MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE.
A young fellow, a tobacco-pedler by trade, was on his way fromMorristown, where he had dealt largely with the deacon of the Shakersettlement, to the village of Parker's Falls, on Salmon River. He hada neat little cart painted green, with a box of cigars depicted oneach side-panel, and an Indian chief holding a pipe and a goldentobacco-stalk on the rear. The pedler drove a smart little mare andwas a young man of excellent character, keen at a bargain, but nonethe worse liked by the Yankees, who, as I have heard them say, wouldrather be shaved with a sharp razor than a dull one. Especially was hebeloved by the pretty girls along the Connecticut, whose favor he usedto court by presents of the best smoking-tobacco in his stock, knowingwell that the country-lasses of New England are generally greatperformers on pipes. Moreover, as will be seen in the course of mystory, the pedler was inquisitive and something of a tattler, alwaysitching to hear the news and anxious to tell it again.
After an early breakfast at Morristown the tobacco-pedler--whose namewas Dominicus Pike--had travelled seven miles through a solitary pieceof woods without speaking a word to anybody but himself and his littlegray mare. It being nearly seven o'clock, he was as eager to hold amorning gossip as a city shopkeeper to read the morning paper. Anopportunity seemed at hand when, after lighting a cigar with asun-glass, he looked up and perceived a man coming over the brow ofthe hill at the foot of which the pedler had stopped his green cart.Dominicus watched him as he descended, and noticed that he carried abundle over his shoulder on the end of a stick and travelled with aweary yet determined pace. He did not look as if he had started in thefreshness of the morning, but had footed it all night, and meant to dothe same all day.
"Good-morning, mister," said Dominicus, when within speaking-distance."You go a pretty good jog. What's the latest news at Parker's Falls?"
The man pulled the broad brim of a gray hat over his eyes, andanswered, rather sullenly, that he did not come from Parker's Falls,which, as being the limit of his own day's journey, the pedler hadnaturally mentioned in his inquiry.
"Well, then," rejoined Dominicus Pike, "let's have the latest newswhere you did come from. I'm not particular about Parker's Falls. Anyplace will answer."
Being thus importuned, the traveller--who was as ill-looking a fellowas one would desire to meet in a solitary piece of woods--appeared tohesitate a little, as if he was either searching his memory for newsor weighing the expediency of telling it. At last, mounting on thestep of the cart, he whispered in the ear of Dominicus, though hemight have shouted aloud and no other mortal would have heard him.
"I do remember one little trifle of news," said he. "Old Mr.Higginbotham of Kimballton was murdered in his orchard at eighto'clock last night by an Irishman and a nigger. They strung him up tothe branch of a St. Michael's pear tree where nobody would find himtill the morning."
As soon as this horrible intelligence was communicated the strangerbetook himself to his journey again with more speed than ever, noteven turning his head when Dominicus invited him to smoke a Spanishcigar and relate all the particulars. The pedler whistled to his mareand went up the hill, pondering on the doleful fate of Mr.Higginbotham, whom he had known in the way of trade, having sold himmany a bunch of long nines and a great deal of pig-tail, lady's twistand fig tobacco. He was rather astonished at the rapidity with whichthe news had spread. Kimballton was nearly sixty miles distant in astraight line; the murder had been perpetrated only at eight o'clockthe preceding night, yet Dominicus had heard of it at seven in themorning, when, in all probability, poor Mr. Higginbotham's own familyhad but just discovered his corpse hanging on the St. Michael's peartree. The stranger on foot must have worn seven-league boots, totravel at such a rate.
"Ill-news flies fast, they say," thought Dominicus Pike, "but thisbeats railroads. The fellow ought to be hired to go express with thePresident's message."
The difficulty was solved by supposing that the narrator had made amistake of one day in the date of the occurrence; so that our frienddid not hesitate to introduce the story at every tavern andcountry-store along the road, expending a whole bunch of Spanishwrappers among at least twenty horrified audiences. He found himselfinvariably the first bearer of the intelligence, and was so pesteredwith questions that he could not avoid filling up the outline till itbecame quite a respectable narrative. He met with one piece ofcorroborative evidence. Mr. Higginbotham was a trader, and a formerclerk of his to whom Dominicus related the facts testified that theold gentleman was accustomed to return home through the orchard aboutnightfall with the money and valuable papers of the store in hispocket. The clerk manifested but little grief at Mr. Higginbotham'scatastrophe, hinting--what the pedler had discovered in his owndealings with him--that he was a crusty old fellow as close as a vise.His property would descend to a pretty niece who was now keepingschool in Kimballton.
