PROPOSED RESCUE.
The pledge which Munro had given to his niece in behalf of Colleton was
productive of no small inconvenience to the former personage. Though
himself unwilling--we must do him the justice to believe--that the youth
should perish for a crime so completely his own, he had in him no great
deal of that magnanimous virtue, of itself sufficiently strong to have
persuaded him to such a risk, as that which he had undertaken at the
supplication of Lucy. The more he reflected upon the matter, the more
trifling seemed the consideration. With such a man, to reflect is simply
to _calculate_. Money, now--the spoil or the steed of the
traveller--would have been a far more decided stimulant to action. In
regarding such an object, he certainly would have overlooked much of the
danger, and have been less heedful of the consequences. The selfishness
of the motive would not merely have sanctioned, but have smoothed the
enterprise; and he thought too much with the majority--allowing for any
lurking ambition in his mind--not to perceive that where there is gain
there must be glory.
None of these consolatory thoughts came to him in the contemplation of
his present purpose. To adventure his own life--perhaps to exchange
places with the condemned he proposed to save--though, in such a risk,
he only sought to rescue the innocent from the doom justly due to
himself--was a flight of generous impulse somewhat above the usual aim
of the landlord; and, but for the impelling influence of his niece--an
influence which, in spite of his own evil habits, swayed him beyond his
consciousness--we should not now have to record the almost redeeming
instance in the events of his life at this period--the _one_ virtue,
contrasting with, if it could not lessen or relieve, the long tissue of
his offences.
There were some few other influences, however--if this were not
enough--coupled with that of his niece's entreaty, which gave strength
and decision to his present determination. Munro was not insensible to
the force of superior character, and a large feeling of veneration led
him, from the first, to observe the lofty spirit and high sense of honor
which distinguished the bearing and deportment of Ralph Colleton. He
could not but admire the native superiority which characterized the
manner of the youth, particularly when brought into contrast with that
of Guy Rivers, for whom the same feeling had induced a like, though not
a parallel respect, on the part of the landlord.
It may appear strange to those accustomed only to a passing and
superficial estimate of the thousand inconsistencies which make up that
contradictory creation, the human mind, that such should be a feature in
the character of a ruffian like Munro; but, to those who examine for
themselves, we shall utter nothing novel when we assert, that a respect
for superiority of mental and even mere moral attribute, enters largely
into the habit of the ruffian generally. The murderer is not
unfrequently found to possess benevolence as well as veneration in a
high degree; and the zealots of all countries and religions are almost
invariably creatures of strong and violent passions, to which the
extravagance of their zeal and devotion furnishes an outlet, which is
not always innocent in its direction or effects. Thus, in their
enthusiasm--which is only a minor madness--whether the Hindoo bramin or
the Spanish bigot, the English roundhead or the follower of the "only
true faith" at Mecca, be understood, it is but a word and a blow--though
the word be a hurried prayer to the God of their adoration, and the blow
be aimed with all the malevolence of hell at the bosom of a
fellow-creature. There is no greater inconsistency in the one character
than in the other. The temperament which, under false tuition, makes the
zealot, and drives him on to the perpetration of wholesale murder, while
uttering a prayer to the Deity, prompts the same individual who, as an
assassin or a highwayman, cuts your throat, and picks your pocket, and
at the next moment bestows his ill-gotten gains without reservation upon
the starving beggar by the wayside.
