CHAPTER XI.

_2d Clown_. But is this law? _1st Clown_. Ay, marry is 't; crowner's-quest law. HAMLET.

We draw a curtain over the scene of distress displayed in Gilbert's Folly, when the body of Henry Falconer, late the gayest of its inmates, was laid at the feet of his father and sister; and pass to that which followed, when a justice of the peace, acting in the place of a coroner, assembled a jury of inquest around the bloody couch, to determine from the melancholy story of the dead, the fatal responsibility of the living. The official was a personage who exercised, along with the duties of a magistrate, the equally dignified functions of mine host of the Green Tree Tavern; and was, indeed, no less a man than that rival of Elsie Bell, whose formidable opposition, many years before, had completed the downfall of the Traveller's Rest. He was now a man of substance, portly in person, and inflated by the dignity of office into a certain dignity of manner; his step was like the roll of a ship, and when he breathed, it was with a forcible and majestic expiration of breath, like the snort of a war-horse. He had been noticed, as he advanced in the world, for the independence,--or, to speak more strictly, the tyranny with which he conducted himself among his guests; not, indeed, that he ever beat, or even committed them, as, in virtue of his office, he might have done; but because, as he said, he heartily 'despised peing pottered mit 'em.' He was not austere or quarrelsome of disposition, but he was a lover of his ease in his inn; and his despotism was shown less in violent opposition than in contemptuous indifference of all humours save his own. He abhorred all fault-finding, but as he equally detested the trouble of reprehending it, he devised a scheme by which discontent was either nipped in the bud, or severely reproved as soon as made manifest, and all without any labour on his own part. He caused to be painted on his sign-board, having daubed off the green tree to make room for it, the following cabalistic legend,--

_Der ist glücklich, welcher zufrieden ist._

which he was accustomed to translate, _viva voce_, to all incapable of understanding it, in a quaternion as remarkable for its expressive simplicity as for its philosophic comprehensiveness:

He vich is vise Neffer grumples nor cries; He vich is neither vise nor ciffil May go to the diffil.

This,--that is to say, the original morceau,--as he justly conceived, contained a standing answer for all grumblers, and by being in such a conspicuous situation, served as a warning to them beforehand; while, at the same time, if a guest chanced to forget its existence, it only needed the philosophic Schlachtenschlager (for that was the dignitary's name,) to point to it with his finger, and demand, 'Fat does that mean?' to bring him to reason. At all events, his translation was always at hand, in case of extremity, and was of such supreme efficacy in laying all evil spirits by the heels, that he used to declare with triumph, 'It fas neffer needs to say it twice.'

Such was the functionary who now introduced his assistants into the chamber of death, exulting in his own importance and his success in completing the number against all the difficulties resulting from the confusion into which the county had been thrown by the second appearance of the refugees.

"I do afer, on my faith, gentlemen," he said, wiping his brows, as he entered, "I had more trouple making you up than is goodt for nothing. As for that Jake Sheeps fat run afay, I fill commit him, the fillain."

"Ay, Squire, when you catch him," said one of the party, who, although as coarse in appearance as the others, (all being, save himself, ordinary farmers and ignoramuses, such as could be picked up in a hurry,) but who soon proved himself possessed of more brain than all the others together,--"when you catch him, Squire. But harkee, Schlachtenschlager; concerning this forcing _me_ on a jury of inquest,--'tis a sort of a breach of privilege. As an attorney at law, I should be considered exempt; for if there's no statute for exemption, why there's custom, my old boy, and I'll mulct you in damages. Botheration, Squire, you should know enough law to steer clear of a lawyer."

"T'at for your law!" said the magistrate, "and your lawyer too: I knows my pusiness. And if you grumples and calls me 'old poy,' it vill pe vorse for you; for old poy means the tyfel, and if you calls me tyfel, mine friend Affidafy"----

"Tush," said the lawyer, "it means no such thing. But as you have nabbed me, why make haste with this stupid business, and be done. Look at the body, guess your guess out, and let me be gone."

"'He vich is vise,'"--

muttered the justice; but was interrupted by Mr. Affidavy crying, bluffly,

"The devil take your verses. Come, let's to business. Now, Squire, you 'know your business,'--you never, I reckon, held an inquest before in your life;--how do you begin?"

