Thoreau at Devil's Perch

by B. B. Oak

  This morning, however, I had less uplifting thoughts concerning the Great Elm. My first recollection was that the son of an Indian sachem had been hanged from it. Like Trump, he had been accused of murdering a white man, and although there were no witnesses to the crime, the young brave’s insolent manner toward the governing body of Puritans was considered proof enough of his guilt. I fear that will be Trump’s fate too if I fail to find Peck’s true murderer.

  I had yet another dark recollection regarding the Great Elm’s history as a gallows. Two centuries ago brave Mary Dyer was also hanged from a stout bough for daring to preach her Quaker faith. That she had given birth to a deformed stillborn child was considered confirmation of her union with the Devil. Governor Winthrop went so far as to have the infant corpse exhumed and gives a detailed description of it in his journal of 1638. Among other grotesqueries it had four horns over the eyes, and instead of toes, claws with sharp talons. Today I could not help but wonder if my ancestor Hezekiah Walker had attended the public exhumation to see if the babe looked like the one he had sired with his cousin back in England.

  Thoughts of my own cousin filled my mind. The letter I had written Julia last night was tucked in my waistcoat and lay heavy on my heart. I could not decide whether to burn it or send it to her.

  Strode on toward the Smoker’s Circle over the knoll. As always, there were a dozen or so men gathered there, puffing away on their pipes and cigars in the only area of the Common where such indulgence is allowed. Pulled my short clay traveling pipe from my coat pocket and offered around my tobacco pouch of the latest blend. That earned me a seat on the bench betwixt two old-timers, and as we smoked I steered the subject away from the weather to that of town ball. Turns out both oldsters were keen spectators of the sport, and when I described the lanky Finch to them they well knew the fellow I meant. But they had no idea where he resided. They suggested I return that evening, when men came to the Common to form teams and play. Perhaps Finch would be amongst them. Or others would know how to locate him.

  I noticed a group of rough urchins playing catch nearby. Boys such as they were always hanging about the men who played town ball, begging for the honor of carrying their sticks and bags. Some of those I approached might well have performed this service for me in games past, but now they all eyed me warily. No doubt my high silk hat put them in mind of the day watchmen. Fearing they might bolt rather than deal with me, I scooped up a ball that had bounced near and began a game of catch and toss with them. One boy had a glove, so I smoked a few overhand tosses at him, which he failed to catch, and they all gathered around to see how I gripped the ball to make it curve so. There is nothing better to form trust between members of the male species than a shared sport, and I confess I threw myself into the impromptu fun of pitching and catching. Perhaps I have too much boy in me yet but no matter. Would regret losing the simple joy of play. And if one day I should be blessed with fine, healthy boys of my own to play ball with, it would fill my heart to its full measure.

  Remembered my purpose, stopped tossing the ball, and called the boys around me again. But rather than give them more pointers, I inquired about Lt. Finch. They not only knew who he was, but could appraise his strengths and weaknesses as a striker and runner in exacting detail. One boy mentioned he had seen the lieutenant just an hour ago, marching alone on the Mill Dam roadway. So there I went.

  Halfway across the long dam I spotted Finch staring at the boats bringing goods downriver. I strode toward him, and upon my approach he greeted me forthrightly. He told me he walked across the dam to Brookline and back most days as he had little else to do in his present state of unemployment. And it helped him stay fit.

  Fit the man certainly is. He is also trained as a soldier in the ways of killing and even knows the particulars of Indian scalping. If I had not been so prejudiced against Badger, I might have considered the lieutenant the prime suspect of Peck’s murder right off.Yet I liked the lieutenant and was still reluctant to see him as a murderer.

  He marveled over the chance occurrence of us meeting on the dam roadway, and I told him I often walked there for I had rooms nearby. He inquired if I could suggest places in the area where a single man could get cheap but wholesome meals, for he couldn’t stomach the slop served up at his boardinghouse and was near close to starving. I recommended an oyster house on Union Street, but he said he could not afford it. So I offered to treat him to dinner there forthwith. I too was near starving.

