CHAPTER IX.

THE CONSUMMATION OF THE CRIME.

Dark night settled around the dwelling of the widow Vale. The clouds of an approaching storm obscured the moon, Only a chance ray would beam out, like a beautiful face from behind the black of a mourning veil. The summer breeze blowing strongly would softly lift the plain while curtain that hung at the open window of Catherine’s room; and then, as if ashamed of the thought of entering the chamber, would drop it with a sigh of regret. The heat, for the season of the year, was by no means oppressive, and the inmates of the house were buried in deep slumber, for the hour was late.

Good eyes might have failed to detect the three men stealing up to the house; moving, with noiseless steps, through the darkness.

The horses had been left by the road-side, where there was little danger of their being discovered--the darkness was too thick, the road too little frequented. The three men were, Turner, Blanchard, and another; one proposed as an assistant, by Tom, and for whose faithfulness that gentleman expressed his willingness to go bail.

Wake! lady, wake! A viper has drawn his loathsome form over the window sill, and now gloats over his prey!

To call now were in vain. With a hand of iron, the man places a bandage over the maiden’s mouth, while he tightly grasps her throat, choking back her scream of terror. Tom Blanchard was now at his side; and, together, they quickly but silently secured their victim. Carefully wrapping the bedclothes about the form of the half-strangled girl, they bore her away to where the horses were waiting.

The inmates of the house--Mrs. Vale and a couple of black servants--remained buried in a profound slumber; Catherine could give no outcry, and even faithful old Lion was strangely inclined to somnolency. The daring deed was consummated with every success. Catherine was indeed in the power of monsters.

The ride that night was a long and a gloomy one, but an hour before the sun arose, a valuable bundle entered the door of the cottage of Jim Fagan. Catherine had long since become insensible from her fright and harsh usage.

The sun was high up when Catherine came to her senses, and realized her situation.

She did not scream, but on the contrary arose, and by the light of the lamp which sat upon the table, proceeded to dress. Then, she sat quietly down to consider her circumstances.

Where she was she could not divine. The windows were closed by thick oaken shutters, which would not permit the smallest ray of light to pass through them, and, according to appearances, the only light which it would be permitted her to use would be that of the lamp now burning on the table.

The cogitations of the maiden were, however, destined, for a time at least, to be interrupted. The key of the huge lock turned slowly, and with a creaking sound, then the door swung open, disclosing to Catherine the repulsive countenance of the negress who had charge of the building. Fagan had procured her to wait upon the lovely tenant of his cottage. The woman approached the table, bearing before her, on a waiter, that which was to be Catherine’s breakfast.

Kate was a daughter of bravery. Her heart swelled in its indignation. She addressed the old woman in a commanding tone, and demanded to know where she was, and for what reason she had been brought thither.

The sullen eyes of the negro woman flashed for an instant, but she replied in a mumbling tone: “If missa want me hear, um mus’ speak loud. Dis chile be berry old, an’ don’t hear nuffin.”

The question was repeated in a louder tone. It must have been deep ears, indeed, that could not have caught the sound of the girl’s ringing voice.

“Dis house be fass on de land, _sure_; an’ you is in it jist ’cause some pusson whants you here, I s’pose. Dat’s a fac’.”

“And who is that person?”

“Find dat out, I s’pec’s, when he comes to see you. Yah, yah!”

It was useless to question the woman. She had received her instructions from Turner, but was cute enough to understand that he was only the agent, not the master. Kate for a moment gave way to tears. The negress, seeing her beautiful charge thus moved, became somewhat pitiful, offered a word of consolation:

“Bless yer, honey, don’t be skeered, now. No one gwine to hurt yer; only here ’cause gemman wants to show how he lubs yer!”

This speech, spoken by the old woman for the purpose of allaying, had the effect of increasing the excitement of the poor, bewildered girl.

“See here, missus. I bring a bit of breakfast for de lady, and if we talk so, the coffee git cold. Come, take suthin’.”

Feeling the necessity of husbanding her strength as much as possible, to enable her to act bravely her part in that which was sure to come, the young girl was about partaking of the food, when a sudden thought struck her, “Was not this refreshment drugged?” She did not think it possible, after a few seconds of reflection, but could not refrain from turning and fixing her eye upon the old negress at the same time, with a searching glance, saying, “How am I to know that this food is not drugged? How dare I eat it?”

