A WILD NIGHT
Unless you have lived in a little town where every man's business is
his neighbor's, you cannot imagine the furor in the village of
Topham when our fellow citizens learned that Seth Upham had actually
sold his business and his house, and was to embark with Cornelius
Gleazen on a voyage of speculation to the West Indies and Africa.
The friction with Great Britain that had closed ports in the West
Indies to American ships added zest to their surmises; and the
unexpected news that that very worthy gentleman, Cornelius Gleazen,
who had so recently returned to his old home, was so soon to depart
again, sharpened their regrets. All were united in wishing us good
fortune and a safe, speedy return; all were keenly interested in
whatever hints of the true character of the voyage we let fall,
which you can be sure were few and slender. It was such an
extraordinary affair in the annals of the village, that the more
enterprising began to prepare for a grand farewell, which should
express their feelings in a suitable way and should do honor both to
their respected fellow townsman, Seth Upham, and to their
distinguished resident, Cornelius Gleazen.
There was to be a parade, with a band from Boston at its head, a
great dinner at the town hall, to which with uncommon generosity
they invited even the doubting blacksmith, and a splendid farewell
ceremony, with speeches by the minister and the doctor, and with
presentations to all who were to leave town. It was to mark an epoch
in the history of Topham. Nothing like it had ever taken place in
all the country round. And as we were to go to Boston in the near
future,--the man who had bought out Uncle Seth was to take over the
house and store almost at once,--they set the date for the first
Saturday in September.
Because I, in a way, was to be one of the guests of the occasion, I
heard little of the plans directly, for they were supposed to be
secret, in order to surprise us by their splendor. But a less
curious lad than I could not have helped noticing the long benches
carried past the store and the platform that was building on the
green.
The formal farewell, as I have said, was to take place on the first
Saturday in September, and the following Wednesday we five were to
leave town. But meanwhile, in order to have everything ready for our
departure, and because we needed another pair of hands to help in
the work during the last days at the store, I went on Friday to get
Abraham Guptil to join us.
He had been so pleased at the chance to ship for a voyage, thus to
recover a little of the goods and gear that misfortune had swept
away from him almost to the last stick and penny, that I was more
than glad I had given him the chance. Well satisfied, accordingly,
with myself and the world, I turned my uncle's team toward the home
of Abe's father-in-law, where Mrs. Guptil and the boy were to stay
until Abe should return from the voyage; and when I passed the
green, where the great platform was almost finished, I thought with
pleasure of what an important part I was to play in the ceremonies
next day.
It was a long ride to the home of Abraham Guptil's father-in-law,
and the way led through the pines and marshes beside the sea, and up
hill and down valley over a winding road inland. The goldenrod
beside the stone walls along the road was a bright yellow, and the
blue frost flowers were beginning to blossom. In the air, which was
as clear as on a winter night, was the pleasant, almost
indescribable tang of autumn, in which are blended so mysteriously
the mellow odors of stubble fields and fallen leaves, and fruit that
is ready for the market; it suggested bright foliage and mellow
sunsets, and blue smoke curling up from chimneys, and lighted
windows in the early dusk.
On the outward journey, but partly occupied by driving the
well-broken team, I thought of how Neil Gleazen, before my very
eyes, had at first frightened Uncle Seth, and had then cajoled him,
and, finally, had completely won him over. I had never put it in so
many words before, that Gleazen had got my uncle into such a state
that he could do what he wished with him; but to me it was plain
enough, and I suspected that Arnold Lamont saw it, too. Although I
had watched Gleazen from the moment when he first began to
accomplish the purpose toward which he had been plotting, I could
not understand what power he held over Uncle Seth that had so
changed my uncle's whole character. Then I fell to thinking of that
remark, twice repeated, about robbing churches, and meditated on it
while the horses quietly jogged along. Never, I thought, should the
people of the town learn of my suspicions; they concerned a family
matter, and I would keep them discreetly to myself.
It was touching to see Abraham Guptil bid farewell to his wife and
son. Their grief was so unaffected that it almost set me sniffling,
and I feared that poor Abe would make a dreary addition to our
little band; but when we had got out of sight of the house, he began
to pick up, and after wiping his eyes and blowing his nose, he
surprised me by becoming, all things considered, quite lively.
