THE ATTIC CHAMBER.
Perhaps Christy Holgate overstated his moral convictions at the time
he stole the money. According to his own story, he had not intended
to retain it at first, though the possession was a temptation to keep
it. As nearly as I could judge, his brother-in-law had intended to
secure the plunder for himself and at the same time force the wretched
criminal to bear the guilt of the crime. Trottwood had compelled him to
remain at his house, in the hope of getting the money. When this hope
failed him,--if it had yet failed him,--he still held on to the victim,
because his services were valuable.
I had to refresh my memory with a few facts which had come to my
knowledge, before I could fully believe that Christy’s relatives were
perfidious enough to treat him as he represented that they had. A
father in New Hampshire gave his son all his property, on condition
that the latter should take care of him during the remainder of his
life. The ungrateful son sold the farm, went to another state, and
permitted the old man to die in the poorhouse. Two similar instances
were within my own knowledge, and I had no difficulty, after thinking
of these things, in believing that the engineer’s story was all true.
Christy was a criminal before the law, liable to be sent to the
penitentiary for a long period. Even his sister might have brought
herself to believe that she was doing him a favor by saving him from
such a fate, on the terms she and her husband exacted. The poor man’s
spirits were broken; he had no power of resistance, and he suffered
rather than flee from his unnatural friends. Trottwood lived but to
make money. His son had no higher view of life.
The capture of Tommy Toppleton was a bold and daring outrage, when the
social position and influence of his father are considered. It would
have been safer to kidnap some friendless boy, but it would have been
a profitless task. I was inclined to believe that the imprisonment of
the little magnate in the attic of the farm-house was an afterthought,
and not a scheme deliberately meditated. Probably a portion of Jed’s
statement was true. I had no doubt that Tommy was saucy and insulting,
and even that he had thrown stones at the young farmer. It was like him
to do so. Thus provoked, Jed might have carried his idea of vengeance
farther than he first intended, assisted by a suggestion of making
money out of the operation.
Though it would have done the little gentleman no harm to remain a
prisoner, under the harsh treatment of these people, for a week or two,
it was neither just nor right to permit the outrage. If I had consented
to it, Wolf Penniman would not; for he knew how much pain and anxiety
his absence would give to Grace Toppleton, as well as to her parents,
with whom the young captain was now on tolerably friendly terms.
After Christy had given up the money, we seated ourselves in the rear
of the barn, to wait until we felt sure that the people in the house
were sound asleep, and to consider the means by which we were to
effect the rescue of the prisoner. If the door of the chamber could
be opened, we could easily get him down stairs before his jailers
ascertained what we were about. Christy thought he might pick the lock,
but he was afraid Jed was sleeping with one ear open on account of his
prisoner.
“What kind of a door is it?” asked Wolf.
“It is a common battened door, of three quarter inch boards.”
“Then it is not very strong?”
“No; I could put my shoulder through it without any trouble.”
“We will do it in that way,” said Wolf, quietly; and he proceeded to
give the details of his plan, to which neither Christy nor myself
offered any objections.
“I will go up to bed,” said the penitent. “In about half an hour I will
break down the door, take the boy through my room, and send him down
on the ladder. When you are ready, one of you had better come up the
ladder, and tap lightly on the window.”
“All right.”
Christy left us, and we made our way back to the place where we had
left the horse and wagon. It was necessary to have the conveyance where
we could start without any delay, as soon as Tommy was at liberty. I
led the horse into the road, and, heading him towards Priam, fastened
him to a tree. We then walked up to the front of the farm-house,
stepping so carefully as not to make any noise. Everything was quiet,
and I had no doubt that the farmer and his son were both sound asleep.
When the half hour had expired, as nearly as we could judge, I went up
the ladder, and tapped lightly on the attic window.
A moment later I heard a crash and a scream. As I afterwards learned,
the sudden assault startled Tommy, who had just fallen asleep. But
he had not taken off his clothes, and Christy conducted him through
his own chamber to the window, taking the precaution to lock the door
behind him, so as to delay pursuit when Jed came up stairs.
“Hurry up, Tommy,” said I, in a low voice, as I helped the intended
victim out upon the ladder.
“O, is it you, Ned?” he replied, quivering with agitation, as he
recognized my voice.
“Be careful on the ladder,” I added, as he commenced the descent.
