Part 8

AT about eleven o'clock, on a fine day, a tall elderly man, habited in a long-skirted blue overcoat, with a broad-brimmed hat on his head, his neck enveloped in the ample folds of a white cravat, the ends of which toyed pleasantly with the morning air; and having in his hand a cane, whose top was carved in a miniature likeness of a dog with a distressing countenance, slowly descended the precipitous flight of stone steps which form the rear mode of egress from the City Hall. Having safely landed himself, the elderly gentleman paused, rubbed one hand gently over the other, as if congratulating himself that one of the perils of the day was over, and then walked out into the Park, and deliberately set his watch by the town-clock. Being a cautious man, however, and a man of experience, and one who piqued himself on doing every thing better than any one else, and upon being always right when all the rest of the world was wrong, and on being in general in all respects somewhat--but not too much, merely a trifle--superior to the ordinary run of mankind; and being aware that the town-clock had four faces, which always differed in opinion as to the hour; and being too knowing to be taken in by any small trick of that kind, he winked to himself, and took the pains to make the circuit of the building, and successively to inspect each face of the aforesaid public time-keeper; and having ascertained that the majority was with the one which he had first consulted, he pulled his waistcoat very high up in front and dropped his watch into a small pocket in the waistband of his trowsers. After which, he buttoned his coat and set about his day's work with no little complacency and good humor.

The direction which he took led to one of the poorer parts of the town; and although he walked slowly, it was not long before he was in the thick of those narrow, ill-ventilated streets, hemmed in by decaying houses and reeking cellars, which proclaim, plainer than words, that vice and want, and a thousand other ills which canker the heart, and eat up all that is noble in human nature, are lurking in their dark recesses.

Mr. Chicken, for he it was, paused in front of one of the dim holes, where a dozen wretched beings, ill clad and ill fed, were herding together, and wondered why they _would_ live in such places; and why they did not pay more attention to their dress; really, it was exceedingly shocking; some of them were half naked. 'It's quite indelicate, quite!' said he, mentally: 'Mrs. Chicken would die if she saw it. I declare, I won't be positive--no, yes--no; yet I do think one of them is a woman; I really _do_ think that rug is meant for a petticoat. It _must_ be a woman,' said he, continuing his investigations in a cautious manner. 'It _is_ a woman. Ah! it's agin natur.'

There was no doubt of the truth of his suspicion; half of them were females. Squatting and crouching there, they raised their blear eyes toward him in sullen indifference; too miserably wretched to heed or resent the look of disgust and surprise which met theirs, other than by a heartless laugh or a ribald jest; too callous to feel, and too broken down in body and soul to taunt. The deputy-sheriff shook his head, for although he had often been amid scenes where the strong heart was wrung; where the debtor, ground down by creditors with hearts of flint, and eyes greedy of gold, was struggling beneath the fangs of the law, and crying for indulgence and mercy: although he had seen the calm, pale look of despair; the silent but resolute face of the man who had parted with his all, and finally yielded his body for the gold which he could not pay; and the wife clasping his neck, and his children clinging to him; ay, actually showing marks of affection to a man who was penniless; yet he had rarely encountered a den like this. He had only witnessed suffering and despair in their first stages. Had he desired to see the human soul when hope had darkened into desperation; when friends had fallen off, or less painful than that, had died; when the body had been wasted, and the blood dried up, and yet had yielded no gold; when even that untiring thing, a creditor, had grown weary of his prey, and had flung his victim adrift, to find none to sympathize, no path open, no home left, and even hope dead; he should have lingered a little longer; and in common with the born thief, the hardened courtezan, the reeling drunkard, and the savage brawler, he would have found those whom the sun of prosperity had once warmed, and who once had little dreamed in what foul haunts they would linger out the remnant of life which was yet in store for them.

