"None--none. Accept them, and he lives--I will free him, as I promise.
Refuse them--deny me, and he must die, and nothing may save him then."
"Then he must die, sir!--we must both die--before we choose such terms.
Sir, let me call my father. Our conference must end here. You have chosen a cruel office, but I can bear its infliction. You have tantalized a weak heart with hope, only to make it despair the more. But I am now strong, sir--stronger than ever--and we speak no more on this subject."
"Yet pause--to relent even to-morrow may be too late. To-night you must determine, or never."
"I have already determined. It is impossible that I can determine otherwise. No more, sir!"
"There is one, lady--one young form--scarcely less beautiful than yourself, who would make the same--ay, and a far greater--sacrifice than this, for the safety of Ralph Colleton. One far less happy in his love than you, who would willingly die for him this hour. Would you be less ready than she is for such a sacrifice?"
"No, not less ready for death--as I live--not less willing to free him with the loss of my own life. But not ready for a sacrifice like this--not ready for this."
"You have doomed him!"
"Be it so, sir. Be it so. Let me now call my father."
"Yet think, ere it be too late--once gone, not even your words shall call me back."
"Believe me, I shall not desire it."
The firmness of the maiden was finely contrasted with the disappointment of the outlaw. He was not less mortified with his own defeat than awed by the calm and immoveable bearing, the sweet, even dignity, which the discussion of a subject so trying to her heart, and the overthrow of all hope which her own decision must have occasioned, had failed utterly to affect. He would have renewed his suggestions, but while repeating them, a sudden commotion in the village--the trampling of feet--the buzz of many voices, and sounds of wide-spread confusion, contributed to abridge an interview already quite too long. The outlaw rushed out of the apartment, barely recognising, at his departure, the presence of Colonel Colleton, whom his daughter had now called in. The cause of the uproar we reserve for another chapter.
CHAPTER x.x.xVI.
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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sert, 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 pa.s.sions, 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 G.o.d of their adoration, and the blow be aimed with all the malevolence of h.e.l.l 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 a.s.sa.s.sin 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 a.n.a.lysis 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 s.p.a.ce 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 a.n.a.lyze 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 a.s.sured that he could confide in none of his well-known a.s.sociates, 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 a.n.a.lysis 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 cla.s.s--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 a.s.sured 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 b.u.t.tons 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 sc.r.a.p, 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 enn.o.ble 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 pa.s.sing into the White House--the dawn of that era having already arrived, which left n.o.body safe from the crowning honors of the republic.
Whether the individual of whom so much was expected, himself entertained any such antic.i.p.ations 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sure 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 a.s.sistance 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 circ.u.mstance 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 const.i.tutionally cold and impenetrable on the subject of all pa.s.sions, 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 rea.s.sured him. Munro, without much circ.u.mlocution, 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 n.o.body 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. n.o.body 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 ma.s.s 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 n.o.body 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."