"But, perhaps he wasn't in the house at all," persisted Ba.s.set; "it was plaguy dark, and perhaps he heard us coming and hid himself outside on purpose to play the trick and take an unfair advantage on us."

"You'll never make me believe that story," said Gladding, shaking his head. "I'd as soon believe it was me as the old man. Prime and me are of the same opinion, and we should both be witnesses agin you."

The two, at this stage of the conversation, reached the door of the grocer's shop, into which we will not follow them, but turn our attention elsewhere.

Meanwhile, the cause of all this excitement was quietly pursuing the ordinary tenor of his life. It will have been observed that when Ba.s.set attempted to arrest him, Holden did not even inquire with what offence he was charged, unless demanding the production of the warrant may be considered so, and that upon the constable relinquishing his purpose, he turned away without giving any attention to the observations addressed to him. It is not probable that his design was to avoid the service of process, all unconscious as he was of any violation of the laws of the State; and certain it is he made not the slightest difference in his habits. As before, he pursued his occupation of basket-making at his hut and his recreations of fishing and strolling through the woods, as though no such formidable character as Ba.s.set was in existence. If he did not appear in the village it was an accidental circ.u.mstance, it being only at irregular intervals that he ever made his appearance there. Thus, then, pa.s.sed a week longer; the petulant constable on the watch, and the steady malignity of Davenport gradually becoming impatient for gratification.

But the little drama had a course of its own to run.

One morning Primus saw the tall figure of Holden pa.s.sing his cabin.

The veteran was at the window smoking his pipe when the Recluse first came in sight. A secret must have been very closely kept, indeed, in the village, not to come to his ears, and the warlike equipment and intentions of Ba.s.set were well known to him. "Dere he come," said the negro to himself, "jist like a fly flying into de spider-web. I guess I gib him warning." With this benevolent intention, Primus went to the door, and as Holden approached, addressed him with the salutation of the morning. It was courteously acknowledged, and the General commenced as if he wished to engage in a conversation.

"Beautiful wedder dis marning, Missa Holden."

"Old man, thy days are too short to be wasted in chattering about the weather," said Holden. "Speak, if thou hast aught to say."

The General's attempt at familiarity was effectually checked, and he felt somewhat chagrined at the reply; but for all that he would not give up his friendly purpose.

"Dey say," he said, with military precision, "dat de Constable Ba.s.set hab a warrant agin Missa Holden."

"Thanks, Primus," said Holden, resuming his walk, "but I fear the face of no man."

"De obstinate pusson!" exclaimed the negro. "And den to talk about my short day! Dat is bery onpleasaut. Short day, Missa Holden, eh? Not as you knows on. I can tell you dis child born somewhere about de twenty ob June (at any rate de wedder was warm), and mean to lib accordingly.

Oh, you git out, Missa Holden! Poor parwa.r.s.e pusson! What a pity he hab no suspect for de voice ob de charmer! I always hear," he added, chuckling, in that curious, mirth-inspiring way so peculiar to the blacks, "dat de black snake know how to charm best, but all sign fail in dry wedder, and de pan flash in de powder dis time."

Holden paid not the least regard to the information. According to his system of fatalism he would have considered it beyond his power to alter the predetermined course of things, but it is not probable that his mind dwelt upon the thought of personal security. He went straight forward to the village, calling at places where he thought he would most likely find customers for his wares, and in no respect avoiding public observation. He had sold his baskets, and was on his return to the river, over whose frozen surface lay his road home, when he beheld a scene that solicited his attention and arrested his steps.

It was an Indian burial. Holden in his round had strolled as far as the piece of table land, of which mention was made in the first chapter, to a distance of nearly a mile from the head of the Severn, and was at the moment opposite a spot reserved by the tribe, of which a small number were lingering in the neighborhood, as the revered resting-place of the bones of their ancestors, whence they themselves hoped to start for the happy hunting grounds. It was a place of singular beauty, selected apparently with a delicate appreciation of the loveliness of the scenery, for nowhere else in the vicinity was there so attractive a combination of hill and dale, and wood and water, to compose a landscape.