There was yet another reason which swayed Munro not a little in his
determination, if possible, to save the youth--and this was a lurking
sentiment of hostility to Rivers. His pride, of late, on many occasions,
had taken alarm at the frequent encroachments of his comrade upon its
boundaries. The too much repeated display of that very mental
superiority in his companion, which had so much fettered him, had
aroused his own latent sense of independence; and the utterance of
sundry pungent rebukes on the part of Rivers had done much towards
provoking within him a new sentiment of dislike for that person, which
gladly availed itself of the first legitimate occasion for exercise and
development. The very superiority which commanded, and which he honored,
he hated for that very reason; and, in our analysis of moral dependence,
we may add, that, in Greece, and the mere Hob of the humble farmhouse,
Munro might have been the countryman to vote Aristides into banishment
because of his reputation for justice. The barrier is slight, the space
short, the transition easy, from one to the other extreme of injustice;
and the peasant who voted for the banishment of the just man, in another
sphere and under other circumstances, would have been a Borgia or a
Catiline. With this feeling in his bosom, Munro was yet unapprized of
its existence. It is not with the man, so long hurried forward by his
impulses as at last to become their creature, to analyze either their
character or his own. Vice, though itself a monster, is yet the slave of
a thousand influences, not absolutely vicious in themselves; and their
desires it not uncommonly performs when blindfolded. It carries the
knife, it strikes the blow, but is not always the chooser of its own
victim.
But, fortunately for Ralph Colleton, whatever and how many or how few
were the impelling motives leading to this determination, Munro had
decided upon the preservation of his life; and, with that energy of
will, which, in a rash office, or one violative of the laws, he had
always heretofore displayed, he permitted no time to escape him
unemployed for the contemplated purpose. His mind immediately addressed
itself to its chosen duty, and, in one disguise or another, and those
perpetually changing, he perambulated the village, making his
arrangements for the desired object. The difficulties in his way were not
trifling in character nor few in number; and the greatest of these was
that of finding coadjutors willing to second him. He felt assured that
he could confide in none of his well-known associates, who were to a man
the creatures of Rivers; that outlaw, by a liberality which seemed to
disdain money, and yielding every form of indulgence, having acquired
over them an influence almost amounting to personal affection.
Fortunately for his purpose, Rivers dared not venture much into the
village or its neighborhood; therefore, though free from any fear of
obstruction from one in whose despite his whole design was undertaken,
Munro was yet not a little at a loss for his co-operation. To whom, at
that moment, could he turn, without putting himself in the power of an
enemy? Thought only raised up new difficulties in his way, and in utter
despair of any better alternative, though scarcely willing to trust to
one of whom he deemed so lightly, his eyes were compelled to rest, in
the last hope, upon the person of the pedler, Bunce.
Bunce, if the reader will remember, had, upon his release from prison,
taken up his abode temporarily in the village. Under the protection now
afforded by the presence of the judge, and the other officers of
justice--not to speak of the many strangers from the adjacent parts,
whom one cause or another had brought to the place--he had presumed to
exhibit his person with much more audacity and a more perfect freedom
from apprehension than he had ever shown in the same region before. He
now--for ever on the go--thrust himself fearlessly into every cot and
corner. No place escaped the searching analysis of his glance; and, in a
scrutiny so nice, it was not long before he had made the acquaintance of
everybody and everything at all worthy, in that region, to be known. He
could now venture to jostle Pippin with impunity; for, since the trial
in which he had so much blundered, the lawyer had lost no small portion
of the confidence and esteem of his neighbors. Accused of the
abandonment of his client--an offence particularly monstrous in the
estimation of those who are sufficiently interested to acquire a
personal feeling in such matters--and compelled, as he had been--a worse
feature still in the estimation of the same class--to "eat his own
words"--he had lost caste prodigiously in the last few days, and his
fine sayings lacked their ancient flavor in the estimation of his
neighbors. His speeches sunk below par along with himself; and the
pedler, in his contumelious treatment of the disconsolate jurist, simply
obeyed and indicated the direction of the popular opinion. One or two
rude replies, and a nudge which the elbow of Bunce, effected in the ribs
of the lawyer, did provoke the latter so far as to repeat his threat on
the subject of the prosecution for the horse; but the pedler snapped his
fingers in his face as he did so, and bade him defiance. He also
reminded Pippin of the certain malfeasances to which he had referred
previously, and the consciousness of the truth was sufficiently strong
and awkward to prevent his proceeding to any further measure of disquiet
with the offender. Thus, without fear, and with an audacity of which he
was not a little proud, Bunce perambulated the village and its
neighborhood, in a mood and with a deportment he had never ventured upon
before in that quarter.