What with telling the news for the public good and driving bargainsfor his own, Dominicus was so much delayed on the road that he choseto put up at a tavern about five miles short of Parker's Falls. Aftersupper, lighting one of his prime cigars, he seated himself in thebar-room and went through the story of the murder, which had grown sofast that it took him half an hour to tell. There were as many astwenty people in the room, nineteen of whom received it all forgospel. But the twentieth was an elderly farmer who had arrived onhorseback a short time before and was now seated in a corner, smokinghis pipe. When the story was concluded, he rose up very deliberately,brought his chair right in front of Dominicus and stared him full inthe face, puffing out the vilest tobacco-smoke the pedler had eversmelt.
"Will you make affidavit," demanded he, in the tone of acountry-justice taking an examination, "that old Squire Higginbothamof Kimballton was murdered in his orchard the night before last andfound hanging on his great pear tree yesterday morning?"
"I tell the story as I heard it, mister," answered Dominicus, droppinghis half-burnt cigar. "I don't say that I saw the thing done, so Ican't take my oath that he was murdered exactly in that way."
"But I can take mine," said the farmer, "that if Squire Higginbothamwas murdered night before last I drank a glass of bitters with hisghost this morning. Being a neighbor of mine, he called me into hisstore as I was riding by, and treated me, and then asked me to do alittle business for him on the road. He didn't seem to know any moreabout his own murder than I did."
"Why, then it can't be a fact!" exclaimed Dominicus Pike.
"I guess he'd have mentioned, if it was," said the old farmer; and heremoved his chair back to the corner, leaving Dominicus quite down inthe mouth.
Here was a sad resurrection of old Mr. Higginbotham! The pedler had noheart to mingle in the conversation any more, but comforted himselfwith a glass of gin and water and went to bed, where all night long hedreamed of hanging on the St. Michael's pear tree.
To avoid the old farmer (whom he so detested that his suspension wouldhave pleased him better than Mr. Higginbotham's), Dominicus rose inthe gray of the morning, put the little mare into the green cart andtrotted swiftly away toward Parker's Falls. The fresh breeze, the dewyroad and the pleasant summer dawn revived his spirits, and might haveencouraged him to repeat the old story had there been anybody awake tobear it, but he met neither ox-team, light wagon, chaise, horseman norfoot-traveller till, just as he crossed Salmon River, a man cametrudging down to the bridge with a bundle over his shoulder, on theend of a stick.
"Good-morning, mister," said the pedler, reining in his mare. "If youcome from Kimballton or that neighborhood, maybe you can tell me thereal fact about this affair of old Mr. Higginbotham. Was the oldfellow actually murdered two or three nights ago by an Irishman and anigger?"
Dominicus had spoken in too great a hurry to observe at first that thestranger himself had a deep tinge of negro blood. On hearing thissudden question the Ethiopian appeared to change his skin, its yellowhue becoming a ghastly white, while, shaking and stammering, he thusreplied:
"No, no! There was no colored man. It was
an Irishman that hanged himlast night at eight o'clock; I came away at seven. His folks can'thave looked for him in the orchard yet."
Scarcely had the yellow man spoken, when he interrupted himself and,though he seemed weary enough before, continued his journey at a pacewhich would have kept the pedler's mare on a smart trot. Dominicusstared after him in great perplexity. If the murder had not beencommitted till Tuesday night, who was the prophet that had foretold itin all its circumstances on Tuesday morning? If Mr. Higginbotham'scorpse were not yet discovered by his own family, how came themulatto, at above thirty miles' distance, to know that he was hangingin the orchard, especially as he had left Kimballton before theunfortunate man was hanged at all? These ambiguous circumstances, withthe stranger's surprise and terror, made Dominicus think of raising ahue-and-cry after him as an accomplice in the murder, since a murder,it seemed, had really been perpetrated.
"But let the poor devil go," thought the pedler. "I don't want hisblack blood on my head, and hanging the nigger wouldn't unhang Mr.Higginbotham. Unhang the old gentleman? It's a sin, I know, but Ishould hate to have him come to life a second time and give me thelie."
With these meditations Dominicus Pike drove into the street ofParker's Falls, which, as everybody knows, is as thriving a village asthree cotton-factories and a slitting-mill can make it. The machinerywas not in motion and but a few of the shop doors unbarred when healighted in the stable-yard of the tavern and made it his firstbusiness to order the mare four quarts of oats. His second duty, ofcourse, was to impart Mr. Higginbotham's catastrophe to the hostler.He deemed it advisable, however, not to be too positive as to the dateof the direful fact, and also to be uncertain whether it wereperpetrated by an Irishman and a mulatto or by the son of Erin alone.Neither did he profess to relate it on his own authority or that ofany one person, but mentioned it as a report generally diffused.
