THE DESERTED HOUSE
The path up which the three soldiers were climbing was not a path at
all in the sense of its having been worn by the feet of men or animals.
It was at first a narrow ledge, and then the dry bed of a watercourse,
which overflowed for a few days when the snows melted in the spring,
and was walled in by an outer ledge, and turned upward at an easy
incline which offered no serious obstacle to the progress of the
explorers. The soldiers halted midway, and took off their oppressive
overcoats and wiped their red faces.
The top of the mountain beyond the southern wall was about half the
area of their own plateau, and, to the consternation of the three
soldiers, in the very center of the tract stood a log house flanked by
some tumble-down sheds. This unexpected discovery was so startling
that they retreated below the bank for consultation. They had no doubt
that the bees Philip had lined came from the hives of these people. If
there were a bee-tree at all, they would not be allowed to cut it.
Lieutenant Coleman was at first disposed to return without revealing
themselves to the strangers. Their curiosity, however, was so roused,
and their desire was so great to learn something of their neighbors,
that the three soldiers crept back until only their heads were above
the edge of the bank, and their wondering eyes fixed on the house.
There might be women there, and from a sense of modesty each man got
back into his old blue overcoat. They talked in husky whispers as they
stared through the bushes, expecting every moment to see some one come
out for a pail of water or an armful of wood.
"There's a man down there by the shed," whispered Philip; and so timid
of their kind had the soldiers become after seven years of seclusion,
during which they had not spoken to a human being, that they ducked
their three heads in a tremble of excitement. Presently Bromley looked
again, and almost laughed out loud; for the man was only a stump with
something thrown over it that stirred with the wind.
There was no smoke from the chimney; but it was mid-way between
breakfast and dinner, and fire was not to be expected at that hour in
midsummer. There were no clothes hung out to dry, and no growing crops
in sight; but there were small stacks of corn-stalks at different
points on the field, and these were in every stage of decay, from the
conical heap overgrown with vines to the flat mound of gray stalks
through which the young chestnuts had sprouted and grown to a thrifty
height. A forest of hop-vines grew over the eaves of the house,
flaunting their green tendrils in the soft south wind, and giving an
unmistakably home-like air to the place. As no one appeared after an
hour's watching, it was more than likely that the family was absent for
the day or asleep inside. The longer the soldiers waited, the greater
their curiosity became, and then they remembered their scarcity of
food, and felt the gold coins in their pockets. It would be foolish to
return without buying something from these neighbor-people. Their vow
was not to go down from the mountain; and if they neglected this
opportunity to supply their wants, starvation would soon drive them
into the Confederacy, vow or no vow.
Bromley, as usual, was the first to come to a decision; and then all
three climbed boldly out upon the bank and prepared to visit the house.
As they advanced over the grass they buttoned their overcoats more
closely about their throats, and jingled the coins in their pockets to
keep up their courage. They looked down at their bare feet and legs,
which naturally made them timid at the prospect of meeting women; and
so, huddled together for support, they crossed the dry chip dirt, and
came around the corner of the house. The door stood open above the
smooth stone step, and Bromley struck it with his knuckles, while his
comrades waited behind him, feeling instinctively, in their momentary
embarrassment, for their collars and wristbands, which had never before
been out of their reach in the presence of the other sex. If they had
been less embarrassed they would have noticed the utter absence of all
signs of habitation outside the house, and that the door itself was
sagging inward from its rusty hinges. The interior was darkened by the
sliding boards which closed the windows, and gave forth a musty, earthy
smell.
[Illustration: THE DESERTED HOUSE.]
"There's nobody lives here," said Bromley, in his strong, natural
voice, at which Coleman and Philip were startled into a small spasm of
feeling again for their shirt-collars; and then, as he gave a kick to
the lurching door, they dropped their nervous fingers and followed him
in. Bromley opened one of the windows, which let in but a dim light
because of the thick mat of hop-vines which had overgrown it. The
first object that caught the eyes of the soldiers was a considerable
library of books crowded together on three shelves above the fireplace.
Philip had his hand at once on the familiar cover of "Uncle Tom's
Cabin"; Bromley took down a faded volume of the "Anti-Slavery Record"
for the year 1836; and Coleman went outside the door to examine a small
book which bore in gilded letters on the cover, "The Branded Hand." On
the title-page there was a woodcut of a hand with two S's on the open
palm. The story was of the trial and imprisonment of Jonathan Waller,
or Walker, at Pensacola, Florida; and a few pages on, the author was
shown dripping with perspiration in the pillory. This book had been
published in 1845, and Lieutenant Coleman dropped it on the door-step
and hastened back to find something more modern. In fact, the three
soldiers were moved by the same desire to find
something--anything--that had been printed since the year 1864. So it
was with the greatest disgust that they took from the lower shelf and
threw down, one after another, such ancient history as "Captain Canot;
or, Twenty Years of an African Slaver," 1854; "The Alton Riots," by
Rev. Edward Beecher, 1838; "Abolition a Sedition," 1839; "Memoir of
Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy," 1838; and "Slavery Unmasked," 1856. There
were other curious works on the same subject, bearing equally remote
dates.
