Imagens das páginas
PDF
ePub

of an offence much greater than that which these men had committed, he would have been required to deliver up his sword, and his greatest punishment would have been dismissal from office. These men were citizens of the country, in its service like their officers, and why they should receive this degrading punishment, I could neither understand then nor now. My spirits almost gave out while I remained in confinement, for I was unused to exposure and coarse food, but my health was good, and every day I grew stronger and more reconciled to my condition. In about a month a court-martial was held, and I was acquitted on the score of ignorance.

"During my arrest there had been a change of officers in the fort, and our new commander, Major A- -, gave me leave of absence for a day and night, as a compensation for my unjust confinement in the black-hole, as the dungeon in which I was shut up was called. I was glad enough to be allowed the privilege of stretching my limbs beyond the walls of the fort, but my delight was not excessive, since I was forced to wear the degrading livery of a hired soldier; a mark of shame that gains the wearer the intuitive contempt of all honest men. I wandered away by myself, and to escape observation spent nearly the whole day in a burying ground. At night I went into the town and joined a party of soldiers, on liberty, like myself, in the cellar of a cook-shop, where I ate a hearty supper of fried beef and onions at their expense, for I had not a copper in my pockets. They soon went out and left me alone, and while I sat by the fire there came in two men, who seemed by their dress to be mechanics. They called for a supper of oysters, and asked me to join them. I refused, but they pressed me, and I consented. Indeed, I felt grateful for their notice.

"It was one of the first acts of kindness that had been shown me since my expulsion from college. My entertainers were extremely rude, and I thought that they had a sinister look; but I could not but think that I, who had suffered so severely from unjust suspicions, should not suspect others without better reasons than mere appearances. After their supper was over, they asked me to go with them to their aunt's house. They took me to an old house in the

outskirts of the town, with a dim light in one of the upper windows. Finding the door locked, they said that the old woman was a-bed; and one of them, taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, succeeded with some difficulty in opening the door. We all three entered and found a wood-fire burning in a franklin, a tea-pot standing in the corner, a loaf of bread and some cold meat upon the table. 'The old lady has left some supper for us,' they said; 'we will go up stairs and see her. You stop below, but don't open the door if anybody should knock.'

"My two companions crept softly up stairs, and I soon heard them talking softly to somebody, who, I supposed, was the aunt of whom they had spoken. They were gone about fifteen minutes, when they came down with a small bundle which they requested me to take, and said that their aunt being in bed they would remain no longer.

"After leaving the house, they consulted apart from me; and after a good deal of angry talk, they at last called me to them, and said that if I would keep the bundle for them until the next morning, they would meet me at the cook-shop and pay me for my trouble. I agreed to do so, when they gave me half a dollar, and I left them and returned to the cellar, where I procured a bed and went to sleep with the bundle under my pillow. But before morning I was awakened by a constable who came to arrest me, he said, for house-breaking. He searched my bed and found the bundle that I had placed under my pillow, which contained some silver spoons, a string of gold beads and some other old ornaments, a pair of paste buckles, a tortoise-shell snuffbox, a pair of hoop ear-rings, &c. I saw at once the pit into which I had fallen, and feeling that resistance would be vain, I suffered myself to be taken to a lock-up-house, where I found the two villains who had brought this new misfortune upon me. They told me, without any appearance of shame, that they had robbed the house of their pretended aunt, and meant to have shared the booty in the morning. It was the house of a widow, whose son, a printer, lived with her alone. He had worked in the same office with the robbers, who, knowing that he would not be at home until late at night, had determined upon robbing the house. They found the