He had a variety of reasons for lingering in the village seemingly in a
state of idleness. Bunce was a long-sighted fellow, and beheld the
promise which it held forth, at a distance, of a large and thriving
business in the neighborhood; and he had too much sagacity not to be
perfectly aware of the advantage, to a tradesman, resulting from a prior
occupation of the ground. He had not lost everything in the
conflagration which destroyed his cart-body and calicoes; for, apart
from sundry little debts due him in the surrounding country, he had
carefully preserved around his body, in a black silk handkerchief,
a small wallet, holding a moderate amount of the best bank paper.
Bunce, among other things, had soon learned to discriminate between
good and bad paper, and the result of his education in this respect
assured him of the perfect integrity of the three hundred and odd
dollars which kept themselves snugly about his waist--ready to be
expended for clocks and calicoes, horn buttons and wooden combs, knives,
and negro-handkerchiefs, whenever their proprietor should determine upon
a proper whereabout in which to fix himself. Bunce had grown tired of
peddling--the trade was not less uncertain than fatiguing. Besides,
travelling so much among the southrons, he had imbibed not a few of
their prejudices against his vocation, and, to speak the truth, had
grown somewhat ashamed of his present mode of life. He was becoming
rapidly aristocratic, as we may infer from a very paternal and somewhat
patronizing epistle, which he despatched about this time to his elder
brother and copartner, Ichabod Bunce, who carried on his portion of the
business at their native place in Meriden, Connecticut. He told him, in
a manner and vein not less lofty than surprising to his coadjutor, that
it "would not be the thing, no how, to keep along, lock and lock with
him, in the same gears." It was henceforward his "idee to drive on his
own hook. Times warn't as they used to be;" and the fact was--he did not
say it in so many words--the firm of Ichabod Bunce and Brother was
scarcely so creditable to the latter personage as he should altogether
desire among his southern friends and acquaintances. He "guessed,
therefore, best haul off," and each--here Bunce showed his respect for
his new friends by quoting their phraseology--"must paddle his own
canoe."
We have minced this epistle, and have contented ourselves with providing
a scrap, here and there, to the reader--despairing, as we utterly do, to
gather from memory a full description of a performance so perfectly
unique in its singular compound of lofty vein, with the patois and
vulgar contractions of his native, and those common to his adopted
country.
It proved to his more staid and veteran brother, that Jared was the only
one of his family likely to get above his bread and business; but, while
he lamented the wanderings and follies of his brother, he could not help
enjoying a sentiment of pride as he looked more closely into the matter.
"Who knows," thought the clockmaker to himself, "but that Jared, who is
a monstrous sly fellow, will pick up some southern heiress, with a
thousand blackies, and an hundred acres of prime cotton-land to each,
and thus ennoble the blood of the Bunces by a rapid ascent, through the
various grades of office in a sovereign state, until a seat in
Congress--in the cabinet itself--receives him;"--and Ichabod grew more
than ever pleased and satisfied with the idea, when he reflected that
Jared had all along been held to possess a goodly person, and a very
fair development of the parts of speech. He even ventured to speculate
upon the possibility of Jared passing into the White House--the dawn of
that era having already arrived, which left nobody safe from the
crowning honors of the republic.