The little burying-ground, shorn of its original dimensions by the encroachments of the fatal race that came from the rising sun, contained less than half an acre, and was situated at the top of a ravine, running down from the level land, on which the gravestones were erected, to the Yaupaae, where that river expands itself into a lake. The sides of the ravine, along its whole sweep upwards, was covered quite to the top with immense oaks and chestnuts, the growth of centuries, interspersed with ash trees, while in the colder and moister part in the centre, the smooth-barked birch threw out its gnarled branches. There was no undergrowth, and under and between the limbs of the trees, the eye caught a view towards the south of the widened Yaupaae and of the islands that dotted its surface, with hills sweeping round in a curve, and presenting an irregular outline like that made by the backs of a school of porpoises. Towards the three other quarters of the compa.s.s, a level plain extended for a short distance, and then was broken up into an undulating surface which rose into eminences covered with woods that hemmed in the whole. The falls of the Yaupaae were at a distance of only a few rods, but invisible, being hidden by the plain that occupied the intervening s.p.a.ce, at an elevation of some forty feet higher than the point where the river, rushing down its rocky bed, made its presence known by a ceaseless roar, and seemed to chant a dirge over the vanished greatness of the tribe.

Here were a.s.sembled some sixty or seventy Indians to perform the rights of sepulture to one of their number. No vestige of their original wildness was to be traced among them. They were clothed in the garments of civilization, but of a coa.r.s.e and mean quality, and appeared broken down and dispirited. One half, at least, were women, and at the moment of which we are speaking they were collecting together from among the blue slate gravestones, where they had been dispersed, around a newly dug grave. The rites were of a Christian character, and performed by an elder of one of the neighboring churches, who offered up a prayer, on the conclusion of which he retired. The grave was immediately filled, and then commenced a ceremony of a singular character.

At a given signal the a.s.sembled company began with slow and measured steps, and in silence, to encircle the grave. It must have been a custom peculiar to the tribe, at least we do not recollect seeing it alluded to by any traveller or describer of Indian manners, and consisted in walking one after the other around the grave, in the manner called Indian file, and recounting the good qualities of the departed; nor was it considered permissible to leave until something had been said in his praise. The Indians walked round and round in unbroken silence, each one modestly waiting, as it seemed at first, for another to speak. But no one begun, and it soon became evident that some other cause than modesty restrained their speech. Thus, with downcast eyes, or casting side long glances at each other, as in expectation of the wished-for eulogy, and with the deepest gravity, they followed round and round, but still with sealed lips. The defunct must have been a strange being to deserve no commendation. Could it be? Did he possess no one good quality by which he could be remembered? Had he never done a kind act? Could he not hunt, or fish, or make baskets, or plant corn, or beans, or potatoes? Surely he must have been able to do something. Had it never happened that he did some good by mistake? Perhaps that would answer the purpose. Or had he been the mere shape and appearance of a man, and nothing more? He had vanished like a shadow; was he as unsubstantial? Were they not mistaken in supposing he had lived among them! Had he been a dream?

Confused thoughts like these pa.s.sed through the simple minds of the rude race, as with tired steps they followed one another in that weary round. But was there to be no cessation of those perpetual gyrations?

Yet no gesture, no devious step betrayed impatience. On they went, as if destined to move thus for ever. Looks long and earnest began now to be cast upon the new-made hillock, as if striving to draw inspiration thence, or reproaching its tenant with his unworthiness. No inspiration came, and gradually the steps became slower and more languid, yet still the measured tread went on. A darker and darker cloud settled on their weary faces, but they could not stop; the duty was too sacred to remain unfulfilled. They could not leave without a word to cheer their friend upon his way, and yet the word came not.

When would some one speak? Who would relieve them from the difficulty?

At length the countenance of an old squaw lighted up, and in low tones she said, "He was a bery good smoker." The welcome words were instantly caught up by all, and with renewed strength each one moved on, and rejoicing at the solution of the dilemma, exclaimed, "He was a bery good smoker." The charm had taken effect; the word of affectionate remembrance was spoken; the duty performed; and each with an approving conscience could now return home.

What thin part.i.tions divide the mirthful from the mournful, the sublime from the ridiculous! At the wedding we weep, and at the funeral we can smile.

Holden who had been standing with folded arms leaning against the rail fence that enclosed the yard, and contemplating the ceremonies till the last Indian departed, now turned to leave, when the constable with a paper in one hand approached, and touching Holden with the other, told him he was his prisoner. The Solitary asked no questions, but waving his hand to the constable to advance, followed him in silence.

CHAPTER XVII.

"If it please your honor, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow. I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honor two notorious benefactors."