widow, a feeble old woman, in bed; and to prevent her from making a noise, they quietly muffled her face and tied her to the bed-post, when they broke open her bureau and rifled its contents. The son, coming home soon after, found his mother nearly dead with fright, and, from her description of the thieves, he suspected his former companions and sent constables in pursuit of them. On inquiring at the cook-shop, they found that I had left in company with them, and returned with a bundle, which led to my arrest. The robbers were arrested at another place. I was indicted, tried and found guilty. The evidence was so plain and direct, that there was no chance for escape. The real thieves refused to confirm my own account of the affair, and finding that all attempts to clear myself were without effect, I submitted to my fate. Nobody could believe me innocent; and those who before doubted my college theft, now believed me guilty of that charge. The lawyer who conducted the prosecution was my friend, whom I struck at the stage-house, and he exerted himself to the utmost against me. I had no money to pay a lawyer, but a very active young attorney volunteered to defend me. Money, however, could have done me no good. The jury pronounced me guilty without leaving their seats. I was sentenced to the state prison for five years the exact term that I should have been compelled to serve in the army; and if I could have had my choice of punishments, I should have been at a loss which to choose. During all this time I had not written a word to my mother. I could not inform her of my situation, and I had all the while a hope that she might not hear of my misfortune. But she did; for the trial was reported in the newspapers, with exaggerated accounts of my guilt; and it was a relief to me when I heard, in a few months, that she was dead. I knew what she must suffer, and I hoped that in Heaven she might know that I was innocent.

"In the prison I was put among the tin-smiths, and notwithstanding my natural inaptitude for mechanical labor, in a short time became an expert workman. In my cell I had no other companion than a Bible. But that was sufficient. It would have been a great happiness, if I had been allowed a bit of candle to read by during the long win

ter nights when I could not sleep, and I was a prey to my own thoughts.

"By reading nothing but the Bible for five years, I grew so familiar with the blessed book, that I could tell whenever I heard a passage of Scripture quoted, not only the chapter and verse, but the page where it could be found. At last my five years were at an end and I was free. I had never known much of the ways of society before my imprisonment, but I was now utterly ignorant of the world and its ways. When the prison doors were opened, and I was furnished with a suit of clothes and money enough to defray my travelling expenses to the town where I was born, I felt more wretched and lonely than when I was first shut up in my prison cell. I was afraid of moving lest I should draw some new calamity upon my head. It was early in spring; the earth looked chill and desolate, and I knew not where to look for shelter and kindness. But I took the first conveyance that offered for my native town, for I had been told that the little property which had been left by my mother, had risen in value in consequence of speculation and improvements in real estate. I cannot tell you of my feelings when I returned to my mother's home, nor of the contempt with which my old schoolmates and relations treated me. Merciful God, how can men hope to be forgiven themselves when they will not forgive others! I had wronged no one, but the taint of guilt was upon me, and I was shunned as though my touch would contaminate, as though there was pestilence in my looks. God be merci ful to the guilty who have to endure the scorn of the world in addition to the stings of their own conscience.

"I had made arrangements with an attorney to attend to the sale of my property, which was now worth a very considerable sum, and had determined to quit my native town for ever, when I encountered my old class-mate whose money had been found in my trunk. I was paying my bill to the landlord of the tavern, when he came up to me, and laughing reached out his hand to me. I had always entertained an unqualified contempt for him, but his speaking to me now touched my heart, and I grasped his hand with delight. He was the son of a rich manufacturer in the town, but he was a mere sot himself. Although I felt grateful to

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]

"Did you truly?'

666

Truly I did. Ha, ha, ha!' "And why did you not save me from disgrace, by acknowledging it?' I said. "I meant to do so after a while, but you behaved so badly afterwards, that I found it would do no good.'

"Miserable wretch!' I exclaimed, 'you will have your reward. Stupid,

malicious idiot- I do not know what might have followed, for I was fast losing command of myself, when the people in the bar-room gathered around me, and prevented me from doing violence to the cowardly knave. It was already late in the evening, but instead of retiring to my bed-room, I left the hotel and sought my mother's grave, where I could give vent to my feelings unobserved. It was a dark blustering night, but no external circumstances had any effect upon my mind. I howled in the extremity of my grief, and prayed Heaven that I might, for my mother's sake, bear my load of sorrows meekly. If I had any vengeful feelings, I strove to overcome them. Had I known that the cause of all my misfortunes was himself paying the penalty of his wickedness-but I will not indulge in the thought that God avenged my wrongs.