  In less than ten minutes we were being greeted by one of the establishment’s proprietors, Mr. Atwood, who ushered us toward the bar where I recognized Daniel Webster gulping down oysters. But I wished to engage Finch in private conversation and suggested a table in a quiet corner instead. We started off with a mound of raw oysters the size of plates, come direct from the harbor mudflats. I went at them with the shucking knife the waiter supplied, but Finch tossed his aside, declaring it too dull.

  “Request another,” I said.

  “No need.” He took from the inside of his coat sleeve what looked like a flat piece of horn. He snapped his wrist and a long, thin blade sprang out of it. “My flick knife shall do the job handily.”

  He proceeded to slip the blade between top and bottom shell and run it around the mollusk hemispheres with practiced precision. I could not help but imagine such a blade running around the top of poor Peck’s skull with the same smooth skill and ease. This did not dampen my appetite, however, and I did my best to match Finch oyster for oyster. But my shucking utensil was no match for his killer knife, which made his work so quick he beat me at least three to one. He really was a marvel to watch, slipping his blade into each oyster, slitting it open, severing the flesh from the shell, scooping it up with the tip of the knife and popping it into his mouth, all with the swiftness of a bird on the wing gulping an insect. After dispatching with heaps of oysters in the raw we went on to consume piles of them fried in batter, along with bowls of steamed Ipswich clams and roasted quahogs. All this washed down with sarsaparilla by me and with tumblers of brandy and water by Finch. ’Twas the brandy that loosened his tongue.

  “You did not attend Captain Peck’s funeral yesterday,” he commented to me.

  “No, I had business to see to here in Boston. And I was not his comrade as you were.”

  “We were comrades in arms only. Never friends. I served briefly under Captain Peck at Fort Cass, but I was transferred out west before the Cherokee removal. Peck came west later, and we got on well enough at Fort Laramie. We hunted buffalo together when the herds swung near the fort. Peck was a fine horseman but only a passing shot. Rumor was that he had profited mightily during his posting in Georgia, something to do with a gold mine but nothing specific. He acted at Laramie like he was now in the Army more for amusement than his having to make a career. Always had the best horse and latest repeating rifle and pistols and paid extra for comfortable quarters. He got too uppity to follow orders he didn’t like and resigned one day, Badger with him, as always.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Four years or thereabouts. His going was nothing to me till I decided to muster out myself and head back east. Upon arriving in Boston I met up with some soldiers at Fort Independence. They told me Peck had a fine place out in Plumford and looked to be making money hand over fist. So I rented me a horse and rode out there to see if my old captain might be in need of my services.”

  “What sort of services?” I asked.

  “I was willing to leave that up to Peck. When a man is making money hand over fist, he can surely afford to hire someone like me to help him take care of it.”

  “Do you know how Peck was making all this money?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, doctor.” Finch gave me a wolfish smile. “Do you expect to buy the answers with clam shells?”

  “I’ll buy you another brandy.”

  “I accept your kind offer.” After he was served he said, “As to how Peck made his money, all I know is that it had something to d
o with a Frenchy jeweler in Boston, same one who made those fine engravings we goggled in Peck’s study. Where did he find such limber ladies to model for him, I wonder.”

  “They were far too anatomically supple,” I said,“to be anything but figments of the artist’s imagination.”

  “Do you speak from medical or personal knowledge, Doctor?”

  “We are getting off the subject of Peck.”

  “Well, if anyone would know where to find such women, it would be him. Peck was always seeking out novel enticements. I expect that’s why the poor devil ended up with the pox.”

  “He told you of his ailment?”

  “He didn’t have to. I saw right off he had it bad and that it would do him no good to caterwaul about it. But caterwaul he did.You’d think he was the first man ever to perish from the pox.”

  “So you knew he was dying of it.”