"Now," said he, "you can tell me all about this voyage for which
I've shipped. It seems queer for a man to sign the articles when he
don't know where his lay is coming from, but, I declare, it was a
godsend to me to have a voyage and wages in prospect, and you were a
rare good friend of mine, Joe, to put my name in like you done."
It puzzled me to know just how much to tell him, but I explained as
well as I could that it was a trading voyage to the West Indies and
Africa, and gave him a hint that there was a secret connected with
it whereby, if all went well, we were to get large profits, and let
him know that he was to share a certain proportion of this extra
money with Arnold, Sim, and me, in addition to the wages that we all
were to draw.
It seemed to satisfy him, and after thinking it over, he said, "I've
heard Seth Upham was getting all his money together for some reason
or other. There must be more than enough to buy the Adventure. He's
been cashing in notes and mortgages all over the county, and I'm
told the bank is holding it for him in gold coin."
"In gold!" I cried.
"Gold coin," he repeated. "It's rumored round the county that Neil
Gleazen's holding something over him that's frightened him into
doing this and that, exactly according to order."
"Where did you hear that?" I demanded.
It was so precisely what I myself had been thinking that it seemed
as if I must have talked too freely; yet I knew that I had held my
tongue.
"Oh, one place and another," he replied. Then, changing the subject,
he remarked, "There'll be a grand time in town to-morrow, what with
speeches and all. I'd like to have brought my wife to see it, but I
was afraid it would make it harder for her when I leave."
"She doesn't want you to go?"
"Oh, she's glad for me to have the chance, but she's no hand to bear
up at parting."
Conversing thus, we drove on into the twilight and falling dusk,
till we came so near the town that we could see ahead of us the
tavern, all alight and cheerful for the evening.
"I wonder," Abe cried eagerly, "who'll be sitting by the table with
a hot supper in front of him, and Nellie Nuttles to fetch and
carry."
I was hungry after my day's drive and could not help sharing Abe's
desire for a meal at the tavern, which was known as far as Boston
and beyond for its good food; but I had no permission thus wantonly
to spend Uncle Seth's money, so I snapped the whip and was glad to
hear the louder rattling of wheels as the horses broke into a brisk
trot, which made our own supper seem appreciably nearer.
And who, indeed, would be sitting now behind those lighted windows?
Abe's question came back to me as we neared the tavern. The broad
roofs seemed to suggest the very essence of hospitality, and as if
to indorse their promise of good fare, a roar of laughter came out
into the night.
As we passed, I looked through one of the windows that but a moment
since had been rattling from the mirth within, and saw--I looked
again and made sure that I was not mistaken!--saw Neil Gleazen,
red-faced and wild-eyed, standing by the bar with a glass raised in
his hand.
The sight surprised me, for although Gleazen, like almost everyone
else in old New England, took his wine regularly, in all the months
since his return he had conducted himself so soberly that there had
been not the slightest suggestion that he ever got himself the worse
for liquor; and even more it amazed me to see beside him one Jed
Matthews who was, probably, the most unscrupulous member of the
lawless crew with whom Gleazen was said to have associated much in
the old days, but of whom he had seen, everyone believed, almost
nothing since he had come home.
As we drove on past the blacksmith shop, I saw the smith smoking his
pipe in the twilight.
"It's a fine evening," I called.
"It is," said he, coming into the road. And in a lower voice he
added, "Did you see him when you passed the inn?"
"Yes," I replied, knowing well enough whom he meant.
"They've called me a fool," the smith responded, "but before this
night's over we'll see who's a fool." He puffed away at his pipe and
looked at me significantly. "We'll see who's a fool, I or them that
has so much more money and wisdom than I."
He went back and sat down, and Abe and I drove on, puzzled and
uncomfortable. The smith was vindictive. Could he, I wondered, be
right?
A good supper was keeping hot for us in the brick oven, and we sat
down to it with the good-will that it merited; but before we were
more than half through, my uncle burst in upon us. He seemed
harassed by anxiety, and went at once to the window, where he stood
looking out into the darkness.
"Have you heard anything said around town?" he presently demanded,
more sharply, it seemed to me, than ever.
