The Lost Hunter

by John Turvill Adams

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  _Armado_.--By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person: thou wert immured, captivated, bound.

  _Costard_.--True, true, and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose.

  _Armado_.--I give thee thy liberty, set thee free from durance; and in lieu thereof impose on thee nothing but this.

  LOVE'S LABOR LOST.

  By the time the court had concluded its session it was eight o'clockin the evening. It was quite dark, and the snow was falling heavily.When, therefore, the constable stepped into the street, holding hisprisoner by the arm, it is not surprising that he encountered but fewpassengers. Those whom he did meet had their hats or caps slouchedover their brows, which were bending down upon their breasts toprotect the face from the driving snow. It was impossible, so thickwere the flakes, to see more than a few feet before one. It was afortunate circumstance, inasmuch, at least, as it saved the Reclusefrom the humiliation of being seen by his townsmen.

  The workhouse was situated at the distance of nearly a mile from thecentre of the village, on a little farm of some twenty acres, andstood several rods apart from any inhabited house. It was the half ofa large unpainted wooden building divided into two sections, the otherhalf of which was used as an alms-house, and might be considered as asort of auxiliary or ally of the county jail, to receive those minoroffenders whom the dignity of the latter rejected.

  The road Basset had to travel passed over the lower bridge of theYaupaae, next went up a hill, and then suddenly turning, skirted thelake-like expanse of water, on which the building was situated. Inorder, however, to reach the house, it was necessary to leave the mainroad and pass down a lane of some twenty rods in length.

  Together the pair proceeded through the driving snow, Basset keepinghold of Holden, who walked meekly by his side. The fatalism of thelatter seemed to have taken entire possession of his mind, and heprobably regarded his sufferings as a necessary part of the designsof Providence, which it would be as wicked as vain to resist. Theconstable had repeatedly endeavored to engage his companion inconversation, striving to comfort him with the opinion, that thekeeper of the quasi jail was a "clever man," and that people did notfind it as bad as they expected, and a week would quickly pass away."In winter," said Basset, "when it's hard to get work, I've knownmany a likely young fellow do some trick on purpose to be put into theworkhouse till spring; so it can't be the worst place in the world."Basset stretched the truth a little. He might have known or heard ofpersons, who, in order to obtain warmth, and food, and shelter duringthat inclement season, had committed petty crimes, but such instanceswere exceedingly rare, and the offenders were anything but "likelyfellows." But Basset must be excused his leasing, for he felt lonely,and longed to hear the sound of a human voice, and failing that ofanother, was fain to put up with his own as better than none. ButHolden steadily resisted all the advances of the constable, refusingto reply to any question, or to take notice of anything he mightsay, until the latter, either wearied out by the pertinacity of hiscaptive, or vexed by what he considered sullenness or arrogance,himself relapsed into silence.

  They had crossed the bridge, passed up the hill, and traversed theroad along the margin of the Yaupaae, and were now just entering thelane that runs down to the house. The storm was raging with unabatedfury, and the constable, with clenched teeth, and bent head, andhalf-shut eyes, was breasting the driving flakes, and congratulatinghimself with the idea that his exposure would soon be over, and heby the side of a warm stove in one of the stores, the hero of theevening, recounting the adventures of the day and comfortably takinghis cheerful glass, when suddenly, without having seen a person, hiscap was violently pulled over his eyes, a thick coffee-bag slippedover his head, and a hand applied to his throat to stifle any cries,should he be disposed to make them. But the poor fellow was too muchfrightened to emit a sound, had he been never so much inclined toscream.

  "Make no noise," said a stern but disguised voice, "and you are safe.No injury is designed. I will lead you. Follow quietly."

  The man grasped his arm, and led him, as it seemed, out of thetravelled path into an adjoining field, for he was directed to lifthis feet at a particular spot, and in doing so, struck them againstwhat were evidently wooden bars, such as are everywhere to be found inNew England, at the entrances to the stone wall encircled lots. Theywere followed by Holden, and, as the constable judged, from the slightsounds he succeeded in occasionally catching, by another person.When his captor seemed to think he was in a place where he would beunlikely to be disturbed by a casual passer, he stopped and demandedthe key to the handcuffs. Every movement of the constable must havebeen narrowly watched during the evening, for, as he hesitated, eitherconfused by the unexpected capture, and forgetful of where he hadplaced the key, or desirous to gain time in the hope that help mightarrive--whatever might have been the motive, no time was granted, thesame stern voice instantly adding,

  "The key is in the right pocket of your pantaloons: give it to me atonce."