The story ran through the town like fire among girdled trees, andbecame so much the universal talk that nobody could tell whence it hadoriginated. Mr. Higginbotham was as well known at Parker's Falls asany citizen of the place, being part-owner of the slitting-mill and aconsiderable stockholder in the cotton-factories. The inhabitants felttheir own prosperity interested in his fate. Such was the excitementthat the Parker's Falls _Gazette_ anticipated its regular day ofpublication, and came out with half a form of blank paper and a columnof double pica emphasized with capitals and headed "HORRID MURDER OFMR. HIGGINBOTHAM!" Among other dreadful details, the printed accountdescribed the mark of the cord round the dead man's neck and statedthe number of thousand dollars of which he had been robbed; there wasmuch pathos, also, about the affliction of his niece, who had gonefrom one fainting-fit to another ever since her uncle was foundhanging on the St. Michael's pear tree with his pockets inside out.The village poet likewise commemorated the young lady's grief inseventeen stanzas of a ballad. The selectmen held a meeting, and inconsideration of Mr. Higginbotham's claims on the town determined toissue handbills offering a reward of five hundred dollars for theapprehension of his murderers and the recovery of the stolen property.
Meanwhile, the whole population of Parker's Falls, consisting ofshopkeepers, mistresses of boarding-houses, factory-girls, mill-menand schoolboys, rushed into the street and kept up such a terribleloquacity as more than compensated for the silence of thecotton-machines, which refrained from their usual din out of respectto the deceased. Had Mr. Higginbotham cared about posthumous renown,his untimely ghost would have exulted in this tumult.
Our friend Dominicus in his vanity of heart forgot his intendedprecautions, and, mounting on the town-pump, announced himself as thebearer of the authentic intelligence which had caused so wonderful asensation. He immediately became the great man of the moment, and hadjust begun a new edition of the narrative with a voice like afield-preacher when the mail-stage drove into the village street. Ithad travelled all night, and must have shifted horses at Kimballton atthree in the morning.
"Now we shall hear all the particulars!" shouted the crowd.
The coach rumbled up to the piazza of the tavern followed by athousand people; for if any man had been minding his own business tillthen, he now left it at sixes and sevens to hear the news. The pedler,foremost in the race, discovered two passengers, both of whom had beenstartled from a comfortable nap to find themselves in the centre of amob. Every man assailing them with separate questions, all propoundedat once, the couple were struck speechless, though one was a lawyerand the other a young lady.
"Mr. Higginbotham! Mr. Higginbotham! Tell us the particulars about oldMr. Higginbotham!" bawled the mob. "What is the coroner's verdict? Arethe murderers apprehended? Is Mr. Higginbotham's niece come out of herfainting-fits? Mr. Higginbotham! Mr. Higginbotham!"
The coachman said not a word except to swear awfully at the hostlerfor not bringing him a fresh team of horses. The lawyer inside hadgenerally his wits about him even when asleep; the first thing he didafter learning the cause of the excitement was to produce a large redpocketbook. Meantime, Dominicus Pike, being an extremely polite youngman, and also suspecting that a female tongue would tell the story asglibly as a lawyer's, had handed the lady out of the coach. She was afine, smart girl, now wide awake and bright as a button, and had sucha sweet, pretty mouth that Dominicus would almost as lief have heard alove-tale from it as a tale of murder.
"Gentlemen and ladies," said the lawyer to the shopkeepers, themill-men and the factory-girls, "I can assure you that someunaccountable mistake--or, more probably, a wilful falsehoodmaliciously contrived to injure Mr. Higginbotham's credit--has excitedthis singular uproar. We passed through Kimballton at three o'clockthis morning, and most certainly should have been informed of themurder had any been perpetrated. But I have proof nearly as strong asMr. Higginbotham's own oral testimony in the negative. Here is a noterelating to a suit of his in the Connecticut courts which wasdelivered me from that gentleman himself. I find it dated at teno'clock last evening."
So saying, the lawyer, exhibited the date and signature of the note,which irrefragably proved either that this perverse Mr. Higginbothamwas alive when he wrote it, or, as some deemed the more probable caseof two doubtful ones, that he was so absorbed in worldly business asto continue to transact it even after his death. But unexpectedevidence was forthcoming. The young lady, after listening to thepedler's explanation, merely seized a moment to smooth her gown andput her curls in order, and then appeared at the tavern door, making amodest signal to be heard.