"I've heard little since I got back," I returned. "Only the smith's
ravings. He was in an ill temper as we passed. But I saw Neil
Gleazen at the inn drinking with Jed Matthews."
"The ungrateful reprobate!" Uncle Seth cried with an angry gesture.
"He's drawn me into this thing hand and foot--hand and foot. I'm
committed. It's too late to withdraw, and he knows it. And now, now
for the first time, mind you, he's starting on one of his old
sprees."
"He's not a hard drinker," I said. "In all the time he's been in
Topham he's not been the worse for liquor, and this evening, so far
as I could see, he was just taking a glass--"
"You don't know him as he used to be," my uncle cried.
"A glass," put in Abe Guptil; "but with Jed Matthews!"
"You've hit the nail on the head," Uncle Seth burst out--"with Jed
Matthews. God save we're ruined by this night's work. If he should
go out to Higgleby's barn with that gang of thieves, my good name
will go too. I swear I'll sell the brig."
Uncle Seth wildly paced the room and scowled until every testy
wrinkle on his face was drawn into one huge knot that centred in his
forehead.
The only sounds, as Abe and I sat watching him in silence, were the
thumping of his feet as he walked and the hoarse whisper of his
breathing. Plainly, he was keyed up to a pitch higher than ever I
had seen him.
At that moment, from far beyond the village, shrilly but faintly,
came a wild burst of drunken laughter. It was a single voice and one
strange to me. There was something devilish in its piercing,
unrestrained yell.
"Merciful heavens!" Uncle Seth cried,--actually his hand was shaking
like the palsy; a note of fear in his strained voice struck to my
heart like a finger of ice,--"I'd know that sound if I heard it in
the shrieking of hell; and I have not heard Neil Gleazen laugh like
that in thirty years. Come, boys, maybe we can stop him before it's
too late."
Thrusting his fingers through his hair so that it stood out on all
sides in disorder, he wildly dashed from the room.
Springing up, Abe and I followed him outdoors and down the road. We
ran with a will, but old though he was, a frenzy of fear and anxiety
and shame led him on at a pace we could scarcely equal. Down the
long road into town we ran, all three, breathing harder and harder
as we went, past the store, the parsonage, and the church, and past
the smithy, where someone called to us and hurried out to stop us.
It was the smith, who loomed up big and black and ominous in the
darkness.
"They've gone," he said, "they've gone to Higgleby's barn."
"Who?" my uncle demanded. "Who? Say who! For heaven's sake don't
keep me here on tenterhooks!"
"Neil Gleazen," said the smith, "and Jed Matthews and all the rest.
Ah, you wouldn't listen to _me_."
"And all the rest!" Uncle Seth echoed weakly.
For a moment he reeled as if bewildered, even dazed. Whatever it was
that had come over him, it seemed to have pierced to some
unsuspected weakness in the fibre of the man, some spot so terribly
sensitive that he was fairly crazed by the thrust. To Abe and me,
both of us shocked and appalled, he turned with the madness of
despair in his eyes.
"Boys," he said hoarsely, "we've got to be ready to leave. Call Sim
and Arnold! Hitch up the horses! Pack my bag and--and, Joe,"--he
laid his hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, a mere
trembling breath of a whisper,--"here's the key to the house safe.
Pack all that's in it in the bed of the wagon while the others are
busy elsewhere. O Joe! what a wretched man I am! Why in heaven's
name could he not walk straight for just one day more?"
Why, indeed? I thought. But I remembered Higgleby's barn, and in my
own heart I knew the reason. Secretly, all this time, Neil Gleazen
had been hand in glove with his old disreputable cronies; now that
he had got Uncle Seth so far committed to this new venture that he
could not desert it, Gleazen was entirely willing to throw away his
hard-won reputation for integrity, for the sake of one farewell
fling with the "old guard."
"Go, lads," Uncle Seth cried; "go quickly." He rested a shaking hand
on my arm as Abe turned away. "My poor, poor boy!" he murmured.
"I've meant to do so well by you, Joey! Heaven keep us all!"
"But you?" I asked.
"I'm going, if I can, to bring Neil Gleazen back before it is too
late," Uncle Seth replied. And with that he set off into the
darkness.