  “I guessed as much. He looked god-awful, and he was suffering mightily.” Finch shrugged. “Could be his killer did him a favor by cutting short his torment.”

  “No,” I said.“I believe Peck’s killer wanted to torment him as much as possible. He scalped him alive and then dangled the scalp in front of his face!”

  “A pretty sight that must have been.” Finch laughed, and when I did not join him he said, “Come now, Dr. Walker. Surely a macabre sense of humor helps a man in your profession as well as in mine. Both soldiers and doctors see too much of death to be in awe of it.”

  “It is life I am in awe of,” I said. “And no one has the right to play God by cutting short the life of another, even to end his suffering.”

  “You think not?” Finch took a long sip from his tumbler. “Well, I will admit here and now that I have done so.”

  “Are you telling me you killed Peck?”

  He laughed again, turned his tumbler upside down, and arched an eyebrow. I got him another drink, and he continued. “No, I am not confessing to Peck’s murder, Doctor. The man I killed was a soldier out of Fort Laramie name of Jamie James. The young fool was in my patrol party and managed to get himself captured by crazy redskins during the night, most likely when he roamed off to relieve himself. We were awakened by his horrible screams in the distance, and my men wanted to rush off half-cocked to try and save him. Fearing an ambush, I ordered them to stay put and went out alone with my buffalo gun. It was real easy for me to find the redskins, and I am sure that was their intention. They had made camp not far from us, but it was across a deep ravine more than two hundred yards wide. Knowing we couldn’t get at ’em there, the devils felt safe to light a big bonfire and put on a show to taunt us. With much whooping and dancing, they were flaying poor Jamie alive. That’s right, Doctor. They were stripping flesh off his arms and legs like you’d peel the hide off a deer. I never doubted for a moment what I had to do. Laid down, steadied the long barrel of my gun on a stump, and shot a bullet across the ravine. It took off half Jamie’s head and gave him instant peace. Those damn savages scattered afore I could get off another shot, but leastways I’d put an end to their fun.”

  “That’s a horrible tale, Lieutenant.”

  “And a true one, I swear! Indians are the greatest of tormentors. Torture is an art with them, although Captain Peck was not so artfully dispatched.”

  “What could possibly be gained by such cruelty as that?”

  “Nothing by me,” Finch said. “Peck was worth far more to me alive than dead. He told me he was involved in a very lucrative enterprise and would cut me in on it if his business partner agreed. I was to replace Badger, who had mucked up somehow.”

  “Replace Badger doing what?”

  Finch shook his head. “Never got the chance to find out, which vexes me still. After Peck was murdered, I hoped to talk to the little banker about it, but he lit out before I could.”

  “I just saw Vail, and he claimed he knew nothing of Peck’s business affairs.

  “Well, he is a lying little buffalo chip. He and Peck were thick as thieves.”

  “You think they were involved in something unlawful?”

  “Peck told me as much.”

  “And you were still interested in working for him?”

  “Oh, I had some misgiving about it. I came east aiming to find honest work. But beggars cannot be choosers, and I learned in the Army that you must do what is most expedient for your survival.” He stared at me with cold hawk eyes but smiled as friendly as you please. “If you have any more questions I could do with more refreshment.”

  Once again I had his tumbler refilled to keep his tongue well-lubricated.

  “What did you think of the banker’s wife?” I asked him.

  He looked most pleased to tell me. “I thought her a very tasty piece of goods indeed. What a little darling she looked in all her silken ruffles and fine gold jewelry. I reckon it took both men to keep her in such grand style.”

  “Both men?”

  “Well, sure. Peck was as familiar with her charms as her husband. I could see that from twenty feet away, when I spied them in that little summerhouse of Peck’s. What did he call it?”

  “A belvedere. Perhaps he was simply showing Mrs. Vail the view it commanded.”