"I did not return to the hotel till near daylight, when I was admitted by the porter, and having groped my way to my room, I was soon a-bed and asleep. Presently there was a confused noise in my room, and I started up from a pleasant dream, and perceived two or three men standing at my bed-side. had become so familiar with the sinister looks of law-officers and constables, that I perceived at a glance that these were myrmidons of justice, and I was

I

not allowed to remain in ignorance of their errand.

"The body of my class-mate had been found in the river at daylight, by some workmen, and I was suspected of having murdered him. Again I was arrested and thrown into prison, and for many months I had little hope of escaping the gallows. There probably never was a stronger case of circumstantial evidence than that which was made out against me, which being strengthened by the former accusations against me, lelf me without a hope of escape. But I had money, and the services of an able lawyer having been secured, I was pronounced not guilty, by a jury who, I fear, believed in their hearts that I was a murderer. It was proved on the trial that my class-mate had left the tavern in a state of intoxication near midnight, and his father's house being on the opposite side of the river, it was probable that the wretched man had missed his way, and fallen into the river, where he was drowned. This could not be proved, of course. But it was proved that I had quarrelled with him in the barroom, that I had used threatening language to him, that I left the hotel before him, and that I did not return until near daylight. In what manner I had spent the night, and where, I could not prove. But you must spare me the pain of repeating the particulars of this most unhappy portion of my life. I was acquitted, but even my lawyer, when the trial was over, refused to speak to me. He had earned his money, as he thought, by clearing a bad man from the gallows, and there his business with me ended. I had told him the true story of my misfortunes, but I found that he looked upon it, as I fear many others will do, as an ingenious fiction."

66

Why have you changed your name?" I inquired.

"To avoid the notoriety and disgrace which accident had conferred upon me, and also that I might be free, in case I should ever be accused of another crime, of the prejudicial effect of a bad name. I live in daily fear of arrest, and whenever a murder or a theft is committed, I tremble lest I be taken for the perpetrator. The sale of my mother's little property, which had greatly increased in value during my imprisonment, has given me sufficient means to live without business, and I am therefore less liable to accident than I was

before; but I have no hope of dying in my bed; or spending the remainder of my days in freedom."

"Why do you not go to Europe?" I asked.

"Ah! if I must be a victim to law, I

prefer the law of my own country. I
shall be safer here.
Besides, I am

striving now to establish a charac-
ter, which may stand me in good

stead in case of need."

SEEING A FRIEND OFF IN A PACKET.

ONE of the commonest incidents in life evil powers of the world, hastening disfor a New-Yorker, is to find himself oc- appointment and unerring fate. We casionally at the foot of Marketfield have faith in our daily life, to which we street, in the midst of a crowd of mail are accustomed; we have none in what bags, trunks, porters and poultry, lies outside of it, the unknown. Happy making his way to a friend about to man, who jogs on through the vale sail in a packet for Europe. There is of life in undisturbed serenity, content certainly nothing very remarkable in with the well known foot-path, the the thing itself. Packets sail almost familiar meadow, without even peneevery day; friends depart and come trating the wilds, or crossing the oceans back again with exemplary punctuality. beyond; for whom the sun rises and sets Broadway, with its thronging thousands, on the spot where his eyes first beheld scarcely misses a single footprint; one's the miracle in childhood; who sits under every-day affairs fill up the gap of the wide spreading tree when old, he absence, and there is little time or planted when young; who knows no necessity for moralizing. Yet we cares sleep cannot remedy, or the smile have always found something charac- of friends assuage. teristic about these departures, and no two of these exactly alike in the incident, much less in the sentiment. A slight circumstance colors the little event. Any formal act which breaks up the accustomed routine of life, comes upon us painfully, it throws us upon hope and conjecture, we fancy all sorts of possibilities, and the older we grow, with a greater experience of evil, we shrink the more from such occasions. To many people, a wedding is as painful as a funeral, out of this sense of uncertainty; apparently, it is the happiest thing in the world; joy, laughter, and congratulation, abound on all sides, but within are doubt and dismay. The implied necessity of being happy, destroys the happiness itself. We can wish a man good day or grasp his hand, or perform any familiar act of kindness with zest and unction; but set us upon anything out of the track, to bid him god-speed on a journey, or wish him joy in a marriage, and the good faith of the thing is immediately paralyzed; we stand trembling on the brink of a vast unknown future, and seem to be commemorating some deed which invites the sure coming

