Summerfield Part 7

"A Jack-o'-lantern, may be, and may be somethin' wuss," said Colwell, rising.

"A ball of fire!--what can it be? see, it comes towards us!" added Uncle Walter.

"It's right where we found little Clinton's hat," cried Mrs. Fabens, pale with terror. "O, dear, what can it be? He couldn't have been murdered, my dear Clinton couldn't have been murdered, and that appeared to reveal his fate!"

"I'll warrant that's it!" answered t.e.e.zle. "Square Peasley seen a light, and heerd a gugglin' groan where the pedlar had his throat cut in Cloverdale, you know."

"See there! see there!--it comes nearer!--look at it now; it has eyes, and ears!--see its awful nose and mouth," cried Aunt Polly Waldron.

"What shall we do?" screamed Nancy Nimblet, all in a tremble. "It will hurt us!--it will kill us! where shall I go?"

"Be quiet, be calm, it cannot hurt you," said Fabens soothingly; "it can't hurt any one. G.o.d wouldn't let it."

"Awful!" shrieked Mr. and Mrs. Flaxman in one nasal; scream, "let us run, let us run!"

"It's an evil spirit," said Wilson.

"The old pot-metal Cuss himself has come for us!" cried Uncle Walter.

"If I know anything about the Devil, that's him; that's his head and ears, and eyes and teeth, I'll bet a turkey they are!"

"No, no, it cannot be an evil spirit or the Devil," said Fabens, calmly. "The Devil would not appear in such a form to us, and G.o.d will guard us from evil spirits."

An agony of terror shook the whole company. Stern and brave Uncle Walter, who could stand before wolves and bears; who could beard the fierce panther in his den, and count his snarling teeth,--even he believed in ghosts, and was afraid of sights and apparitions. It was a horrible object, spirit, devil, or whatever it might be. It looked like a ball of fire, and had features of a grim half-human thing, with huge ears, a wide mouth and grinning rows of monstrous teeth; and they fancied they saw a black body and long tail below it. As they gazed in a transport of terror, Fabens escaped un.o.bserved from the company, pa.s.sed softly around through the woods, and coming up behind the foul fiend, he grasped its dark form in his arms, and found as he suspected, that it was no other devil than little tantalizing Troffater, with a carved squash sh.e.l.l, set out with an ox's ears, on his head, bearing his idea of a devil's image, and lighted within by a brilliant candle!

The terror of the company soon subsided, and Fabens admonished them against yielding again to such senseless fears; while they all departed for their homes, and the poor transgressor was discharged with a reprimand so sharpened by kindness that it seemed to cleave his heart.

XI.

FABENS PROMOTED TO HONOR.

In four years more, the Waldron Settlement had grown to quite a colony; for the area of civilization extended from the Cayuga to the Owasco, and ten miles north and south; and though the population numbered several hundred families, and the inroads of fas.h.i.+on and pride began to be perceptible there, still it remained a neighborhood; and with few exceptions, the people exchanged neighborly offices and loves throughout the settlement.

The inhabitants now felt the importance of their flouris.h.i.+ng community, and made a movement to be organized into a towns.h.i.+p, and have town officers, and better regulations. That movement was successful, and the town took the name of Summerfield, and a warm and summer-green town it was as the Lake Country had to show.

Walter Mowry was elected the first Supervisor, and Matthew Fabens, the first Justice of the Peace.

At this late period, public offices are so plenty, and so often held by persons whose devotion to party, or whose failure in other pursuits is their only recommendation, that the plain and humble office of Justice of the Peace receives little respect, and would find few candidates, but for the lucrative interests which induce many to ask it. It was not so, forty years ago in the Lake Country. At that primitive period, that responsible office was given to no one who had not moral qualifications to recommend him; and the person who held it was honored as possessing capabilities equal to his duties, and holding along with these the affection and faith of the town.

When the organization was first proposed, and the several offices were named, the eyes of the settlement, with two or three exceptions, were turned to Fabens, as the man best qualified to administer justice and peace among them; and to elect him to that station was simply to say 'thus shall it be with the man whom we delight to honor.'

Of written laws, and their points and subtleties, Fabens confessed himself ignorant. c.o.ke and Blackstone were never on his shelves. He had read a stray leaf from Hooker, and these words were incorporated as so many notes of divine music in his soul--"No less can be said of Law, than that her seat is the bosom of G.o.d, her voice is the harmony of the world. All things in heaven and earth do her homage; the very least, as feeling her care; the greatest, as not exempted from her power.

Both angels and men, and creatures of whatsoever condition, though each in different sort and manner; yet each and all with uniform consent admiring her as the mother of their peace and joy;"--and this was his idea of law, and about all he had gathered on law from books.

And as for the responsibilities committed to his trust, he fain would have refused them, and proposed another candidate for the office; but knowing the simple principles of justice; having a heart attuned to the harmony of earth and heaven; having Peace as an angel dwelling in his soul; knowing and loving what was right and lovely between man and man, he discharged his duties with distinguished success, and his influence went far to lift up his people to the light and sphere of spiritual peace.

He still carried on the labors of his fine farm, with the duties of his office, and made his own private house the seat of that justice which once in a long while he was compelled to search out and sustain.

The manner and spirit of his administration were therefore patriarchal, as those which the poet describes of the venerable Albert, of Wyoming; and to the present day, traditions are preserved, and incidents related in that peaceful town, which prove the practical wisdom and eminent justice of "Old Squire Fabens."

Those early and eager pioneers of new countries, the lawyers, found their way to Summerfield; that is, two or three unruly members of the profession, while yet Squire Fabens held the wand of peace. They had not been long there, however, before they joined Troffater, Adonijah Nixon, and Simon Bogle, to oppose his administration; and made very desperate efforts to elect another in his stead.