He went down with all the speed his trembling limbs would permit. I
was in advance of him, and kept one eye upon him, to make sure that he
did not fall. He was followed by Christy, who was also very nervous
under the excitement of the moment. Before I reached the bottom of the
ladder, I heard a great commotion in the house. There were hurried
footsteps within; but before the inmates had discovered what the matter
was, we were all upon the ground, and hurrying towards the woods, where
the horse was awaiting us.
“That was well done,” said Wolf.
“It was done quickly, at any rate,” replied Christy. “I suppose Jed
understands, by this time, that his prisoner is gone. I locked my door,
as I always do, and he will think I am still in my room.”
“He will see that the door of Tommy’s room is broken down,” I added.
“Yes, and if he stops to think, he will see that it could not have been
done from the inside, for the door opens into the room.”
“No matter,” said Wolf, lightly. “He may think what he pleases, now we
are all safe.”
Arriving at the wagon, we all got in, for fortunately there were two
seats in the vehicle. Wolf took the reins, and in a moment more we were
on our way to Priam. Tommy was on the back seat with me, while Christy
sat in front with the captain. Thus far the little magnate had not
spoken a word since he recognized me, and was conscious that he was in
the hands of friends. He had been terribly frightened; for though he
was not deficient in pluck, the incidents of his night’s experience had
been enough to startle even one with the strongest nerves.
As I had seen for myself, Jed handled him very roughly; and probably he
had not moderated his treatment after we parted. The mere fact that he
was in the toils of his bitter and vindictive enemy was enough to shake
his wonted faith in himself.
“How do you feel, Tommy?” I asked, after we had ridden a short distance.
“I don’t feel very well,” he replied, in a tone so subdued and broken,
that it did not sound at all natural. “I am sore and lame.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” I inquired.
“I believe that fellow meant to kill me.”
“No; I think not.”
“He didn’t come a great way from it, at any rate,” added he; and it
seemed to me that he was trying to choke down a disposition to “have a
good cry.”
“Did he hurt you?” I asked, fearful that he had received more injury
than I had before suspected.
“How much pounding do you suppose I can stand?” he replied.
“Did he pound you?”
“Half a dozen times, besides knocking me about like a dog. He hammered
me with his whip several times before he got me to the house. Every
time I tried to get away, he gave me some. After he locked me up in the
room, I made an effort to break the door down, and he came in, and gave
it to me with a strap, till I agreed to keep still. I believe he meant
to kill me.”
“Not so bad as that, let us hope.”
“What did he mean to do, then?” demanded Tommy, who was evidently
disposed to put the worst phase upon the case. “What did he shut me up
in that room for, after he had licked me till I was sore?”
“I don’t know what he intended to do; but I suppose it was only to
punish you for what you did yesterday.”
“Do you think I did anything yesterday to deserve such savage
treatment?”
“Perhaps not; but certainly it is not your fault that Jed or the
girl was not killed or badly injured in that scrape,” I answered,
willing that he should derive all the moral benefit possible from his
sufferings, but I spoke only what I believed to be the naked truth. “If
Jed and the girl had been in the wagon when the colt whisked round so
suddenly, I don’t see what could have saved one or both of them from a
broken limb or a broken neck.”
“You are hard on me, Ned,” replied Tommy.
“Well, I only state the facts as they are. Briscoe and I told Fryes to
stop playing.”
The little magnate relapsed into silence. His spirit had been broken
for the first time in his life. Never before had he been conquered, or
treated as his relentless persecutor had treated him. I allowed him to
think the matter over for himself.
“Ned, I believe you are right,” said he, at last.
“I began to think I was in the wrong, and perhaps this fellow has given
me no more than I deserve.”
“His conduct was wrong; it was outrageous, whatever may be said of
yours,” I replied.
“Ned, I have been very miserable to-day. I was so before I met Jed in
the road. I was thinking, as I walked along, what I had done to make
the fellows hate me so badly.”
“I don’t think they hate you. They won’t stand your tyranny--that’s
all.”
“They don’t like me, any how.”
“That’s so,” I answered, candidly.
He was silent again. I was glad to learn that he had begun to review
his past conduct before the ruffian took him in hand. It seemed to me
that Tommy had SWITCHED OFF.
“Who is this man on the front seat?” whispered Tommy.
“Christy Holgate.”
I told the story of Christy in a whisper, so that the subject of it,
who was busily engaged in conversation with Wolf, should not hear me.
We had two penitents that night.