured. As all the stolen property was not found,
it was suspected that he had an accomplice, though he refused to give
any information on that point.
Sam left the village as speedily as possible, directing his steps
towards a town where he had never been before. After wandering about
two days, and suffering much from fatigue, cold, hunger, and anxiety,
he at length reached home, as we have seen. The sudden and unexplained
disappearance of Sam, from the village tavern, together with the fact
that he had been seen with Mack several times on the evening of the
burglary, directed suspicion towards him, and finally led to his
arrest.
After hearing Sam’s story, Marcus expressed the opinion that he had
better plead guilty, and frankly own up his offence to the officers of
justice. This advice was accepted by Sam and his mother. Marcus and
Mrs. Hapley then secured a lawyer to appear on behalf of the boy at the
trial; and they also had an interview with the officer who conducted
the prosecution, explaining to him the circumstances of the case, and
soliciting his influence in favor of the prisoner, on the ground that
this was his first offence, and that he had been led astray by a
hardened offender.
Sam was brought before the court a day or two after, and pleaded guilty
to the charge of burglary. His counsel urged several reasons for a
light sentence, and the prosecuting attorney said that, under the
circumstances, he should not oppose the request. The judge, however,
thought it was not exactly a case for mercy. The prisoner, he said, was
a runaway from home. He had voluntarily made himself a vagrant, and had
shown his willingness to resort to crime, to get a living. No attempt
had been made to prove a good character for him, and he doubted whether
such an attempt could succeed. He concluded by sentencing the boy to
the county jail for four months.
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