As for the lawyers, we are not at all surprised by their opposition.

He destroyed their business, and they played as checks and interruptions of that harmony to which his life was tuned. And as for the troublesome little bandy Troffater, his ill-will was expected, as a real compliment to the wisdom and justice of the magistrate. We have heard of an Irishman at Donnybrook Fair, who was likely to be disappointed of his addicted battle, finding no one to answer his challenge; and who cried to the crowd, "I'll thank any gentleman, just once to tread on the tail o' my coat, that my sport may begin!" A similar character was Tilly Troffater, and never more thankful was he than when opportunity encouraged his quarrelsome mood; and never more amazed or provoked at the manner in which the laws were administered, than when his broils were suppressed while rising, and his litigations closed as soon as he began them.

The hardest thing, under heaven, did it seem for a lawsuit to make any progress, while Matthew Fabens was Justice of the Peace, in Summerfield. Pestilent Tilly was always scheming to provoke such evils, and was always threatening his neighbors with a lawsuit.

Sometimes he would come post-haste for a warrant, or summons, or attachment; again, he would be in hot distress to swear his life was in danger, or his squalid character was at stake; or his neighbor's pigs had rooted up a few weeds in his garden, or some mischievous boy had thrown a stone through a paper pane of his window; or mounted his most personable scare-crow on his chimney-top, arrayed in a potato necklace, and holding a dead snake in hand; or he had secrets to disclose which would reveal astounding villanies, that threatened the peace of the town.

But it had always been his misfortune to fail of his designs. Not a sc.r.a.p of a warrant or other process could he obtain. Not the lisp of a word or oath would the good Squire take from his lying lips. "Get rid of your pa.s.sion; go home, and work, and help me keep the peace," was Fabens' reply to all quarrelsome fellow-citizens.

And yet, the happy fortune to sustain his long administration, without having to confess a case of law had been brought to trial before him, was not reserved for Squire Fabens. Numberless little difficulties had been dragged into notice by three or four uncomfortable bodies, who sought the excitement of a quarrel to rally the lagging pleasures of indolence; and a few of these demanded his attention. But he had ever found it for the good of the parties in trouble, as for the general welfare, and his own satisfaction, to calm the raging waters of pa.s.sion, by counsel, kind and wise; reconcile the antagonists, and bring them to an amicable peace, without the sifting of testimony, and the labors of litigation.

XII.

A LAWSUIT.

At length a crime was committed in Summerfield, which a summary process could not despatch, and a sense of duty impelled Squire Fabens to permit it to be tried before him, that the offender might receive his punishment, and be set forth as an example of warning to all evil-doers. One afternoon in August, when farmers had finished their wheat harvest, and were enjoying a few days of relaxation before seeding their fallows with winter grain, Simon Bogle came all in a hot hurry to the Justice, for a warrant against Jared Sculpin, and--"Are you certain," asked Fabens, after hearing his long and incoherent story, and learning the name of the accused neighbor, "are you certain that your log-chain was not mislaid, or dropped in some place where the leaves might have covered it? This is a very serious charge for neighbor to bring against neighbor. You ought to be very certain that it was stolen, Mr. Bogle, before you accuse any one."

"Certain!" cried Bogle; "I couldn't be more so, I guess, if I'd seen it took, with my own eyes, I guess. The neighbors all talk about it too, I guess. And there's--"

"But there ought to be no guess-work in this case. Are you not wronging Mr. Sculpin, to charge him with the theft, unless some competent witness will say he saw him take it, or you can prove the chain found in his possession is yours, while he fails to show, in defence, that you did not lend it to him?"

"Lend it to 'im!--Lend it to 'im, eh? Mercy knows, I wouldn't lend 'im a halter to hang himself, since he blunted my iron wedges, and broomed up my beetle so! And I guess, you wouldn't talk about lendin', if the chain had been hooked from you!"

"But I don't like this hurry and pa.s.sion you manifest. Get rid of this before you think of bringing a neighbor to justice. We become criminal ourselves just so far as we harbor pa.s.sion and vengeance while calling criminals to account."

"Wal, will ye give me a warrant? tell me that," said Bogle in a huff.

"Tell me, Square, if you'll give me a warrant. Cause I _ken_ go to Semp.r.o.nus, I guess, and git one of Square Moss, if ye don't."

"I tell you this, neighbor Bogle," replied Squire Fabens. "This is a very serious affair you have brought before me. I want time to consider it, and you must go home and think it all over calmly, and sleep on it; and then if you think something must be done in law, come to me to-morrow with your witnesses, and we'll see what must be done."

"Jest as I expected," cried Bogle, turning on his heel in a swelling rage. "Jest as I expected. You're as fit for a Square as my dog Pomp--jest about! I'll go to Square Moss. Ye needn't trouble yourself any more. He'll give me a warrant, I guess. And if I don't vote agin you next year, then my name aint Simon Bogle!"

Away he trudged in a gnas.h.i.+ng rage, muttering back his threats and reproaches, and Fabens turned into the house and enjoyed his early tea.

By the time Bogle was home, however, he had altered his mind, and went and consulted his witnesses, and ascertained more definitely what was surmised, and what could be proved. Pa.s.sing Troffater's on his way, that incarnate mischief came out, and hailed him, saying, "Here, ho!

Bogle--h.e.l.lo there! How d'ye dew? come back, come back, and see a feller! Don't be scornful!"

"I aint scornful. I'm in a hurry," grumbled Bogle.

"Wal, come back a minute--a man broke his neck in a hurry. What you goin' to dew with Sculpin, eh? He hooked your log-chain, I heern,"

said Troffater.

"I'm goin' to see Square Fabens agin to-morrow, and try and fetch the feller to justice. Sculpin _may_ be sorry for this. I know what I ken prove," said Bogle.