"How do I pegin?" said the official, scratching his head; "fy, I reckons, ve must have a talk apout it, and then say, the man vas murdtered."

"The deuce you must? Why that's prejudging the case altogether. How do you know the man was murdered? where's your witnesses?"

"Vitnesses!" said Schlachtenschlager; "fy, I reckons the case is clear enough mitout 'em."

"Ah, I thought you'd say so," cried the other; "but that won't do. Where's the murderer?"

"Vy, I committed him."

"Where's the prisoner, Dancy Parkins?"

"Vy, I committed him along mit the other."

"Where's the informant, that vagabond--(I reckon, he'll be a witness for the Commonwealth)--that stripe-coat fellow, Stirk--Stick,--no,--Sterling's his name?"

"Vy, I committed him, too."

"The devil you did? Well, where are the officers, the soldiers, the volunteers, and all the rest that were present?"

"Vy, chasing the refugees, to pe sure."

"Well, so I thought. Now, I'll tell you what you'll have to do: just send off as fast as you can for that fellow Sterling, and Dancy, and half a dozen others, and adjourn till they come; which will give me time to run down to the Traveller's Rest, and administer on old Elsie Bell's estate, or see what there is to administer on."

"Administer on old Elsie? fat the tyfel! is the old fitch teadt?"

"As dead as a herring," said Affidavy; "and there's another job for you. They say, some one told her, the defunct here, Colonel Falconer's son, was shot by young Gilbert; and the harridan screeched, and fell dead with fright."

"Mine soul!" said the justice, "they're all tying. There's the Captain's daughter here,--they say she's tying too. I vant to take her teposition; but Dr. Muller says she can n'ither speak nor hear."

"Well," said the attorney, "you see there's nothing to be done here at present. So, adjourn's the word, and down to hold an inquest on old Elsie. She has been looking up in the world lately, and they say she'll leave something. I intend therefore to administer, or see about it--and by the way, Squire, we may discover something there in relation to the murderer. He lived in her house; and, there's no doubt, the tories made it a place of rendezvous. We can come up here and finish afterwards."

"Fell, I don't know," said Schlachtenschlager; "it's all vone, except for the trouple of going and coming. But fere's Jake Musser?" he added, in sudden alarm; "I declare ve're not all here!--Fy, Jake, fere have you peen?" he continued, as the individual, whose absence he had just discovered, entered the apartment.

"Vy, at Elsie Pell's;--I stopped a moment to get a trink; but old Elsie vas sick, and the plack girl vas in a fear, and"----

"Sick!" cried Affidavy, "a'n't the old goose dead? 'Pshaw! why then we'll go on with the inquest, and say no more about it. I thought there was a job there for somebody; but, it seems, it is only for the doctor. Well, Squire, are you ready?"

"Yes," said the official; "but now, Mr. Affidafy, fat shall we do for witnesses?"

"Tush," said the man of law, "that's neither here nor there."

"Fy, you said, it wouldn't do mitout 'em!"

"Oh, that's according to circumstances, and here we have circumstances enough to hang the whole county."

"Fell, then," said the magistrate, "we'll pring it in a case of murder. Are you all agreedt? Fat says you, Peter Pork?"

"Why, I dunna," said Peter, "but I reckon so."

"Fat says you, Thomas Pork?"

"Why, I dunna; but I go with Peter."

"Fat says you, Jacob Musser?"

"Fy, the same: but I reckon the Captain mought send us up something to dtrink.--It's a very pretty pody."

"Never mind the pody, Jacob. Fat says you, Jack Darpy?"

"Why, I'm no so clear in the matter;--I'm ag'in' all hanging."

"Fy, that's none on your pusiness," said the magistrate, assuming an air of dignity; "for you see, John, the coroner's jury is not the hanging jury."

"Well, Squire," said the nonconformist, "I reckon I know that as well as any body. But, you see, I've had a talk with the quakers on this matter, and I'm coming to think it's ag'in' the law of scriptur' to bring a man to the gallows. And you see, the matter all rests on our shoulders; for if we say murder for our 'quest, why then the grand jury sings the same song for their indictment, and the petty jury just follows suit. It's just like sticking three bricks on an end; if you kick one, why down goes the second, and clack goes t'other. And moresomover, what Squire Affidavy says I stick to: I don't know the man's murdered, not an iota, without some one to swear on black and white."