"Good people," said she, "I am Mr. Higginbotham's niece."
A wondering murmur passed through the crowd on beholding her so rosyand bright--that same unhappy niece whom they had supposed, on theauthority of the Parker's Falls _Gazette_, to be lying at death'sdoor in a fainting-fit. But some shrewd fellows had doubted all alongwhether a young lady would be quite so desperate at the hanging of arich old uncle.
"You see," continued Miss Higginbotham, with a smile, "that thisstrange story is quite unfounded as to myself, and I believe I mayaffirm it to be equally so in regard to my dear uncle Higginbotham. Hehas the kindness to give me a home in his house, though I contributeto my own support by teaching a school. I left Kimballton this morningto spend the vacation of commencement-week with a friend about fivemiles from Parker's Falls. My generous uncle, when he heard me on thestairs, called me to his bedside and gave me two dollars and fiftycents to pay my stage-fare, and another dollar for my extra expenses.He then laid his pocketbook under his pillow, shook hands with me, andadvised me to take some biscuit in my bag instead of breakfasting onthe road. I feel confident, therefore, that I left my beloved relativealive, and trust that I shall find him so on my return."
The young lady courtesied at the close of her speech, which was sosensible and well worded, and delivered with such grace and propriety,that everybody thought her fit to be preceptress of the best academyin the State. But a stranger would have supposed that Mr. Higginbothamwas an object of abhorrence at Parker's Falls and that a thanksgivinghad been proclaimed for hi
s murder, so excessive was the wrath of theinhabitants on learning their mistake. The mill-men resolved to bestowpublic honors on Dominicus Pike, only hesitating whether to tar andfeather him, ride him on a rail or refresh him with an ablution at thetown-pump, on the top of which he had declared himself the bearer ofthe news. The selectmen, by advice of the lawyer, spoke of prosecutinghim for a misdemeanor in circulating unfounded reports, to the greatdisturbance of the peace of the commonwealth. Nothing saved Dominicuseither from mob-law or a court of justice but an eloquent appeal madeby the young lady in his behalf. Addressing a few words of heartfeltgratitude to his benefactress, he mounted the green cart and rode outof town under a discharge of artillery from the schoolboys, who foundplenty of ammunition in the neighboring clay-pits and mud-holes. As heturned his head to exchange a farewell glance with Mr. Higginbotham'sniece a ball of the consistence of hasty-pudding hit him slap in themouth, giving him a most grim aspect. His whole person was sobespattered with the like filthy missiles that he had almost a mind toride back and supplicate for the threatened ablution at the town-pump;for, though not meant in kindness, it would now have been a deed ofcharity.
However, the sun shone bright on poor Dominicus, and the mud--anemblem of all stains of undeserved opprobrium--was easily brushed offwhen dry. Being a funny rogue, his heart soon cheered up; nor could herefrain from a hearty laugh at the uproar which his story had excited.The handbills of the selectmen would cause the commitment of all thevagabonds in the State, the paragraph in the Parker's Falls _Gazette_would be reprinted from Maine to Florida, and perhaps form an item inthe London newspapers, and many a miser would tremble for hismoneybags and life on learning the catastrophe of Mr. Higginbotham.The pedler meditated with much fervor on the charms of the youngschoolmistress, and swore that Daniel Webster never spoke nor lookedso like an angel as Miss Higginbotham while defending him from thewrathful populace at Parker's Falls.
Dominicus was now on the Kimballton turnpike, having all alongdetermined to visit that place, though business had drawn, him out ofthe most direct road from Morristown. As he approached the scene ofthe supposed murder he continued to revolve the circumstances in hismind, and was astonished at the aspect which the whole case assumed.Had nothing occurred to corroborate the story of the first traveller,it might now have been considered as a hoax; but the yellow man wasevidently acquainted either with the report or the fact, and there wasa mystery in his dismayed and guilty look on being abruptlyquestioned. When to this singular combination of incidents it wasadded that the rumor tallied exactly with Mr. Higginbotham's characterand habits of life, and that he had an orchard and a St. Michael'spear tree, near which he always passed at nightfall, thecircumstantial evidence appeared so strong that Dominicus doubtedwhether the autograph produced by the lawyer, or even the niece'sdirect testimony, ought to be equivalent. Making cautious inquiriesalong the road, the pedler further learned that Mr. Higginbotham hadin his service an Irishman of doubtful character whom he had hiredwithout a recommendation, on the score of economy.