Whether the individual of whom so much was expected, himself entertained
any such anticipations or ideas, we do not pretend to say; but, certain
it is, that the southern candidate for the popular suffrage could never
have taken more pains to extend his acquaintance or to ingratiate
himself among the people, than did our worthy friend the pedler. In the
brief time which he had passed in the village after the arrest of
Colleton, he had contrived to have something to say or do with almost
everybody in it. He had found a word for his honor the judge; and having
once spoken with that dignitary, Bunce was not the man to fail at future
recognition. No distance of manner, no cheerless response, to the
modestly urged or moderate suggestion, could prompt him to forego an
acquaintance. With the jurors he had contrived to enjoy a sup of whiskey
at the tavern bar-room, and had actually, and with a manner the most
adroit, gone deeply into the distribution of an entire packet of
steel-pens, one of which he accommodated to a reed, and to the fingers
of each of the worthy twelve, who made the panel on that
occasion--taking care, however, to assure them of the value of the gift,
by saying, that if he were to sell the article, twenty-five cents each
would be his lowest price, and he could scarcely save himself at that.
But this was not all. Having seriously determined upon abiding at the
south, he ventured upon some few of the practices prevailing in that
region, and on more than one occasion, a gallon of whiskey had
circulated "free gratis," and "_pro bono publico_," he added, somewhat
maliciously, at the cost of our worthy tradesman. These things, it may
not be necessary to say, had elevated that worthy into no moderate
importance among those around him; and, that he himself was not
altogether unconscious of the change, it may be remarked that an ugly
_kink_, or double in his back--the consequence of his pack and past
humility--had gone down wonderfully, keeping due pace in its descent
with the progress of his upward manifestations.
Such was the somewhat novel position of Bunce, in the village and
neighborhood of Chestatee, when the absolute necessity of the case
prompted Munro's application to him for assistance in the proposed
extrication of Ralph Colleton. The landlord had not been insensible to
the interest which the pedler had taken in the youth's fortune, and not
doubting his perfect sympathy with the design in view, he felt the fewer
scruples in approaching him for the purpose. Putting on, therefore, the
disguise, which, as an old woman, had effectually concealed his true
person from Bunce on a previous occasion, he waited until evening had
set in fairly, and then proceeded to the abode of him he sought.
The pedler was alone in his cottage, discussing, most probably, his
future designs, and calculating to a nicety the various profits of each
premeditated branch of his future business. Munro's disguise was
intended rather to facilitate his progress without detection through the
village, than to impose upon the pedler merely; but it was not unwise
that he should be ignorant also of the person with whom he dealt.
Affecting a tone of voice, therefore, which, however masculine, was yet
totally unlike his own, the landlord demanded a private interview, which
was readily granted, though, as the circumstance was unusual, with some
few signs of trepidation. Bunce was no lover of old women, nor, indeed,
of young ones either. He was habitually and constitutionally cold and
impenetrable on the subject of all passions, save that of trade, and
would rather have sold a dress of calico, than have kissed the prettiest
damsel in creation. His manner, to the old woman who appeared before
him, seemed that of one who had an uncomfortable suspicion of having
pleased rather more than he intended; and it was no small relief,
therefore, the first salutation being over, when the masculine tones
reassured him. Munro, without much circumlocution, immediately proceeded
to ask whether he was willing to lend a hand for the help of Colleton,
and to save him from the gallows?
"Colleton!--save Master Colleton!--do tell--is that what you mean?"
"It is. Are you the man to help your friend--will you make one along
with others who are going to try for it?"
"Well, now, don't be rash; give a body time to consider. It's pesky full
of trouble; dangerous, too. It's so strange!--" and the pedler showed
himself a little bewildered by the sudden manner in which the subject
had been broached.
"There's little time to be lost, Bunce: if we don't set to work at once,
we needn't set to work at all. Speak out, man! will you join us, now or
never, to save the young fellow?"
With something like desperation in his manner, as if he scrupled to
commit himself too far, yet had the will to contribute considerably to
the object, the pedler replied:--
"Save the young fellow? well, I guess I will, if you'll jest say what's
to be done. I'll lend a hand, to be sure, if there's no trouble to come
of it. He's a likely chap, and not so stiff neither, though I did count
him rather high-headed at first; but after that, he sort a smoothed
down, and now I don't know nobody I'd sooner help jest now out of the
slush: but I can't see how we're to set about it."
"Can you fight, Bunce? Are you willing to knock down and drag out, when
there's need for it?"