As we turned back to the store to rouse up Arnold and Sim, I caught
a glimpse of the stark white platform on the green, which was
visible even in the darkness, and ironically I thought of the
farewell ceremonies that were to take place next day.
I shall never forget how the store looked that night, as Abe and I
came hurrying up to it. The shadows on the porch were as black as
ink, and the shuttered windows seemed to stare like the sightless
eyes of a blind man who hears a familiar voice and turns as if to
see whence it comes. From the windows of the room above, which
Arnold and Sim occupied, there shone a few thin shafts of light
along the edges of the shades, and the window frames divided the
shades themselves into small yellow squares, on which a shadow came
and went as one of the men moved about the room.
In reply to our cries and knocks, Arnold raised the curtain and we
saw first his head, then Sim's, black against the lighted room.
"Who is there?" he called, "and what's wanted?"
Almost before we had finished pouring out our story, Arnold was
downstairs and fumbling at the bolts of the door; and as we entered
the dark store, Sim, his shoes in his hand, followed him, even more
than usually grotesque in the light from above.
"My friends," said Arnold, calmly, "let us now, all four, prove to
ourselves and to Seth Upham, the mettle that is in us."
We lost no time in idle speculation. Dividing among us all that was
to be done, we fell to with a will. Working like men possessed, we
packed our own possessions and Uncle Seth's, both at the store and
at the barn; and while the others were still busy in the
carriage-shed, I hurried back to the house and opened the safe, and
brought out bags of money and papers and heaven knows what, and as
secretly as possible packed them in the bottom of the wagon. For
three hours we toiled at one place and the other; then, hot, tired,
excited, apprehensive of we knew not what, we rested by the wagon
and waited.
"I never heard of anything so rattle-headed in all my life," Sim
Muzzy cried, when he had caught his breath. "Seth Upham gets crazier
every day. Here all's ready for the grand farewell to-morrow and all
of us to be there, and not one of us to leave town until next week,
and yet he gets us up at all hours of the night as if we was to
start come sunrise. I'm not going to run away at such an hour, I can
tell you. Why it may be they'll call on me to make a speech! Who
knows?"
"We'll be lucky, I fear," said Arnold Lamont, "if we do not start
before sunrise."
"Before sunrise! Well, I'll have you know--"
I simply could not endure Sim's interminable talk. "Watch the goods
and the wagon, you three," I said. "I'm going to look for Uncle Seth
and see what he wants us to do next."
Before they could object, I had left them sitting by the wagon and
the harnessed horses, ready for no one knew what, and had made off
into the night. Having done all that I could to carry out my uncle's
orders, I had no intention of returning until I had solved the
mystery of Higgleby's barn.
I hurried along and used every short cut that I knew; and though I
now stumbled in the darkness, now fell headlong on the dewy grass,
now barked my shins as I scrambled over a barway, I made reasonably
good progress, all things considered, and came in less than half an
hour to the pasture where Higgleby's lonely barn stood. The door of
the barn, as I saw it from a distance, was open and made a rectangle
of yellow light against the black woods beyond it. When I listened,
I heard confused voices. As I was about to advance toward the barn,
a certain note in the voices warned me that a quarrel was in
progress. I hesitated and stopped where I was, wondering whether to
go forward or not, and there I heard a strange sound and saw a
strange sight.
First there came a much louder outcry than any that had gone before;
then the light in the barn suddenly went out; then I heard the sound
of running back and forth; then the light appeared again, but
flickering and unsteady; then a single harsh yell came all the way
across the dark pasture; then the light grew and grew and grew.
It threw its rays out over the pasture land and revealed men running
about like ants around a newly destroyed hill. A tongue of flame
crept out of one window and crawled up the side of the old
building. A great wave of fire came billowing out of the door.
Sparks began to fly and the roar and crackling grew louder and
louder.
As I breathlessly ran toward the barn, from which now I could see
little streams of fire flowing in every direction through the dry
grass, I suddenly became aware that there was someone ahead of me,
and by stopping short I narrowly escaped colliding with two men
whom, with a sudden shock, I recognized as my uncle and Neil
Gleazen.
"Uncle Seth!" I gasped out.