Mr. Chicken, however, having already expressed his opinion, merely shook his head disapprovingly, on concluding his investigation, and said nothing, but kept on, now turning into one narrow street to the right, then striking into another to the left; now stumbling along broken pavements, and dilapidated steps; at one time half stifled with exhalations which steamed up from reeking kennels and under-ground dwellings, until he finally emerged into a broader street; but still the dwellings were of a meaner cast. Stopping in front of one of these, he stealthily drew out his pocket-book, took from it a small slip of paper, looked at it, then at the house; coughed several times; cleared his throat emphatically and fixed his hat firmly on his head; buttoned his coat to the chin, placed his cane under his left arm, and grasping the small paper firmly in his right hand, like one preparing for a mortal struggle, precipitated himself headlong into a dark alley. Stumbling over a broken pail, a log of wood, and a few minor articles of a domestic description, which usually beset benighted alleys and dim stairways, the sheriff's deputy finally caught sight of daylight in a small yard, with which the passage communicated, and found himself at the door of a dilapidated house, built in the rear of one fronting on the street.

It was a small faded building, two stories high, sinking and crumbling away, like a person weak in the side. Narrow windows, cracked and dust-covered, looked out into the dark yard. A broken flower-pot stood on a window sill with a stunted bush in it, bearing a single yellow leaf; and in another, was a half-starved shrub endeavoring to keep the life in a drooping flower. On the roof, which abutted on other roofs, and was overlooked by tall buildings, a lean cat was dozing in the sun, as if endeavoring to forget hunger in sleep. Every thing bore the stamp of starvation. The windows too were patched with rags, or pieces of paper; the bricks from ruined chimneys had toppled down, and were lying in masses on the roof; there were great, gaping seams between the boards, showing the plaster within; the door had sagged away, and the shutters of more than one window hung by a single hinge. On the door-steps a child was sleeping, and from a narrow window a thin face peeped cautiously out, wondering what a stranger could want in that dreary quarter.

The sheriff's deputy, however, was familiar with the ground. He was in the habit of fishing in troubled waters; and it was not the first time that he had drawn from this very place food for the gaol.

Without asking a question, he quietly stepped over the sleeping child, and stooping as he entered, to prevent his hat coming in contact with the top of the low door-way, he ascended a crooked staircase, carefully picking his way; grumbling at its inconvenient formation, and indulging a few mental anathemas against old houses in general. At the head of the stairs a door was ajar; and without knocking, he pushed it open, entered, and shut it; standing ready to place his back against it, in case he should observe any indication of an attempt on the part of the occupant to escape. This precaution, however, was unnecessary; for the only person there was a man of about forty, with a stern, resolute face, a sharp, gray eye, and strongly built, who was writing at a table, which, with the exception of a bed in a corner, and two chairs, constituted the entire furniture of the room; who merely looked up as his visitor entered, and without removing his eyes from him, said:

'Methinks that common courtesy entitles a man to a knock at his door before his room is entered. Though perhaps,' he added, bitterly, 'the owner of such quarters as these is only entitled to courtesy according to his means.'

To neither of these remarks did Mr. Chicken make any reply; but gradually sidling up to the speaker, until he came within arm's length, he tapped him on the shoulder, and said:

'I arrest you, Sir. It's a very onpleasant duty; but it _is_ a duty, and must be did. Here's the writ.'

The man eyed him for a moment; apparently meditating what course to pursue; while Mr. Chicken grasped the head of the dog on his cane, and assumed an air of desperate determination. At last the man took the paper from his hand, and read it through, without moving or speaking, although his face became somewhat flushed, as he read. Then he merely uttered the words, 'Michael Rust!'

'He's the plaintiff,' said Mr. Chicken, 'and you are the defendant, Enoch Grosket. It's onpleasant, Sir, quite onpleasant; but I'm a deputy-sheriff, Sir; and you're a defendant; and here's the writ; and duty must be did. That's the long and short of it.'