"Why, if I was fairly listed, and if so be there's no law agin it. I
don't like to run agin the law, no how; and if you could get a body
clear on it, why, and there's no way to do the thing no other how, I
guess I shouldn't stand too long to consider when it's to help a
friend."
"It may be no child's play, Bunce, and there must be stout heart and
free hand. One mustn't stop for trifles in such cases; and, as for the
law, when a man's friend's in danger, he must make his own law."
"That wan't my edication, no how; my principles goes agin it. I must
think about it. I must have a little time to consider." But the landlord
saw no necessity for consideration, and, fearful that the scruples of
Bunce would be something too strong, he proceeded to smooth away the
difficulty.
"After all, Bunce, the probability is, we shall be able to manage the
affair without violence: so we shall try, for I like blows just as
little as anybody else; but it's best, you know, to make ready for the
worst. Nobody knows how things will turn up; and if it comes to the
scratch, why, one mustn't mind knocking a fellow on the head if he
stands in the way."
"No, to be sure not. 'Twould be foolish to stop and think about what's
law, and what's not law, and be knocked down yourself."
"Certainly, you're right, Bunce; that's only reason."
"And yet, mister, I guess you wouldn't want that I should know your raal
name, now, would you? or maybe you're going to tell it to me now?
Well--"
"To the business: what matters it whether I have a name or not? I have a
fist, you see, and--"
"Yes, yes, I see," exclaimed he of the notions, slightly retreating, as
Munro, suiting the action to the word, thrust, rather more closely to
the face of his companion than was altogether encouraging, the ponderous
mass which courtesy alone would consider a fist--
"Well, I don't care, you see, to know the name, mister; but somehow it
raally aint the thing, no how, to be mistering nobody knows who. I see
you aint a woman plain enough from your face, and I pretty much conclude
you must be a man; though you have got on--what's that, now? It's a kind
of calico, I guess; but them's not fast colors, friend. I should say,
now, you had been taken in pretty much by that bit of goods. It aint the
kind of print, now, that's not afeard of washing."
"And if I have been taken in, Bunce, in these calicoes, you're the man
that has done it," said the landlord, laughing. "This piece was sold by
you into my own hands, last March was a year, when you came back from
the Cherokees."
"Now, don't! Well, I guess there must be some mistake; you aint sure,
now, friend: might be some other dealer that you bought from?"
"None other than yourself, Bunce. You are the man, and I can bring a
dozen to prove it on you."
"Well, I 'spose what you say's true, and that jest let's me know how to
mister you now, 'cause, you see, I do recollect now all about who I sold
that bit of goods to that season."
The landlord had been overreached; and, amused with the ingenuity of the
trader, he contented himself with again lifting the huge fist in a
threatening manner, though the smile which accompanied the action fairly
deprived it of its terrors.
"Well, well," said the landlord "we burn daylight in such talk as this.
I come to you as the only man who will or can help me in this matter;
and Lucy Munro tells me you will--you made her some such promise."
"Well, now, I guess I must toe the chalk, after all; though, to say
truth, I don't altogether remember giving any such promise. It must be
right, though, if she says it; and sartain she's a sweet body--I'll go
my length for her any day."
"You'll not lose by it; and now hear my plan. You know Brooks, the
jailer, and his bulldog brother-in-law, Tongs? I saw you talking with
both of them yesterday."
"Guess you're right. Late acquaintance, though; they aint neither on 'em
to my liking."
"Enough for our purpose. Tongs is a brute who will drink as long as he
can stand, and some time after it. Brooks is rather shy of it, but he
will drink enough to stagger him, for he is pretty weak-headed. We have
only to manage these fellows, and there's the end of it. They keep the
jail."
"Yes, I know; but you don't count young Brooks?"