Nothing then, I think, could have surprised Seth Upham. There was
only relief in his voice when he cried, "Quick, Joe, quick, take his
other arm."
Obediently, if reluctantly, I turned my back on the conflagration
behind us, and locking my right arm through Neil Gleazen's left,
helped partly to drag him, partly to carry him toward the village
and the tavern.
"I showed the villains!" Gleazen proclaimed thickly. "The
scoundrels! The despicable curs! I showed them how a gentlemen
replies to such as them. I showed them, eh, Seth?"
"Yes, yes, Neil! Hush! Be still! There are people coming. Merciful
heavens! That fire will bring the whole town out upon us."
"I showed them, the villains! the scoundrels! the despicable curs!
They are not used to the ways of gentlemen, eh, Seth?"
"Yes, yes, but do be still! _Do, do_ be still!"
"I showed them how a gentleman acts--"
The man was as drunk as a lord, but in his thick ravings there was a
fixed idea that sent a thrill of apprehension running through me.
"Uncle Seth," I gasped, "Uncle Seth, _what has he done_?"
"Quick! quick! We must hurry!"
"What has he done?"
"Come, come, Joe, never mind that now!"
For the moment I yielded, and we stumbled along, arm in arm, with
Gleazen now all but a dead weight between us.
"I showed them!" he cried again. "I showed them!"
I simply could not ignore the strange muttering in his voice.
"Tell me," I cried. "Uncle Seth, tell me what he has done."
"Not yet! Not yet!"
"Tell me!"
"Not yet!"
"Or I'll not go another step!"
My uncle gasped and staggered. My importunity seemed to be one thing
more than he could bear, poor man! and even in my temper, pity
sobered me and cooled my anger. For a moment he touched my wrist.
His hand was icy cold. But his face, when I looked at him, was set
and hard, and my temper flashed anew.
"Not another step! Tell me."
Glancing apprehensively about, my uncle gasped in a hoarse
undertone, "He has killed Jed Matthews."
As people were appearing now on all sides and running to fight the
fire, Uncle Seth and I tried our best to lead Gleazen into a by-path
and so home by a back way; but with drunken obstinacy he refused to
yield an inch. "No, no," he roared, "I'm going to walk home past all
the people. I'm not afraid of them. If they say aught to me, I'll
show 'em."
So back we marched, supporting between us, hatless but with the
diamonds still flashing on his finger and in his stock, that maudlin
wretch, Cornelius Gleazen. I felt my own face redden as the curious
turned to stare at us, and for Uncle Seth it was a sad and bitter
experience; but we pushed on as fast as we could go, driven always
by fear of what would follow when the people should learn the whole
story of the brawl in the burning barn.
Back into the village we came, now loitering for a moment in the
deeper shadows to avoid observation, now pushing at top speed across
a lighter open space, always dragging Cornelius Gleazen between us,
and so up to the open door of the tavern.
"Now," murmured Uncle Seth, "heaven send us help! Neil, Neil--Neil,
I say!"
"Well?"
"We must get your chests and run. Your money, your papers--are they
packed?"
"Money? What money?"
"Your fortune! You can never come back here. Sober up, Neil, sober
up! You killed Jed Matthews."
"Served him right. Despicable cur, villain, scoundrel! I'll show
them."
"Neil, Neil Gleazen!" cried my uncle, now all but frantic.
"Well, I hear you."
"Oh, oh, will he not listen to reason? Take his arm again, Joe."
We lifted him up the steps and led him into the inn, and there in
the door of the bar-room came face to face with the landlord, who
was hot with anger.
"Don't bring him in here, Mr. Upham," he cried; "I keep no house for
sots and swine."
"What!" gasped my uncle, "you'll not receive him?"
"Not I!"
"But what's come over you? _But you never would treat Mr. Gleazen
like this!_"
"But, but, but!" the landlord snarled. "This very night he threw my
good claret in my own face and called it a brew for pigs. Let him
seek his lodgings elsewhere."
"Where are his chests, then?" my uncle demanded. "We'll take his
chests and go."
"Not till he's paid my bill."
For a moment we stood at deadlock, Uncle Seth and I, with Gleazen
between us, and the landlord in the bar-room door. Every sound from
outside struck terror to us lest the village had discovered the
worst; lest at any moment we should have the people about our ears.