On the second shelf there was a mixed collection of thin periodicals in
blue, yellow, and gray covers, such as "The Quarterly Anti-Slavery
Magazine," "The Emancipator," and "The Slave's Friend," and several
volumes of speeches by William Lloyd Garrison and Wendell Phillips,
bearing date as late as 1858.
The upper shelf was filled with small books and pamphlets on temperance
and prohibition, not one of which had been published since the year
1852.
Lieutenant Coleman and Bromley were so keenly disappointed at finding
among so many books nothing that threw any light on the state of the
country since their arrival on the mountain, that they were almost
tempted to throw the library into the fireplace and burn it up by
starting a fire with their flints.
The perfect order in which the books had been arranged was strangely in
contrast with the otherwise wrecked condition of the room. The
excitement of the soldiers on seeing the library had prevented them
from noticing that the hearthstone had been wrenched from its original
position, and that the earth had been dug out to some depth beneath it
and thrown in a heap against the edge of the single bunk by the south
wall. Stones had been pried from the back of the chimney, and there
was abundant evidence that some person had been hunting for treasure.
The rusty spade with which the digging had been done lay in the
fireplace, where it had been thrown by the baffled robber. The bedtick
had been ripped open with a knife, and the straw with which it had been
filled was scattered over the dry earth on the floor. The blankets and
everything of value in the house had been carried away. It might be
that murder had been committed here as well as robbery. As there was
no stain of blood on the mattress or on the floor, Lieutenant Coleman
concluded that the robber was only a cowardly thief who had stolen the
property from the deserted cabin. It would seem, however, that this
man had had some knowledge of the dead mountaineer which had caused him
to suspect that there was hidden treasure in the house. Possibly he
had found what he sought.
The discovery of the house and its contents was so startling that the
soldiers forgot all about the bee-tree they had come in search of. The
absence of everything in the nature of food forced itself upon their
minds, as they felt the coins in their pockets. There might be corn in
one of the tumbledown outhouses. Both were sadly decayed and broken by
the winds and storms to which the strong walls and good roof of the
house had not yet yielded. The first shed contained a small heap of
wood and a rusty ax, and the other appeared to have been used as a
cow-stall.
The paths were overgrown with grass, which indicated that years had
passed since the place had been inhabited. The good order in which the
books had been left led the soldiers to doubt if the place had been
visited since the robber had gone away. It was true that the library
was of a character that would be undesirable in a slaveholding
Confederacy; and if any one had seen it since the robbery, it was
strange that he had not destroyed the objectionable books.
This state of things was so puzzling to Lieutenant Coleman and his
comrades that they set out at once to make the circuit of this small
tract on the mountain-top, which they naturally believed must be
somewhat difficult of access. There must be a road that led to it.
The robber might have climbed over the rocks, through some difficult
pass, and so might the owner of the house; but the cow-shed would make
it seem that domestic animals had been driven up from the valley. The
western front was the boulder side of the mountain, and as
unapproachable here as on their own plateau. After the most careful
exploration, the remaining sides were found to be of the same character
as the Cashiers valley side beyond the dividing cliff. This smaller
tract of mountain-top was supported by sheer ledges which rose above
the forest below. There might be some point in the wall where a man
could scale it with the help of a long ladder, but it was evident that
no cow had ever fed in that stall.
It was past noon now, and the soldiers sat down on a rock in the mild
sunlight which poured over the dividing ledge, and talked of the
strange situation.
"There have been human beings here," said Bromley; "at least two of
them: the fellow who lived in that house, and the robber who looted it.
Now I am not much of a detective, but it is certainly our business to
find out how they got here and how they got away."
"How the robber got away," suggested Coleman; "for there is no doubt in
my mind that the man who lived here was his victim."
"Yes," said Philip, "I am certain there was a murder committed here.
Don't you see that if the murderer had carried off the books they would
have been evidence against him sufficient to have convicted him of the
crime?"
This view of Philip's was so plausible that the others adopted it.
They assumed that the unfortunate victim had been shot in the open
field, and buried where he fell. If the crime had been committed so
long ago that the grass had found time to take root in the hard paths,
it would have long since overgrown the shallow grave. Then it occurred
to the soldiers, who had helped to bury the dead on more than one
battle-field, that as time passes a shallow grave has a way of sinking.
The murderer would have been careful not to raise a mound, and the very
place of his crime should by this time be plainly marked by a long
grassy hollow.
They started at once to search for the grave; but they were thirsty,
not to say hungry, after their exertions of the morning, and so they
went first to a spring which they had seen near the head of the path
where they had climbed up. It was a large bubbling spring, and flowed
under the rocks so nearly opposite to where the branch appeared on the
other side that they knew it was the source of their own supply. It
was not pleasant to think how easily their neighbor in his lifetime
might have turned it in some other direction, thus stopping the wheels
of their mill, and possibly leaving them to perish of thirst.