"Oh, he's a mere boy. Don't matter about him. He's easily managed. Now
hear to my design. Provide your jug of whiskey, with plenty of eggs and
sugar, so that they shan't want anything, and get them here. Send for
Tongs at once, and let him only know what's in the wind; then ask
Brooks, and he will be sure to force him to come. Say nothing of the
boy; let him stay or come, as they think proper. To ask all might make
them suspicious. They'll both come. They never yet resisted a spiritual
temptation. When here, ply them well, and then we shall go on according
to circumstances. Brooks carries the keys along with him: get him once
in for it, and I'll take them from him. If he resists, or any of them--"
"Knock 'em down?"
"Ay, quickly as you say it!"
"Well, but how if they do not bring the boy, and they leave him in the
jail?"
"What then! Can't we knock him down too?"
"But, then, they'll fix the whole business on my head. Won't Brooks and
Tongs say where they got drunk, and then shan't I be in a scant fixin'?"
"They dare not. They won't confess themselves drunk--it's as much as
their place is worth. They will say nothing till they got sober, and
then they'll get up some story that will hurt nobody."
"But--"
"But what? will you never cease to but against obstacles? Are you a
man--are you ready--bent to do what you can? Speak out, and let me know
if I can depend on you," exclaimed the landlord, impatiently.
"Now, don't be in a passion! You're as soon off as a fly-machine, and a
thought sooner. Why, didn't I say, now, I'd go my length for the young
gentleman? And I'm sure I'm ready, and aint at all afeared, no how. I
only did want to say that, if the thing takes wind, as how it raaly
stood, it spiles all my calkilations. I couldn't 'stablish a consarn
here, I guess, for a nation long spell of time after."
"And what then? where's your calculations? Get the young fellow clear,
and what will his friends do for you? Think of that, Bunce. You go off
to Carolina with him, and open store in his parts, and he buys from you
all he wants--his negro-cloths, his calicoes, his domestics, and
stripes, and everything. Then his family, and friends and neighbors,
under his recommendation--they all buy from you; and then the presents
they will make you--the fine horses--and who knows but even a plantation
and negroes may all come out of this one transaction?"
"To be sure--who knows? Well, things do look temptatious enough, and
there's a mighty deal of reason, now, in what you say. Large business
that, I guess, in the long run. Aint I ready? Let's see--a gallon of
whiskey--aint a gallon a heap too much for only three people?"
"Better have ten than want. Then there must be pipes, tobacco, cigars;
and mind, when they get well on in drinking, I shall look to you through
that window. Be sure and come to me then. Make some pretence, for, as
Brooks may be slow and cautious, I shall get something to drop into his
liquor--a little mixture which I shall hand you."
"What mixture? No pizen, I hope! I don't go that, not I--no pizening for
me."
"Pshaw! fool--nonsense! If I wanted their lives, could I not choose a
shorter method, and a weapon which I could more truly rely upon than I
ever can upon you? It is to make them sleep that I shall give you the
mixture."
"Oh, laudnum. Well, now why couldn't you say laudnum at first, without
frightening people so with your mixtures'?--There's no harm in laudnum,
for my old aunt Tabitha chaws laudnum-gum jest as other folks chaws
tobacco."
"Well, that's all--it's only to get them asleep sooner. See now about
your men at once. We have no time to lose; and, if this contrivance
fails, I must look about for another. It must be done to-night, or it
can not be done at all. In an hour I shall return; and hope, by that
time, to find you busy with their brains. Ply them well--don't be slow
or stingy--and see that you have enough of whiskey. Here's money--have
everything ready."
The pedler took the money--why not? it was only proper to spoil the
Egyptians--and, after detailing fully his plans, Munro left him. Bunce
gave himself but little time and less trouble for reflection. The
prospects of fortune which the landlord had magnified to his vision,
were quite too enticing to be easily resisted by one whose _morale_ was
not of a sort to hold its ground against his habitual cupidity and
newly-awakened ambition; and having provided everything, as agreed upon,
necessary for the accommodation of the jailer and his assistant, Bunce
sallied forth for the more important purpose of getting his company.