"May I be hanged myself," exclaimed Dominicus Pike, aloud, on reachingthe top of a lonely hill, "if I'll believe old Higginbotham isunhanged till I see him with my own eyes and hear it from his ownmouth. And, as he's a real shaver, I'll have the minister, or someother responsible man, for an endorser."
It was growing dusk when he reached the toll-house on Kimballtonturnpike, about a quarter of a mile from the village of this name. Hislittle mare was fast bringing him up with a man on horseback whotrotted through the gate a few rods in advance of him, nodded to thetoll-gatherer and kept on towards the village. Dominicus wasacquainted with the toll-man, and while making change the usualremarks on the weather passed between them.
"I suppose," said the pedler, throwing back his whiplash to bring itdown like a feather on the mare's flank, "you have not seen anythingof old Mr. Higginbotham within a day or two?"
"Yes," answered the toll-gatherer; "he passed the gate just before youdrove up, and yonder he rides now, if you can see him through thedusk. He's been to Woodfield this afternoon, attending a sheriff'ssale there. The old man generally shakes hands and has a little chatwith me, but to-night he nodded, as if to say, 'Charge my toll,' andjogged on; for, wherever he goes, he must always be at home by eighto'clock."
"So they tell me," said Dominicus.
"I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the squire does,"continued the toll-gatherer. "Says I to myself tonight, 'He's morelike a ghost or an old mummy than good flesh and blood.'"
The pedler strained his eyes through the twilight, and could justdiscern the horseman now far ahead on the village road. He seemed torecognize the rear of Mr. Higginbotham, but through the eveningshadows and amid the dust from the horse's feet the figure appeareddim and unsubstantial, as if the shape of the mysterious old man werefaintly moulded of darkness and gray light.
Dominicus shivered. "Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the otherworld by way of the Kimballton turnpike," thought he. He shook thereins and rode forward, keeping about the same distance in the rear ofthe gray old shadow till the latter was concealed by a bend of theroad. On reaching this point the pedler no longer saw the man onhorseback, but found himself at the head of the village street, notfar from a number of stores and two taverns clustered round themeeting-house steeple. On his left was a stone wall and a gate, theboundary of a wood-lot beyond which lay an orchard, farther still amowing-field, and last of all a house. These were the premises of Mr.Higginbotham, whose dwelling stood beside the old highway, but hadbeen left in the background by the Kimballton turnpike.
Dominicus knew the place, and the little mare stopped short byinstinct, for he was not conscious of tightening the reins. "For thesoul of me, I cannot get by this gate!" said he, trembling. "I nevershall be my own man again till I see whether Mr. Higginbotham ishanging on the St. Michael's pear tree." He leaped from the cart, gavethe rein a turn round the gate-post, and ran along the green path ofthe wood-lot as if Old Nick were chasing behind. Just then the villageclock tolled eight, and as each deep stroke fell Dominicus gave afresh bound and flew faster than before, till, dim in the solitarycentre of the orchard, he saw the fated pear tree. One great branchstretched from the old contorted trunk across the path and threw thedarkest shadow on that one spot. But something seemed to strugglebeneath the branch.
The pedler had never pretended to more courage than befits a man ofpeaceable occupation, nor could he account for his valor on this awfulemergency. Certain it is, however, that he rushed forward, prostrateda sturdy Irishman with the butt-end of his whip, and found--not,indeed, hanging on the St. Michael's pear tree, but trembling beneathit with a halter round his neck--the old identical Mr. Higginbotham.
"Mr. Higginbotham," said Dominicus, tremulously, "you're an honestman, and I'll take your word for it. Have you been hanged, or not?"
If the riddle be not already guessed, a few words will explain thesimple machinery by which this "coming event" was made to cast its"shadow before." Three men had plotted the robbery and murder of Mr.Higginbotham; two of them successively lost courage and fled, eachdelaying the crime one night by their disappearance; the third was inthe act of perpetration, when a champion, blindly obeying the call offate, like the heroes of old romance, appeared in the person ofDominicus Pike.
It only remains to say that Mr. Higginbotham took the pedler into highfavor, sanctioned his addresses to the pretty schoolmistress andsettled his whole property on their children, allowing themselves theinterest. In due time the old gentleman capped the climax of hisfavors by dying a Christian death in bed; since which melancholyevent, Dominicus Pike has removed from Kimballton and established alarge tobacco-manufactory in my native village.