  “No, it was she who was showing him a view—that of her two snowy hillocks. She had unbuttoned her bodice for his delectation, yet Peck kept his hands to himself. He said they must refrain from such intimacy for he had something important to tell her. Then he bowed his head and fell silent. She urged him to go on, but all he did was hum and haw. When she buttoned up her bodice, I lost interest and went on.”

  “Do you think Peck was trying to tell Mrs. Vail that he had syphilis?”

  “I shouldn’t wonder that was his intention. Doubt he ever got his nerve up though. Ain’t an easy thing to tell a lady.”

  “She should know for her own good.”

  “Well, that’s not my concern.” Finch leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs beneath the table. He looked drowsy and no wonder. His belly was full of food and drink. “That belvedere was quite the stage, come to think of it, for I witnessed yet another scene that took place there.”

  “You are not referring to Peck’s murder, are you?”

  “Of course not. I would not have remained a mere onlooker if I had seen that nasty act unfold. What I saw and heard occurred the night before. If you would like, I will recount the scene to you, but my throat is somewhat dry.”

  I was beginning to wonder if he was just fabricating stories to keep me buying drinks for him, but the brandy at the Oyster House was cheap enough, and I had time enough to listen. So I ordered him yet another, and he began spouting off again.

  “When I showed up at Peck’s house, he did not seem too pleased to see me. And I was quite shocked at the sorry sight of him. But once we got drinking and talking of old skirmishes, we warmed up to each other again. Peck could no longer consume as much whiskey as he once did, though, and he cut short our reminiscences. He told me he was expecting another visitor. The more the merrier, said I. But he claimed he had a private matter to discuss with the other man and excused himself. Left alone in his parlor, I had nothing better to do than continue drinking, and soon enough the entire contents of the whiskey bottle had gone down my hatch. So I left the room to find either Peck or more drink in the house. Finding neither, I stumbled outside. It was a fine night, and I decided to take a little stroll. Ended up at that damn belvedere. I heard Peck’s voice coming forth from it, along with another man’s. Peck’s voice was pleading. The other’s was cold and angry.”

  “What did the other man look like?”

  “I could not make him out in the shadows.”

  “Well, what were they saying to each other?”

  “That I cannot recall. I believe I was more than a little drunk, you see.”

  “I see you are more than a little drunk now, Lieutenant. Perhaps you will not recall this conversation either.”

  He straightened up immediately and looked offended. “I hold my liquor far bette
r than most men and can remember anything I choose to. But I am not in the habit of eavesdropping on private conversations, Doctor. So I paid little mind to the one taking place in the belvedere.”

  “Yet it might have been between Peck and his future killer. What was the captain pleading for? And why was the other man so angry?”

  Finch rubbed his temples. “It is all at the edge of my mind, but I cannot get at it. I confess I was moon-eyed as a loon.”

  I wanted to reach across and shake the memory out of his brain. Then an idea blossomed in my head. “Will you allow me to hypnotize you, Lieutenant Finch?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what the blazes I would be allowing you to do exactly.”

  I realized he did not know what hypnotism was, and I explained the process to him as simply as possible.

  He still looked dubious. “You mean to say that by putting me to sleep you can get me to recall things I have no recollection of awake?”

  “More or less. I may at least be able to bring forth a memory fragment that could identify the man Peck was talking to so fervently. This mysterious visitor might have asked Peck to meet him again at the belvedere the next evening in order to kill him there.”

  Finch thought about it a moment. “If Peck’s killer is hiding in my head, I suppose I owe it to my old captain to try and flush him out. But I do not care to let my guard down in a public place such as this.”

  “I can hypnotize you in the privacy of my rooms. The family I board with is away this month, along with the help.”

  “So the house would be empty except for us?”

  I assured him it would be, and he offered to go there directly. But as we strode out of the restaurant he slipped on some clamshells strewn upon the sawdusted planks and, although his quick reflexes saved him from falling flat on his face, I realized he was far too inebriated to hypnotize. It might even do him harm. I told him as much and suggested we try the experiment the next day.