“Law bless ye! I fix um wid dese ere hands, an’ nebber put nothin’ in to hurt any thin’. Dis chile fur fair play, an’ wouldn’t do no such a thing for nothin’. If you want’s, I eat half of ebry thing I brings up.”

“No! there is no necessity for that. I am satisfied.”

* * * * *

Leaving Catherine to partake of the breakfast, let us return to the despoiled home of her widowed mother.

Though Catherine’s voice was not heard at the usual hour, the next morning, Mrs. Vale did not feel alarmed. Thinking that her daughter had merely overslept herself, the good woman was loth to awaken her, and it was not until, to her, a late hour, that she tapped at the door of the bedroom. No answer. Mrs. Vale again rapped. Again, no answer. She opened the door. A glance at the bed showed it to be empty!

That open window--the disordered state of the room--the mark of men’s feet all around in the soft grass, told to the quick and trained eye of the mother that a great sorrow had come upon her now. She flew out--traced the tracks to the road, discovered the imprints of the horses’ feet--marked their number and the direction they had taken. Then retracing her steps she entered her home--now a prison to her--for its light was fled.

As we have already hinted, the Vales, if not rich, were at least well off, and owned a couple of servants. One of these, a negro man, was called. He hastened to answer the unusual summons, but a clattering of hoofs caused her to look out upon the road. With an exclamation of joy she beheld her son coming rapidly toward the house.

Young Vale dashed up to the gate, and, hastily throwing the reins over his horse’s neck, dismounted. Approaching his mother with an air of respect, he tenderly embraced her, imprinting a kiss upon her forehead.

“My son,” said she, “you come at a moment of great disaster to us. Had you not come at this moment, I would have sent for you, though it be unsafe for you to be seen about your home.”

Alarmed by the serious look of his mother, the young soldier exclaimed: “Good heavens! what has happened?”

“It may not be dreadful, but it is sad, indeed. _Your sister is gone!_”

“Gone!” shouted the trooper. “Not dead? How? when? where?”

“Calm yourself, my son, she is not dead; at least, I do not think so. She disappeared last night--was torn violently from her room.”

“Disappeared! torn from her room! By whom? Say quickly!” he almost shouted, while his eyes fairly flashed fire.

“There is the mystery,” she said, pointing to the tracks in the grass, and to the imprints of the horses’ feet in the dust of the road before the gate.

John beheld these evidences of the presence of men and horses. He made a close scrutiny of every foot-print as if in them could be read a history of every thing which had occurred on the previous night. He then inspected the chamber room, the bed, the closet, the corners of the room, all were closely searched. Under a chair which stood by the bedside, he spied a small piece of white paper. He picked it up and read:

“All ready, as soon as you like. You can trust the woman for a jailer as long as you _pay_ her, but no longer. “JEM.”

It was not calculated to throw any definite light on the subject.

“Mother, whom do you suspect? There must be _some_ one who could be reasonably supposed to have had a hand in this for it is plain she has been abducted. She never left this of her own accord.”

“Alas! my son, there is one whom I suspect, though I am loth to mention his name. It is one whom I suspected to be a villain from the time I first saw him.”

“Who is it? No one whom I know? Speak!”

“No, my son; it is one whose name, in all probability, you have never heard. It is the British officer named Preston, who commands the detachment which is stationed at the house of Mr. Tappan.”

“Then you suspect this ‘foreign gentleman’ of having done this foul thing? Tell me _why_, for, if you can make out a clear case, I will shoot him like a dog the first time I meet him. Yes, shoot him even if I have to lie in wait for him, by day and night.”

The calm, desperate tone in which this was uttered, caused the widow a shudder. Mrs. Vale seemed to be terrified, and raised her hand to deprecate such a threat, while she continued the explanation which had been interrupted.

“Do not talk so of blood, John. Remember the divine command, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay it.’ If you can but rescue her from the hands into which she has fallen, it will be sufficient for us to rejoice at. These are my reasons for suspecting Preston:--Having caught sight of Catherine when he stopped to search the house for rebels, he renewed the visit through a pretense which, unfortunately, was afforded him. Though he received little encouragement, again and again he returned. A few days ago he was here, when Kate and he had some conversation which did not appear to suit him, for he left apparently in high dudgeon. Since then I have not seen him. Who else could have caused the deed to be done I scarce can conjecture. That, John, is all I have to tell. Do nothing rashly, for remember I speak nothing with perfect confidence.”