'So this is the end of the game,' said Grosket to himself; 'this is the reward of five years of servitude, the most vile and degraded that ever bound man to his fellow man. A noble harvest have I reaped, for seed that I have sown!--a glorious close to my labors! But it is what I might have looked for. Ah! Michael Rust! well have you carried out your schemes!--a pleasant part have you played in my family! You have sent child and wife both to their graves; the one dishonored, the other broken-hearted; and now, a prison for the father. Be it so, Michael Rust; but the game is not yours yet. If you win it, it must be at the cost of a struggle, which will rack all your sinews. I do not understand this claim,' said he, in a musing tone; 'three thousand dollars?' I owe _him_ nothing. What can it be? 'Edward Kornicker, attorney.' Who's he?' he asked, raising his eyes from the paper to those of Mr. Chicken. 'I never heard of him.'

Mr. Chicken drew down the corners of his mouth, and smiled; at the same time saying, that Mr. Kornicker was a young man of some merit, but rather wild--a _little_ wild.

Having said this, he took a seat in the vacant chair, and placed his hat on the table; at the same time telling Mr. Grosket that he did not wish to hurry him, but that if he had any bail to offer, he would go with him in search of it. If he hadn't, he would be under the less pleasant necessity of escorting him to gaol; and in either case, that he, the said Mr. Chicken, being a public functionary, and much pressed by business, would take it as a personal favor if Mr. Grosket would hasten his movements as much as possible.

Grosket shook his head, despairingly.

'No,' said he; 'the sum is too large--six thousand dollars! I know of no one who will become bail for me in such an amount. Had it come but a day later, one single day later,' said he, clasping his hands tightly together, 'and _he_, not _I_ would have been the victim!'

'Well, Sir,' said Mr. Chicken, 'there being no bail, in course there is no alternative. You must go to gaol; rooms small, but well ventilated. You'll find yourself very comfortable there arter a fortnight or so. There _is_ folks that quite like the place.'

Grosket made no reply to this comforting remark; but stood with his hand resting on the table, and his brows knit in deep thought. At last he said, as if coming to some sudden resolution:

'At least, it's worth the trial. I am working for _him_, and if I fail I shall be no worse off than I now am. Come,' said he; 'I know a man who I think will become bail for me. If he don't--if he don't,' said he in an under tone. 'Well, well, I'll try it.'

'Who is he?' inquired Mr. Chicken, cautiously.

'No matter,' replied Grosket; 'you'll see presently.'

Mr. Chicken felt far from satisfied with this reply. It had a tincture of evasion about it; and a vague apprehension of receiving no other bail than that cheap and convenient kind, generally known as 'Leg-bail,' flitted across his imagination, puzzling him not a little; for Grosket was a brawny fellow, whose thews and sinews were not to be trifled with. Mr. Chicken thought that he was in a crisis; and was beginning seriously to deliberate on the propriety of raising a hue-and-cry on the spot, without waiting for farther indication of a disposition to escape, when the prisoner, apparently observing his perplexity, cut it short, by adding:

'Don't be frightened, my old fellow; I'm acting in good faith. If I don't get bail, I'll go with you as quietly as you could wish.'

'And you are out-and-out in earnest? You mean to get it? No gammon, is there?'

'I'll get it if I can: If I can't, I'm your prisoner. I'll play you no tricks.'

'Good!' ejaculated the deputy-sheriff, quietly pocketing his writ, and placing his hat on his head. 'I'm your man now; which way do you want to go?'

Grosket named the direction; and in a few moments they were on their way to Jacob Rhoneland's.

* * * * *

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

FOR a long time Enoch Grosket and the sheriff's deputy walked on without exchanging a word; but as they proceeded, Grosket's brow began to darken, his lips were firmly set together, and his pace quickened until his companion could scarcely keep up with him.

'Come on, Sir,' said Enoch, abruptly turning to him. 'Michael Rust is the devil, but he has driven to desperation one whom he has drilled in all his ways; and who has had a hand in all his dark doings for years. Let him look to himself. He may chain the body, but my tongue shall speak. Ah! Michael Rust! Michael Rust! you were never nearer destruction than when you thought me in your power!'

His speed soon increased to such a degree, that although Mr. Chicken had apparently been constituted with an especial eye to rapid locomotion, yet that gentleman's lower members were kept at their full stretch. Once or twice the deputy suggested to his companion that the day was warm for the season, and that he had been more active twenty years ago; to both of which remarks Grosket assented, without in the least diminishing his speed; nor did he pause to draw breath until they had reached Rhoneland's house.