  With a trembling hand, the constable produced the key from his pocket,and was confirmed, by what followed, in the belief that his captormust have a coadjutor, for he still kept his hold, and uttered thesingle word "here," as if addressing another, and handing him the key.Presently, the handcuffs were thrown down at his feet, and he thoughthe could detect the sound of receding footsteps. His captor thendemanded the mittimus, which he tore into small pieces, and scatteredaround. In this condition muffled so that he could hardly breathe,with a desperado, or he knew not how many at his side, who, at theleast attempt to make an outcry, might do him some bodily injury orperhaps murder him, the next quarter of an hour seemed a whole dismalnight to the unfortunate Basset. At the expiration of that time, hisguard addressed him again, and in the same carefully feigned voice:

  "You are in my power, and who would know it were I to leave yourcorpse to stiffen on the snow? But I bear you no ill will, and haveno intention to hurt you. I would not harm a hair of your head. I willnot subject you even to the inconvenience of having these fetters onyour wrists, though you were unfeeling enough to place them on a man,the latchet of whose shoes you are unworthy to unloose. Be thankfulfor the forebearance, and show that you know how to appreciate it.Mark what I say. Remain where you are, nor venture to remove thecovering for half an hour. It will keep you warm. Return then to yourhome, nor seek to discover either Holden or who rescued him, and beassured he was not privy to the intention to release him. Remember,remember. Eyes will be upon you. Good night!" So saying, the unknowndeparted and left the stupefied constable like a statue, rooted to thespot.

  There he remained, not daring to stir or to remove the uncomfortablehead-dress--for by what unseen dangers he was surrounded he knewnot--until, as he supposed, the half hour was more than passed. ThenBasset cautiously and slowly raised his hand to his head, as if tointimate that if any one were watching and wanted him to desist, hewas ready to do so, and hearing no sound, proceeded to divest himselfof the hood. He looked around but could see nothing; the falling snoweffectually shut out all objects from sight. He tried to move, butstiff with cold his limbs refused their office, and he nearlyfell down. He took a step forward and his feet struck against thehandcuffs. He stooped down and picked them up, comforting himself withthe reflection, that bad as was his case, it might have been worse hadthey been transferred to his wrists. He strove to peer into the fallensnow, to discover, if possible, any tracks, but except his own justmade none were distinguishable. The snow had already obliterated them.Faint and weary, and frozen, and vexed and frightened, the melancholyBasset turned his face to the village, not among his cronies with boldbrow and loud voice to boast of his achievements, and by the aid ofJohn Barleycorn to screw his courage up to a fabulous pitch, but withdrooping crest and dejected spirits to slink to his bachelor's bed,and dream of banditti all the night.

  A sadder, if not a wiser man

  "He rose the morrow morn."

  N
ot a word spoke he the next day of his misadventure, until it havingbeen ascertained that Holden had not been at the workhouse, inquirywas made respecting his non-appearance. The constable was then obligedto confess the truth, which his captors, as if defying discovery,had not enjoined him to conceal. Faithful to his instructions, heexculpated Holden from all blame, praising him for his submissivenessto the law, expressing his conviction that the old man knew nothing ofthe intentions of his captors, nor whether they were friends orfoes. Notwithstanding the reluctance of the constable, the indignantJustice, in the first ebullition of his anger, made out anothermittimus, which he almost forced into the other's unwilling hands, andcommanded him to arrest the fugitive, wherever he might find him, bynight or by day, on the Lord's Day or on any other day, were the placethe Sanctuary itself.

  But the rescue had diverted public attention from the Solitary intoanother channel, and the community had not a stock of indignationsufficient, like the Justice, to expend on Holden as well as on hisrescuers. It appeared, even to the few who were originally in favorof his arrest, that he had suffered enough, satisfied as they were,as well from his behavior they had witnessed as from the report of theconstable, that he had in no respect contributed to his freedom, butwas rather compelled to accept it, and therefore attaching no blame tohim for the escape. The resentment of the citizens was now transferredto the daring offenders, who, with a strong hand, had interposedbetween the sentence and the execution of the law, and this lastoffence, as being of so much greater magnitude than Holden's, cast itquite into the shade. Who were they? Who would have the audacity, inthe midst of a law-loving and law-abiding people, to trample on thelaws and defy the State? The constable could give no information. Hehad not even seen a person. He had only heard a voice he never heardbefore. Ought not some persons to be arrested on suspicion? Who shouldthey be? Who were obnoxious to suspicion? The friends of the Solitarywere among the most respectable people in the place. Would it be safeto proceed against them? There would be some hazard in the experiment.They would be sure to defend themselves to the uttermost, and ifsuccessful as they probably would be, would make the movers in thematter rue their officiousness.

  Of such a nature were the various questions discussed around thehearths, and in the bank and shops of the little town of Hillsdale.The excitement was a perfect god-send to stir the sluggish blood ofwinter. Above all it was attractive for the mystery that invested it.But we will leave the village gossips to beat the air with their idlespeculations.