“Fear not but that I shall act with all prudence. I will search high and low for her, but I will find her.”

“Be careful lest you run your head into the lion’s jaws, and lest your mother be compelled, instead of rejoicing to see a daughter saved, to mourn that daughter lost, and a son sacrificed. But listen! look to your safety, for I hear the tread of horsemen. Look to your safety, if you would preserve your liberty.”

Fortunately, the negro man was of quick wit. He perceived that his presence would be unnecessary, but noticing that the bridle of John’s horse was carelessly thrown over a post which was on the road, and in full view of all passers-by, he--very considerately for the young man--led the horse behind the house. When he returned to shake hands with John--for this was the first time he had been at home since he joined the brigade--and learned the momentous things on which his master and mistress were talking, he stood stupefied. The noise on the road recalled his wandering senses, and he told what disposition he had made of his horse. John, contrary to commands of his mother, refused to seek safety in flight, and preferred entering the house.

Captain Reginald Preston, escorted by four dragoons, soon came in view.

At first sight, the captain seemed about to pass by; but, as if by a second thought, he reined in his steed, dismounted and walked towards Mrs. Vale with a cheerful smile on his face.

“Ah! my dear Mrs. Vale,” said he, “I thought I would stop for a moment to inquire after your health, and that of your charming daughter.”

The widow’s face grew frightfully pale as she responded: “My health is but poor, and as for Catherine, she is gone, sir!”

“Then it is done!” said Preston, speaking to himself; but, in so unguarded a manner that one with a quick ear and eye could make out the words.

“What is this you tell me?” continued he. “Gone! What mean you by that word? Has she died, eloped, or was she--_abducted_?”

“She was stolen away, sir,” said the mother, speaking very sternly. “Stolen away, but by whom I much wish to know. Can _you_ tell me who it might be?”

Reginald turned pale when this question was so directly put to him, but he quickly responded in a light, heartless tone: “Indeed, madam, I cannot. Were I but acquainted with such a secret it would indeed kill me to keep it from you.”

“Then let it kill you!” cried a voice deep with passion; the door of the house, which had been ajar, was flung open, while on the threshold, white with rage, stood John Vale. In either hand he held a loaded pistol.

Surprise, for the moment, held Preston motionless and speechless; the sudden apparition completely unmanning him. Recovering, by a great effort, his presence of mind, he turned to his men who had not yet dismounted, and shouted: “Shoot him down! shoot the rebel down! Forward, men, and--”

As Reginald spoke, he drew his sword; but, whatever else he would have told his comrades, was left unsaid--a ball from the pistol of John Vale had done its work. The dragoons hastily snatching their pistols from their bolsters, fired, but apparently without effect, for the rebel disappeared again, closing the door behind him. The stout oak door withstood the rush made against it by the four soldiers, and it was some time before they ventured to enter by the window. When, however, they did venture in, they found a window on the opposite side of the room, thrown wide open, and beheld far over the fields, a black steed bearing away, right gallantly, the young avenger.

Seeing pursuit was hopeless, the troopers deemed it necessary to go to the assistance of their captain.

They found him weltering in his blood, a ball having entered his right arm near the shoulder, and another the left thigh some distance above the knee joint. The supposition was, that Vale had fired both pistols together, for but one explosion had been heard.

Notwithstanding the wrongs which Mrs. Vale had good reason to suppose she had received at the hands of this man, she had lifted his head and was endeavoring to stanch the blood that flowed from the shoulder. When the four men approached, she ordered them to carry him into the house. They obeyed, and the man who merited so little kindness, was laid on one of the widow’s softest beds. Neither of the wounds was likely to prove fatal, and for this she was thankful.

Seeing that the captain was comfortable, one of the men set off to apprise his second officer of the affair, and learn what measures it would be best to take under the circumstances. If it could possibly be done, the captain should be removed from his present situation, for the house of Mrs. Vale was not large enough to lodge the troop, and if only part of it was left near the captain, an immediate attack from Nat Ernshaw’s brigade could reasonably be expected.

In an hour the man returned with the first lieutenant and twenty men. They found Preston pale and weak from the loss of blood, but still able to be moved, and Mrs. Vale was soon left in quiet possession of her house.