'This is the place,' said Grosket. 'If he's wise, he'll not refuse me.'

He knocked at the door, which was opened by Kate. She knew neither of them; and in reply to his question, informed him that her father was at home. Grosket paused for a moment as his eye rested on her bright face; and something like a tear rose in it, as he thought of his own lost child; but he checked the feeling which induced it, and turning, said:

'So you're his daughter?'

'His only child,' replied Kate, anxiously.

'Poor child!' muttered Grosket; 'God help her!'

He muttered this rather to himself than to her; and passed in; but neither his manner nor the words, low as was the tone in which they were spoken, escaped her; and with a heart sinking with apprehension, of she knew not what, for the appearance of any stranger at the house filled her with dread now, she admitted him into the room where her father was.

It was the same poorly-furnished apartment in which the old man was when first introduced to the reader. He occupied the same seat, and sat almost in the same attitude, with his hands clasped over his knees, his chin bowed down on his breast, his dark eyes peering from beneath his shaggy white brows, and apparently watching the crumbling embers in the fire-place. His face was wan and haggard, even beyond its wont; and he had a watchful, suspicious look, which was not natural to him. As the door opened, he started, glanced quickly at the strangers, then at his daughter, as if she and they were in some manner associated in his mind.

'Don't go, Kate! don't go! I want you here,' said he, in a quick, anxious tone, seeing that she was closing the door without entering; 'don't go, my child. Our business is no secret.'

As he said this, he cast an inquiring look at the two, to ascertain that he was correct, and pointed with a hesitating finger to a chair.

Mr. Chicken bowed gratefully, took it immediately, removed his hat, placed his cane between his knees, ran his fingers through his hair, and looked up at the ceiling, after the manner of persons who are occasionally present at interviews in which they have no concern, and in which they have no intention of meddling.

Grosket, however, stood where he was, with his hat on, looking steadily in the agitated face of the old man. At last he said:

'So you don't know me?'

Rhoneland eyed him for a long time; at last he shook his head.

'Yet you _ought_ to,' said Grosket, in the same tone. 'Look at me again.'

Again the old man bent his eyes upon his face, and studied his features; and certainly they were not of a character to be easily forgotten; but again he was at fault; he did not know him.

'It's strange!' muttered the other; 'a friend is often forgotten, but an enemy rarely. My name is Grosket--Enoch Grosket.'

A bright flush passed over the old man's face, as he heard the name, and he half rose from his chair. 'Yes, yes,' said he, quickly; 'I know now; the friend of Michael Rust. Kate,' said he, suddenly turning to the girl, who was leaning over his chair; 'you can go--go, Kate; leave the room, my child. This is only a friend of Mr. Rust's.'

'It's scarcely worth while,' said Grosket, 'for what I have to say of Rust will soon be spoken in the open day; ay, in his teeth will I fling my charges; before the whole world will I make them; I will brand him with a mark that he will carry to his grave! No, no, Jacob Rhoneland. I'm _not_ a friend of Michael Rust, and he'll find it so. I've too many wrongs to settle with him, for that.'

'Not a friend of his!' ejaculated Rhoneland; 'then what brings you _here_? Don't you know that I am his friend?--an old friend? He calls me his best friend.'

Grosket's lip curled, as he answered:

'_That_ friendship has lasted too long for the good of one of you. I need not mention who that one is. I am come to end it. He was my friend once. God save me from another like him! God! how he loved me!' said he, setting his teeth; 'and in return,' added he, in a cold tone, 'don't I love him now? Such a love! Give me but life and liberty, life and liberty,' said he, dropping his assumed tone, and breaking out in a burst of fierce vehemence, 'and by every hope that man can have, I swear to crush him; to grind him to the earth, body and soul; to blight him as he has blighted others; and as far as man can do so, to thwart every scheme, wither every hope, and to make him drag out his life, a vile, spurned, detested object, hated by man, driven from the pale of society, with every transgression stamped upon him, and beyond redemption in this world! What his prospects may be hereafter, none can tell but HIM.' He raised his hat reverently as he spoke, and his tone from high excitement, calmed into deep solemnity.