For the most part, set occasions of formality are to be eschewed. The world thinks differently, and admires every opportunity for display. It prides itself on its mere formalists. It sets apart the man who makes the most bows as the truest gentleman, the preacher with the stiffest cravat and worst punctilious surplice for the highest divine. A physician's prescriptions are valued according to his mysteriousness; and an author who keeps up all the forms of reputation, the coat, the dinner, the puff, the biography and engraved portrait, has ten times the pay, and a hundred times the glory, of the poor and proud scribe who sits at home and writes all the books. Posterity judges otherwise, but what is posterity to the man who knows not where he shall get his dinner? The respect for formality is, after all, but a cheap, indolent way of getting through life comfortably, supporting our own weaknesses by honoring the weaknesses of others, following the shadow like the distressed German, and thinking it more substantial than the substance, because, strange paradox, we find it the more tangible of the two. Truth, shy maiden, sits in her well and

seldom comes forth to sparkle in the sunshine; when she does appear among men, it is as the capricious, beautiful Undine, courted and sought, but misunderstood, soon abandoned for the baser earth-born, and quickly vanishing from the embrace of mortals.

to our past. A new hall is opened for us on the threshold of that deep vista through which we pass by their statues to the great images of the olden timeShakspeare mid-way, Dante a little farther on, and the vast Homer in the farthest perspective. England is no longer But we are trespassing even upon to our imagination the Great England she the liberal indulgence allowed to essay- was when men like those who have passists in wandering from our text, who, ed away breathed her air and partook of in their most errant flights, like the her fruits. What is the Cathedral pulpit balloonists, must be careful not to let at St. Paul's to us without the echoing go entirely of the string which is to creak of Sydney Smith, the reverend bring them to the earth again. The "joker of jokes?" What is Abbotsford chief thought which occurred to us in without Scott?-what, alas! will Amour last excursion in the bay, as we bleside be without Wordsworth? To glanced up from the petty steamer to an American who has grown up in daithe mighty vessel lifting its anchor to ly familiarity with these men, in intidrop it again in the old world, was the macy with their thoughts and feelings, diminution of interest with which lite- their departure makes England emrary men, every year, look outward to phatically a land of strangers. This the shores of England as her great au- is not the regret of lion-hunters-those thors of the century, one by one, fall most miserable and selfish of egotists into their graves. The living man hal- (it is not necessary to see a great author lows the soil. It is something, as to revere him, to share in his existence); Washington Irving said of the sexton but it is the pain we feel when a part of at Stratford, to see even the ashes of ovr existence is invaded. A portion of Shakspeare, but how much more would our mental and moral nature seems it have been to approach the land of plucked away when a Byron or Scott which he was the living breath, which dies. It is a real wo, which a mesexisted in him and became poor and merist might attribute to the loss of vital beggarly, and was handed over to com- power in the world by which all are moner men when he died! It is so now, sustained, the man of genius being the that the great men of the first half of great mesmerizer. What invisible curthe nineteenth century are vanishing rents there may be passing to and fro in away. The present is robbed to enrich the world, we know not, which connect the past. A few years ago, and Byron, man with man; but we cannot look Scott, Coleridge, Southey, Lamb, Mac- upon the magnet, tending, by its mysteintosh, Hazlitt, Keats, Shelley, Sydney rious law, to the north, and say that no Smith, Arnold, Hemans, and Landon, such communication exists. If the one, made up the mighty fame of London. the spiritual, is a great problem-the They are gone. Their books are with other, the material, is a greater. us, and their memory, and they belong

0.

« AnteriorContinuar »