But the landlord, who, of course, knew nothing of what had been
going forward all this time, and Gleazen, who seemed too drunk to
care, were imperturbable, until Gleazen raised his head and with
inflamed eyes stared at the man.
"Who's a swine?" he demanded. "Who's a sot?"
Lurching forward, he broke away from us and crashed against the
landlord and knocked him into the bar-room, whither he himself
followed.
"You blackfaced bla'guard!" the landlord cried; and, raising a
chair, he started to bring it down on Gleazen's head.
I had thought that the man was too drunk to move quickly, but now,
as if a new brawl were all that he needed to bring him again to his
faculties, he stepped back like a flash and raised his hand.
A sharp, hook-like instrument used to pull corks was kept stuck into
the beam above his head, where, so often was it used, it had worn a
hollow place nearly as big as a bowl. This he seized and, holding it
like a foil, lunged at the landlord as the chair descended.
The chair struck Gleazen on the head and knocked him down, but the
cork-puller went into the landlord's shoulder, and when Gleazen,
clutching it as he fell, pulled it out again, the hooked end tore a
great hole in the muscles, from which blood spurted.
Clapping his hand to the wound, the landlord went white and leaned
back against the bar; but Gleazen, having received a blow that might
have killed a horse, got up nimbly and actually appeared to be
sobered by the shock. Certainly he thought clearly and spoke to a
purpose.
[Illustration: _Clapping his hand to the wound the landlord went
white and leaned back against the bar._]
"Now, by heaven!" he cried, "I _have_ got to leave town. Come, Seth,
come, Joe."
"But your chests! Your money!" my uncle repeated in a dazed way. The
events of the night were quite too much for his wits.
"Let him keep them for the bill," said Gleazen with a harsh laugh.
"Come, I say!"
"But--but--"
"Come! Hear that?"
"Watch the back door," someone was crying. "He's probably dead
drunk, but he's a dangerous man and we can't take chances."
It was the constable's voice.
Gleazen was already running through the long hall, and we followed
him at our best speed.
As we left the room, the landlord fell and carried down with a crash
a table on which a tray of glasses was standing. I would have stayed
to help him, but I knew that other help was near, and to tell the
truth I was beginning to fear the consequences of even so slight a
part as mine had been in the ghastly happenings of the night. So I
followed the others, and we noiselessly slipped away through the
orchard, just as the men sent to guard the back door came hurrying
round the house and took their stations.
With the distant fire flaming against the sky, with the smell of
smoke stinging in our nostrils, and with the clamor of the aroused
town sounding on every side, we hurried, unobserved, through dark
fields and orchards, to my uncle's house, where Arnold and Sim and
Abe were impatiently waiting.
They started up from beside the wagon as we drew near, and crowded
round us with eager questions. But there was no time for mere
talking. Already we could hear voices approaching, although as yet
they were not dangerously near.
"Come, boys," my uncle cried, "into the wagon, every one. Come,
Neil, come--for heaven's sake--"
"Be still, Seth, I am sober."
"Sober!" Uncle Seth put a world of disgust into the word.
"Yes, sober, curse you."
"Very well, but do climb in--"
"Climb in? I'll climb in when it suits my convenience."
Jostling and scrambling, we were all in the wagon at last. Uncle
Seth held reins and whip; Neil Gleazen, who was squeezed in between
him and me on the seat, snored loudly; and the others, finding such
seats as they could on boxes or the bed of the wagon, endured their
discomfort in silence.
The whip cracked, the horses started forward, the wheels crunched in
gravel and came out on the hard road. Turning our backs on the
village of Topham, we left behind us the benches on the green, the
fine new platform, the banquet that was already half prepared, and
all our anticipations of the great farewell.
We went up the long hill, from the summit of which we could see the
lights of the town shining in the dark valley, the great flare of
fire at the burning barn, and the country stretching for miles in
every direction, and thence we drove rapidly away.
Thus, for the second time, twenty years after the first, Cornelius
Gleazen left his native town as a fugitive from justice. But this
time the fortunes of five men were bound up with his, and we whom he
was leading on his mad quest knew now only too well what we could
expect of our drunken leader.