'My errand here,' said he, turning to Rhoneland, 'is simple; my story a short one. I was Michael Rust's friend--his tool, if you will. Through his agency I am a beggar, and my wife and child are in their graves. This did not satisfy him. I am now arrested at his suit for a debt of three thousand dollars, of which I know nothing. I cannot pay it. I have not that sum in the world; but I cannot go to prison. It would frustrate all my views. I must be at large to work. Let me have but a month of freedom, and Michael Rust will be glad to exonerate me from all claims, and to beg me on his knees to stand his friend. I am come to ask you to be my bail. The sum is six thousand dollars.'

'Me! _me!_' exclaimed Rhoneland; 'ME your bail! and against Michael Rust!--my friend Rust! Oh, no; never, never!'

'It's more for your interest than mine,' replied Grosket, calmly. 'If you do not, you'll repent it.'

Rhoneland twisted his fingers one in the other, and looked irresolutely at his daughter, and at the deputy, and then at Grosket, as if seeking counsel in their faces. At last he said, in a querulous tone:

'You're a stranger to me. I don't know you. Why do you speak in riddles? Why do you come here to harass a broken-down old man? What do you mean?'

'I mean _this_,' replied Grosket: 'Michael Rust is your friend because you _dare_ not be his enemy. You _love_ him because you dare not _hate_ him. You pray night and day to be rid of him. You would think it the brightest day in your life when, all connection between you dissolved, he left your door to darken it no more. He has a hold on your fears, with which he sways you to his will, and which he will make the means of ruin to you, and of wretchedness to those dearer to you than yourself. I speak of _her_,' said he, seeing the old man looking timidly up in the face of Kate, who still hung over his chair, pale as death, but listening to every word. 'I know his secrets, his crimes, the tools with which he works; the very falsehood which he has fabricated against you, which you cannot disprove, but which _I_ can.'

'Falsehoods!' ejaculated Rhoneland.

'Yes, falsehoods. The time is come when, even with you, he must stand revealed in his true character.'

He stepped close to Rhoneland and whispered a few words in his ear. The old man sank back in his chair, as if seized with sudden faintness; his jaw relaxed, and his eyes half started from his head. His prostration lasted but for a moment. The next instant he started up, made a step toward Grosket, and grasped his hand in both of his. 'Can you save me? can you save me?' gasped he; 'Oh! do--_do_, for God's sake!'

'I can,' replied Grosket.

'And her, _her_? my own child?' exclaimed he, pointing to his daughter.

'So help me God, I think I can!' said Grosket, earnestly; but to do so, I must be free; free only for one month. At the end of that time, if I fail, the gaol may have its prey. Get me that delay, and I have no fears for the rest.'

'Here's the document,' said Mr. Chicken, emerging from a profound revery, at the very moment that it was most requisite that his wits should be present, and producing a paper. 'I'll fill it up; you can sign it to once-t, and acknowledge it arterward.'

Rhoneland had reached out his hand to take the paper, but suddenly he hesitated and drew it back.

'Must _he_ know this?' inquired he. 'Is there no way in which it can be kept from _him_?'

Grosket looked at the deputy, who looked at the wall, and said that he 'didn't know as it could be perwented, convenient.'

'Then you must choose between us,' said Grosket, coldly; 'I have said enough to satisfy you that I have the same power over you that Rust has, did I but choose to exert it. In suffering me to go to prison you are permitting him to fetter the only person who can defeat his schemes, who can free you from his control, and prevent your child from being--Mrs. Rust.'

'I'd die first! I'd die first!' exclaimed the old man, franticly. 'Me he might do with as he pleased, but he shall not harm _you_, Kate. I'll do it, I'll do it, for _your_ sake, my child!' said he, turning to her, and clasping her convulsively to him. 'Come what may, I'll do it. Come, Sir; I'm ready,' said he. 'I'll go at once. Lose no time, not a minute. Why do you wait?' said he, impatiently.