After they had lain down on the ground and drunk from the spring, they
turned in the direction of the lonely house, flattering themselves that
they were, after all, pretty clever detectives. By putting together
the facts which they had now determined and proved, they had made a
rather shrewd beginning at the discovery of a crime. They agreed, as
they went along, that nothing further should be disturbed within or
without the house until they should have unraveled the history of the
foul murder. That was, they believed, the method observed by the best
detectives and coroners. They might not establish their theory to-day
or to-morrow, but they could go and come by the new path they had
found, and sooner or later they would force the secret from the mute
objects in the midst of which the crime had been committed.
As they arrived at this united and enthusiastic decision, they were
approaching the house on the opposite side to that which they had
passed on their first coming. The turf was so firmly rooted here that
it was not easy to determine whether there had or had not been a garden
on this side. A thick clump of young chestnut-trees had grown up since
cultivation had been suspended, and as the three soldiers turned around
these, they came suddenly upon something which exploded their fine-spun
theories.
[Illustration: THE GRAVE OF THE OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN.]
It was nothing less than a grave with an uncommonly high mound above
it, and marked at the head by a broad slab of oak. Besides the
wild-rose bush which grew out of the matted grass on the mound, there
was another object which staggered the soldiers more than the grave
itself. On the upper part of the headboard the following inscription
was deeply cut:
HERE
REST THE BONES
OF
HEZEKIAH WALLSTOW
ABOLITIONIST
AND
APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE
WHO DIED
Here ended the letters, which were cut with a knife, evidently by the
said Hezekiah himself, with the expenditure of much time and patience.
Below, the inscription was continued with black paint, half written and
half printed in one ungrammatical and badly spelled sentence:
Hit was sumwhar betune
April 26 & Juin the 4,
1858.
The other object, found lying across the grave, was the skeleton of the
cow, whose crumpled horns were attached to the bleached skull, and
whose white ribs provided a trellis for the rose-bush. Strangest of
all strange things in this mysterious affair, one horn of the skeleton
was hooked over the top of the slab so as to hold the great skull
reversed close against the headboard on the side opposite to the
inscription. Evidently the faithful creature had died of starvation
during the winter which followed the death of her master. By accident
or through a singular exhibition of affection, she had lain down to die
on the hard snow which was banked high above the grave, and as this
melted the head of the cow had lodged in this remarkable position.
"Well," said Philip, with a sigh for his pet theory, "whoever he was
and however he came here, his name was Hezekiah Wallstow, and there was
no murder after all--unless a third man came to bury him."
"That's all settled," said Bromley, resignedly; "but how about the cow?
Did she come here in a balloon?"
"My dear fellow," said Lieutenant Coleman, "we have not yet found how
the men got here. When we learn that, it may make all the rest plain."
Without entering the house again, the soldiers made a second circuit of
the field, examining carefully every foot of the cliffs. They were
absolutely certain now that there was no road or path leading to this
smaller plateau except that by which they themselves had come; and yet
here were the bones of a full-grown cow and the ruined stall which had
at some time been her winter quarters. They next examined the heaps of
stalks, which were sixteen in number, and represented that many
harvests; but the older ones were little more than a thin layer of
decayed litter through which the grass and bushes had grown Up. There
might have been many others of an earlier date, all traces of which had
long since disappeared. At first it seemed strange that a cow should
have starved in the deepest snow in the midst of such surroundings. On
a closer examination, however, it appeared that the tops of the two
larger stacks had been much torn, and the stiff stalks cropped bare of
leaves. It was plain enough that the lean cow had wandered here on the
hard crust of the snow and scattered the stalks as she fed. Even now
these could be seen lying all about in the grass where they had lodged
when the snow melted. Under one of the stacks another skull was found,
the owner of which must have died before the cow, or have been killed
for beef. Instead of one, two domestic animals, then, had cropped the
grass and switched at the flies on this plateau which was surrounded by
inaccessible cliffs. How did they come there?
By sunset the soldiers were no nearer to a solution of this difficult
problem, and so they filled their two pails with antislavery books, and
returned to ponder and wonder in the society of the bear and the six
sad roosters.
They could sleep but little after such a day of excitement, and they
were scarcely refreshed by their night's rest when they returned on the
following day to the deserted house. This time they left their
overcoats at home, and took with them a loaf of corn-bread for
luncheon, and the pails, in which they intended to bring back more
books.
They halted again before the oak slab bearing the name of Hezekiah
Wallstow, apostle of temperance, etc., and crowned by the mourning
skull of the cow, as if to assure themselves of the reality of what
they had seen, and then they walked humbly into the house. They could
think of no guiding clue to start them in the solution of the problem
of the cattle, and so they weakly yielded to their curiosity about the
books. Bromley cut away the thicket of hop-vines which darkened the
two windows, and in the improved light they fell to examining the
coarse woodcuts of runaway slaves with their small belongings tied up
in a pocket-handkerchief, which headed certain advertisements in the
periodicals. "The Adventures of Captain Canot" was a thick book with
numerous illustrations of a distressing character. In one picture a
jolly sailor with a pipe in his mouth was smilingly branding the back
of an African woman, while another sailor stood by with a lantern in
broad daylight. They hoped to find an account-book or a diary, but
there was nothing of the sort on the shelves beyond one or two entries
in pencil on a fly-leaf of the "Memoir of Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy,"
acknowledging the receipt of a cask of meal or a quarter of lamb.