When Reginald returned to his quarters he was much exhausted, but, by the next morning was recruited enough to write a long letter to the commander at Charleston. The exact manner in which the wound was received, he of course did not take pains to explain, for there might have appeared that which would have set inquiries on foot which the captain would rather not excite. He sought to create the impression that John Vale was a cold-blooded assassin, who without any provocation, fired upon his victim from an ambush.

The answer to this letter was just such as had been wished for. On the strength of his wound, another officer was sent to fill his place, and Preston obtained permission to return to Charleston. Thus, his scheme with regard to Catherine, was actually furthered by the results of the assault of the young girl’s brother.

It was still early in the morning. Nat Ernshaw was standing alone under the shade of a cedar-tree, thinking of his absent friend and the sister who now was the star of light to the soul of the brave patriot. From this reverie he was aroused by the sharp, peremptory challenge of the sentinel posted at the outskirts of the swamp.

“Friend!” shouted the horseman, and, without slackening his pace, he dashed over the narrow neck of safe ground directly towards the spot where Ernshaw was standing.

Nat recognized his friend, and exclaimed: “Good heavens! What brings you here so soon?”

“The British are at our house, and my sister has disappeared--was stolen away last night by three mounted men, who carried her away by the road which leads to Charleston.”

“Stolen away! Catherine gone! O God! is this so?” The captain was too startled at the news, and big tears burst from his eyes. He quickly, however, controlled his feelings, and then his flushed face and quick words showed that the man within him was ready for action. “Have they left no traces behind by which they may be recognized?”

“None but this;” and John showed the note which he had picked up in his sister’s room.

“You have suspicions, though?”

“Yes; and well-grounded ones, too. The man whom I suspect--whom my mother suspects--is a captain in the British army. He came into my presence this morning, and I shot him down, as I would have shot a dog.”

“If _he_ had a hand in the abduction, she must not be far distant, for he could not make his reappearance so suddenly.”

“He probably was not present when the deed was done; but that it was planned by him, and executed _for_ him, I can have but little doubt. No one else had any motive for such an act. Alas, Nathaniel! my sister is even now in Charleston, I have every reason to fear.”

“Be calm, John. If you have killed the fellow, the chances are that Kate will be set at liberty, as no excuse could offer for her retention in Charleston.”

“Unfortunately I am not sure that the villain is dead, or even mortally wounded. I fired in a hurry, and so great was my agitation I much fear I have missed mortally wounding him.”

“But, what can we do? If Catherine has been carried to Charleston, we can do but little to effect her rescue. It would be almost certain death to risk ourselves within the limits of the city.”

“And yet it must be done,” said Vale in a firm tone.

“Yes! you are right. One of us _must_ enter Charleston; and though the risk is terrible, it may be that we can enter unobserved. After once being fairly housed, there will be but little danger of arrest.”

“One thing, Ernshaw, I have not yet mentioned; I believe that Turner had a hand in this deed. It is only another sin added to his long list of sins, and the first time we or any other true patriot chances to meet him, unless he can purchase his life by revealing some secret which may be of importance to us, he should be strung up without judge or jury.”

“You are right. The villain has always hated me, and since Kate’s refusal of him he has been heard to vow vengeance even against her:--so she has informed me.”

“I am only afraid that your conjecture is but too true. Should I meet him, the wretch shall receive the reward due him for his misdeeds. But about the expedition into Charleston? Would it not be better for both of us to go? In any kind of adventure two are better than one, and you may wish for my assistance should you set out alone.”

“Impossible. One of us must remain with the men. Besides, if we go together the chances are, should either be captured, the other would share the same fate.”

“And what would be more agreeable, John, for us, who as friends, have always lived together, to die together?”

“You may say that, Nat, but I think it would be a great deal more pleasant for us both to live than both to die. Is it not so?”

“Of course.”

“Then only one of us will go, and that one, of course, will be me.”

“And why?”

“Because; if I am captured you will still be at liberty, and through your exertions I will be enabled to effect my escape.”

“I see now;” said the patriot captain; “and I feel free to acknowledge that you are right. Of course you, as Catherine’s brother, must be the one to go. What steps are taken, must be immediate. I would advise you to prepare for the undertaking in an hour, and Heaven grant that you prosper!”

Was it an echo that repeated the words: “Heaven _will_ grant that you prosper?” As Vale turned away, Nat heard them as plainly as he had heard his own.