The Haunted Homestead Part 29

The marshal called upon the militia and the city guards to turn out and muster around the scaffold to insure the safe custody of the prisoners and the execution of the sentence.

The scaffold was erected upon a gentle elevation, on the west suburb of the city. A crowd of many thousands, each moment augmented, was gathered upon the ground. But the two companies of militia made a way through this forest of human beings, and formed around the foot of the scaffold.

It was about eleven o'clock that the prisoners were placed in a close van, in company with the marshal and a clergyman, and escorted by a detachment of the city guards, were driven to the place of execution.

The presence of the guards was needed to force a pa.s.sage through the compact and highly-excited crowd. The prison van was kept carefully closed, and the condemned with their attendants remained invisible until the procession had pa.s.sed safely through that stormy sea of human beings and gained the security of the hollow square formed by the bayonets of the militia around the scaffold.

The van drew up at the foot of the steps leading to the platform. The police officer that stood behind the vehicle jumped down and opened the door, and handed out the prisoners, who were followed closely by the marshal and the clergyman.

The marshal immediately took charge of Governor, to lead him up the stairs.

The clergyman drew Valentine's arm within his own, to follow.

And the police officer was joined by the deputy marshal, who brought up the rear.

And so the sad procession ascended those fatal stairs--Governor in a deep stupor, or looking as if he did not understand what all this pageant meant; Valentine with grave composure, as if he felt the awful solemnity of the moment, and was prepared to meet it. The scaffold was very high, and was reached by a flight of more than twenty steps.

When the prisoners and their escort gained the platform they stood in full view of every individual of that vast concourse of people. Their appearance was hailed by acclamation from the mult.i.tude below, and huzzas of encouragement or defiance, shouts of derision and cries of sympathy were mingled in one indistinguishable _melee_ of noise.

The prisoners were not prematurely clad in the habiliments of the grave, as is usual upon such occasions, but were attired in ordinary citizen's dress.

Governor wore his best Sunday suit of "pepper and salt" casinet, and looked a huge, shapeless figure of a negro, in which the sooty skin could scarcely be distinguished from the sooty clothes.

Valentine looked very well, though pale and worn. He wore a suit of black broadcloth, with a white cravat and gloves, and his natural ringlets were arranged with that habitual regard to order and neatness which was with him a second nature.

Valentine held in his hands the ma.n.u.script address that he wished to make to the a.s.sembly. He had been promised by the authorities an opportunity of delivering this address, before the parting prayers should be said. He stood now with his copy in his hand, only waiting for the noise to subside before his commencing. Governor stood by his side, in stolid insensibility.

But Valentine had been deceived to the last moment. He was not to be permitted to deliver his address; the authorities feared too much its exciting effect upon the tumultuous a.s.sembly below. The marshal had received his instructions, and had given private orders to his deputy and a.s.sistants.

Valentine was still letting his eyes rove over the "mult.i.tudinous sea"

of heads, waiting for a calm in which he might be heard, when his eye fell upon Major Hewitt, who had been absent all day at the capital, and had but just returned from his last fruitless attempt to move the Executive in behalf of the condemned, and who, without leaving his saddle, had ridden up at once to the scene of execution. He could not penetrate the crowd, but remained on horseback on its outskirts. At the same moment the figure of Major Hewitt caught the eye of Governor, and roused him from the torpor of despair into which he had fallen--roused him to an agony of entreaty, and, stretching out his arms to his master, he cried, with a loud voice that thrilled to the hearts of all present:

"Oh, marster! I allus looked up to you as if you were my father and my G.o.d! Save me now! save me from under the gallows! Oh, marster----"

Major Hewitt turned precipitately and galloped away from the scene.

The condemned were not aware that they stood upon the fatal trapdoor.

They did not notice, either, that, at a signal from the marshal, the attending clergyman stepped aside and the deputy and a.s.sistants gathered in a little group behind. Governor still had his arms extended in wild entreaty after his flying master, and Valentine was still waiting for silence, when suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, their arms were bound, the cords slipped over their heads, the caps drawn over their eyes, the spring of the bolt touched, and, without one instant's warning, or one word of prayer or benediction, they fell, and swung beneath sky and earth.

"In the name of Heaven! why have you done this thing?" asked the terribly-shocked minister, who was altogether unprepared for the suddenness of the execution.

"In another five minutes an attempt would have been made at rescue,"

answered that official.