"Fy, take a look at him, John," said the Squire in a heat; "he's deadt, a'n't he? and he has a pig hole in his neck, ha'n't he? and fat more fould you haff? You're always preeding trouble, John Darpy!"

"Well, I dunna," said John; "the man mought ha' shot himself; for they say he was a peeler at the bottle, for such a young un; and when folks drinks, there's no saying what'll come of it: it's just as much as saying, 'Clear the course, here goes for the devil!--Squire Affidavy, what do you say to that?"

"Hem"--replied the man of law, looking at his elbows, which were somewhat of the whitest, with an attempt at humour, that faded in a moment before a look of sullenness and anger, "I say, that you're a fool, though you stumble upon wisdom now and then by accident. But none of your sly winks and blinks: we all know you have not brain enough for drinking. But stop; we've carried this joke far enough, and the fun is over. Send down stairs for the girl Phoebe Jones: she was on the ground when the shot was fired, and we must take her testimony."

"Fy, now I remember, so she fas," muttered the magistrate; but added, with a sigh like the sough of north-wester, "Put it is a great trouple to swear a voman."

The testimony of Phoebe was, however, by no means so satisfactory as was expected. It is true, she professed herself able to swear that Mr. Hunter Hiram Gilbert shot Mr. Falconer; but it soon appeared she was as ready to swear he had shot herself, and some dozen other unfortunate persons into the bargain. In truth, the dreadful conclusion of an adventure which she had been brought, at one moment, almost to consider an innocent and agreeable frolic,--the condition of her mistress, from whose bed-side she had been summoned,--and the spectacle of the ghastly corse of the bridegroom before her eyes, more than half turned her brain. She answered therefore by yea and nay, and just as the question indicated the reply; until Mr. Affidavy, a man of some little tact in his profession, although low and debauched habits had ruined his prospects and reputation together, thought fit to interfere, and by a little management, made it obvious, even to the dull brain of Schlachtenschlager, that the girl, although an actor in the tragedy, knew no more of its details from her own observation, than they themselves.

They were relieved from their dilemma, however, by the sudden appearance of lieutenant Brooks, who delivered a brief and clear account of the catastrophe, as far as he had witnessed it himself; and his testimony left it no longer to be doubted that the unfortunate defunct had fallen in consequence of a pistol-shot fired from a weapon in the hands of Hyland Gilbert. He produced the instrument, which, as well as the pistol discharged by the deceased, he had picked from the ground, and now delivered, along with their fellows, and a pair taken from Sterling, to the magistrate, averring that they were in the condition in which he had found them.

"A very pretty pistol," said the official; "but how is this Mr. Lieutenant? did the young fellow fire them all?"

The soldier stared his honour in the face, and smiled; but his eye fell on the body of his friend, and the flash of humour faded into clouds.

"This weapon," said he, touching one, "I presume to be that by which Mr. Falconer was slain. It was picked from the ground by Mr. Gilbert's side; the fellow to it, was found in the holsters attached to Gilbert's saddle. This," he added, pointing to another, "belonged to my unfortunate friend, and was that with which he shot at the prisoner."

"Fat!" cried the official, "did _he_ shoot, too?"

"Undoubtedly: I plainly distinguished two explosions, the one immediately after the other."

"Fy then, mine Gott!" said Schlachtenschlager, looking round upon his assistants with an air of unutterable sagacity, "this, mine friends, does ferry much alter the case. It vas not murder, but a fight. Who fires the pistol first?"

"Sir, that is impossible to say. But allow me to suggest a doubt whether that is necessary to be inquired into. With deference, I should suppose the object of this inquest would be simply to determine who shot the pistol that killed the deceased; leaving all other questions to be determined by other tribunals."

"'Pshaw!" said Affidavy, who seemed to derive no little private amusement from the ignorance of the magistrate, when suffered to run its own course; "you have spoiled the sport. The young gentleman is, however, right, Squire, and"--

"Holdt your tongue, Mr. Affidafy, and let me mindt mine own pusiness," said the magistrate, in some wrath; "sure I know fat I am about! And hark ye, Mr. Witness, you are a very goodt young man, and an officer, and a gentleman; put you must not tell me fat I am to do, nor fat I am not to do."

"Surely not," replied the witness; "I will not be so presumptuous."