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

The efforts of the Solitary's friends to ward off the blow were unavailing, and the perseverance of the constable was crowned with success. Of course it was impossible for Holden to walk through the streets of Hillsdale with such a companion without attracting observation. Long before he reached the office, where he was to have his trial, a crowd of idle boys was gathered at his heels, attending in a sort of triumphal procession, and wondering what was to be done with the prisoner. Ba.s.set had need of all his natural dignity, and more than he could a.s.sume besides, to keep the little mob in tolerable order. It is true the conduct of Holden, who, to the great astonishment of the constable, followed him like a lamb to the slaughter, made the task less difficult.

The place to which he was taken was no other than the office of Ketchum, it not being usual for justices to have offices of their own, the amount of business not warranting such an expense. On occasions like the present it was customary for the lawyer who took charge of the case to supply the court-room, and this, of course, was his own office, as the most convenient place where law books and other necessary instruments were at hand. Here, then, Holden was left by the constable with Ketchum, the officer of the law meanwhile proceeding to hunt up Squire Miller. During his absence, Ketchum addressed some remarks to the prisoner, and endeavored to engage him in conversation, but without success, Holden receiving his advances with coldness, and evidently averse to establish the relation of even speaking acquaintanceship. Ketchum finding all efforts vain, at last desisted, and Holden sat in silence, brooding over his own thoughts.

Upon Ba.s.set's return, he was accompanied not only by the justice, but also by Pownal, who had accidentally heard of the arrest, and by two or three other persons attracted by curiosity. Pownal immediately walked up to his friend, and, grasping his hand, expressed his interest, and tendered his services.

"I know not," said Holden, in reply to his expressions of sympathy, "why I am to be made a gazing-stock for curious eyes; but the Lord's will be done."

Pownal requested to see the warrant, and for the first time learned the nature of the accusation; he then sent a messenger after Mr.

Tippit, and that gentleman, in compliance with the summons, soon made his appearance. Him Pownal engaged to defend the prisoner. By this time the little office was filled with an inquisitive crowd, eager to hear the eloquence of the counsel, and to watch the vibrations of the scales of justice, among whom Judge Bernard might be seen seated by the side of the prisoner. Any person entered and departed as he pleased, the room being, for the time of the trial, converted into a public place; and while preparations were being made preliminary to the opening of the court, the spectators amused themselves with making observations to each other.

"What have they took Holden up for?" said a man to Mr. Davenport, who, of course, was present.

"I hear it is for profane speaking and reviling," answered Davenport.

"If everybody was to have his desarts," said our friend, Tom Gladding, squirting a stream of tobacco juice over the floor, "I guess, some others would be worse off," and he looked sharply at Davenport.

"It is time such things should be punished," said Davenport. "People begin to act as if there was no law in the country."

"Don't you be quite so hard on a fellow," said Tom. "I recollect the time before you were convarted, squire, when you swore like a trooper."

The face of Davenport faded into a dusky grey with anger, and he looked as if he would have liked to annihilate the audacious Tom, but, by a violent effort, controlling his pa.s.sion, he said:

"I trust the Lord has forgiven me the sin."

"I hope he has," said Tom, "and seems to me it would be a good thing for Squire Miller to follow his example."

"Suppose you tell him so," said Davenport, sarcastically.

"Well, seeing as how you're so pressing," said Gladding "I don't care if I do. Squire," he cried, addressing the Justice, and drawing the attention of all to himself, "here's Squire Davenport says, he expects the Lord's forgive his cussing and swearing, and thinks you'd better do as well by Father Holden, and let him run."

A general shout of laughter greeted this speech of Gladding's, and there were exclamations of "Well said, Tom," and "He had him, there,"

and "Who would have thought that of Davenport?"

The unfortunate victim glared, with fury in his eyes, at Tom, who, interpreting his looks to suit himself, cried--

"He's coming, Squire, to speak for himself."

Davenport here protested, he had said no such thing, and that it was a shame he should be abused by a scurrilous fellow, in such a manner.

"What's that you say?" said Gladding, stepping up to Davenport; "I'm no more squirrilous, than you are yourself; though, for that matter, there ain't a squirrel on a walnut tree, but would be ashamed to be seen in your company,--squirrilous fellow, eh!"

"Silence!" cried the Justice. "Mister Gladding, I must say, I think such language very improper; and I hope, if you expect to remain here, you will stop it."

"Squire," said Gladding, "he begun it; I'll leave it to the company, if he didn't first call me a squirrel."