This tragedy spoiled the Christmas festivities of many more than were immediately connected with the sufferers. If the reader cares to follow the sad fortunes of the survivors, I have only to tell them that Phaedra outlived her son but one short month; and Mrs. Waring kindly took Fannie and her child away from the scene and a.s.sociations of their calamity, to her own quiet and beautiful country home in East Feliciana. Major Hewitt is a "sadder," and, let us hope, "a wiser man," since he no longer closes his ears to the complaints of his suffering people.

One word more. The tragic story in which I have endeavored to interest you is, in all its essential features, strictly true. Not that I mean to say that in all the scenes word followed word precisely in the order here set down, though generally the language used has been faithful to the letter, and always to the spirit of the facts. Valentine and Governor lived, suffered, sinned, and finally together died, for the causes and in the manner related. My means of minute information were very good. The tragedy occurred but a few years ago, in a neighborhood with which I am familiar. It excited at the time great local interest, but never probably got beyond "mere mention" in any but the local papers. In relating it I have delivered "a round, unvarnished tale," and have not colored the truth with any advent.i.tious hue of fancy. The subject was too sacred, in its dark sorrow, for such trifling. Only, for the sake of some survivors, a change of names and a slight change of localities has been deemed proper.

THE SPECTRE REVELS.

TALE OF ALL HALLOW EVE.

Black spirits and white, Blue spirits and gray, Mingle, mingle, mingle, Ye that mingle may.--SHAKESPEARE.

O'er all these hung a shadow and a fear!

A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, That said as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is haunted!--THOMAS HOOD.

"Did I ever see a ghost, friends? Um-m--Well! ghost is not the modern name for such an apparition. It is called 'imagination,' 'optical illusion,' fancy, fever, or something else--never 'ghost,' which makes no difference in the nature of the thing, however. 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' Yes! I have--I have gone through more than seeing them--I have known them!"

"Ghosts?"

"No, I repeat to you the term is obsolete--optical illusions. Though to be sure the ghostly experience that has left the deepest impression upon my mind--and that this anniversary especially recalls, was no optical illusion."

"What! was it a real ghost story, though? and did it happen to you?"

"You shall hear."

It was the thirty-first of October, All Hallow's Eve, a ghostly season, as every one properly posted in ghostly lore knows very well. A dreary storm of rain and wind was beating against the windows; but the fire on the old sitting-room hearth was burning warmly, the candles were not yet lighted, our father, the pastor, had not returned from a sick call, and with a delightful show of expectation we all gathered around the fire to hear Aunt Madeleine's ghost story.

It is now more years than I care to remember, she began, since we moved from the old forest of St. Mary's, up to the town of W.

Our family then consisted of our grandmother, Mrs. Hawkins, my sister Alice (your mother, dears), and two old family servants, Hector and his wife Ca.s.sandra.

That removal was the first great memorable epoch in my own and my sister's lives. We had never seen anything approaching nearer to a town than the little hamlet of St. Inigoes, and though W. was just exactly the drowsiest old city that ever slept through centuries and slept itself to death, yet to us, coming from the forest farm, it seemed a very miracle of life, enterprise and excitement.

We reached our home in Church street just about the last of October.

At first the change was delightful to us. We were never weary of exploring the streets and reading the signs, and--as we gained confidence and ventured into the shops--of examining the marvelous treasures of silks and satins and laces and jewelry and china, and "all that's bought and sold in city marts."

I recall the first six months of our residence in W., while the novelty still lasted and all was beautiful illusion, and think that no mere worldly event can ever give me such true pleasure again.

Ally and I told each other over and over again that "the city was the true Arcadia!" that there all poetry, romance and adventure was to be found, and that it was like scenes in the "Arabian Nights."

We were never weary of exploring new quarters--even the narrow, squalid lanes and alleys with their dilapidated houses and ragged denizens, had a grotesque attraction for us--and often we would stand gazing at some wretched tenement, with falling timbers and stuffed windows, and speculate about the life of the people within.

And besides the wonders of treasures and pleasures--there was the daily recurring astonishment at the convenience of the place.

We could scarcely get used to the idea that when we wanted a skein of silk or a paper of needles, it was only necessary to go across the street, or around the corner to get them, instead of putting the mare to the gig and riding seven miles to the nearest store; or that when we went out to tea, we had only to walk a square or so, instead of driving from three to ten miles; or that we might stay out until bedtime, instead of ordering the horses to start for home at sunset.

And then the comfort of being able to walk out dry shod over the clean pavement, in all weathers, instead of in the winter being obliged to ride in a carriage, plunging axletree deep through lanes of mud and water, or worse still, being weather-bound by the state of the roads.