"Right; you are a very goodt young man, and an officer, and a gentleman; and you have very goodt sense.--Fat do you think I must say in this case? for, mine Gott, it puzzles me! Mine own opinion is, that somepody shot this young man."

"It cannot be doubted, sir."

"And that that somepody fas him fat shot the pistol fat fas _not_ shot by the young man fat fas shot."

"Very true, sir."

"Ferry fell, sir," continued the official, with dignity; "now show me the man, and you shall hear fat I have to say for mine inquest in no time."

"The man you speak of is by this time lodged in the county prison under a warrant issued by yourself. There were two pistols discharged, one by the deceased, the other, as I can swear to the best of my belief, by the prisoner; and I can bear witness in like manner, that my unfortunate friend owes his death to the pistol discharged by the prisoner."

"Fy then, the case is clear enough, and I vonder you couldn't say so much before. Do you swear to all this?"

"I do."

"Fell now, come;--fat fas the reason of all this running afay, and murdering?"

"That, I beg leave to suggest, is a question entirely irrelevant."

"Is it? Fell then, fy don't you answer it?"

"'Pshaw!" mumbled Affidavy, who was perhaps wearying of a sport he did not himself direct. "Squire, you may discharge the witness: we have laid our heads together and agreed upon a finding."

"Fat! mitout me?"

"Certainly. You don't think _you_ are to make the verdict?--The witness will be pleased to retire," he added, and the lieutenant, looking once more on the dead, immediately withdrew.

"We find, Squire," the attorney went on, "that the deceased came to his death in consequence of a pistol-bullet shot into his neck by Hyland Gilbert, otherwise called Herman Hunter. If you want to be learned about jugulars, carotids, parotids, and so on, we will call in Dr. Muller, and have him examine the wound."

"Fy, I don't know any thing about them things; put I don't see that you say any thing apout murder?"

"Not a word: as you said yourself to Jack Darby here, the coroner's jury is not the hanging jury."

"Fell now, the matter's finished, and I am ferry glad. I suppose it is all right?"

"Entirely--the young Hawk is as dead as a chicken."

"It is a clear case then, Mr. Affidafy," said the dignitary, with a long and tempestuous breath, indicating the satisfaction he felt at being released from labours so overpowering, "they fill hang the young fillain?"

"Why that depends upon circumstances, Squire."

"Oh the tyfel! it is all 'upon circumstances' mit a lawyer?"

"It is a good case on either side," said Affidavy; "and not so bad on the prisoner's as might be supposed,--that is, if he had but money to make it an object to take up his cause."

"Mine Gott, he has money! There fas his fatch; 'twas goldt, and worth forty pound."

"Eh! indeed? has he a gold watch?"

"And there fas a purse of guineas"----

"Of guineas!"

"And there fas a--fat you call it?--a pill of exchange on New York, and a letter of credit,--mine Gott, it fas mitout limit, except time; put I toubt me, it fas not goodt."

"Botheration!" cried the man of law, in a fervour, "who'll lend me a horse to ride to town? I remember now, there was a story that the youngest son of the Gilberts had a rich aunt in Jamaica."

"Fell, if he had?"

"Why then, I'll certainly volunteer him the aid of my professional skill; and, murder or no murder, I'll bring him off."

"You don't say so, Mr. Affidavy?"

"Botheration, I do. A letter of credit without limit? Who has it? did you save it?"

"No; I gave it pack to him; put I took an inventory of all in his pockets."

"Well, Squire, you're an honour to the profession. Lend me a horse."

"Fy, if I had you put down to the Creen Tree, and you fould promise to keep soper"----

"Tush, I will. But let's be off, and in a hurry. You are a merciful man, Squire Schlachtenschlager--It is a pity this poor friendless young fellow should be hanged for nothing."

"That is, mitout paying nothing to the lawyer? Ho, ho!----Put it toesn't do to laugh by a teadt pody, fen his fader, and moder, and all his friends is feeping and crying. Fat is to pe done mit these Hawks? Can't nopody catch pig Oran? I fill give one pound of mine own money for refard; for, I do afer, he toes give me much trouple. Fell, gentlemen, all is right. Now fill ve all go to the Creen Tree, and ve shall have some prandy to dtrink. Fere is some pody to light mine pipe? A fery padt piece of pusiness, and fery pottersome. I vonder fere they fill pury the young man? Fell, gentlemen, let us pegone."