[Written for The Flag of our Union]

Hearthstone Tales

The Old Lady’s Story

by Charles Cutterfield

When I went to visit my aunt, in the summer of 18—, she invited me to spend an evening with her, at the house of a neighbor, an old lady who lived alone. The old lady saw little company, and was pleased accordingly. After conversing in the ordinary manner for a considerable length of time, she lighted her tallow candle, hitched up to a corner of the stone fireplace, and related the following incident of her life.

“When we were first married we lived in a tavern. It wasn’t much of a tavern neither, but it served for accommodating the public with meals and lodgings, and served to bring a little pin money to myself. It was in the woods, almost, with just a store a little above it, and a mill on the river below it. There wasn’t but one house in the village, then, because we lived in the tavern, and Mr. Benson’s folks lived in the upper part of their store. But Briggs didn’t live in the mill—they had a house. It was a good house too, for them times.

“My husband, he was always a driving cattle. He’d go out Monday and sometimes a Sunday, and not get back till—well, I never knew when he would come back. Sometimes he had a good deal of money in the house, not often though, when he wasn’t there himself. But the night I speak of, he left a large sum of money which I put away in the little drawer on top of the bureau. My niece was living with me then, as a kind of hired girl. Her name was Sally Whitcher, and she was a pert and pretty little body as you commonly see.

“We didn’t have much custom; my husband built the tavern to be ready to catch the business when the place should grow, and it never grew as much as he calculated. Once in a while somebody came along and asked for a dinner or lodging, and we prided ourselves in keeping a first-class house. We meant to get a reputation which would take all the best company when the place grew.

“About sundown that night, when Sally and I were sitting on the verandah, a very fine man came up and asked for lodgings, and we showed him into the parlor. A little while after, another man came. He was dressed in old clothes, and had a foolish look that disgusted me. Sally didn’t like him neither.

“ ‘I’m tireder’n thunder,’ said the man, the first thing. ‘I’ve cum clear from Maine afoot, and I’m goin’ to stop. You’ve good eatin’ and beds, I take it.’

“ ‘Yes,’ said Sally.

“ ‘Then my fortin’s made,’ said he. ‘Here I’ll stop jest as long as you’re willin’. I’ve got the money, and the country’s quite decent. I’m out on a inspectin’ tour. I’m lookin’ round, and haint nothin’ to hurry me up. And if I had, I sh’d patronize such company anyhow. Jest give me a good bed and good eatin’ and I’m located—only I want the eatin’ fust.’

“I didn’t like to have the gentleman in the parlor troubled with such a companion, and I didn’t like to have such company in the house. I made up my mind that I wouldn’t accept his patronage. I thought very likely he hadn’t any money either. And to settle the matter without further talk, I said to him:

“ ‘We don’t keep thieves and vagabonds.’

“The man stared.

“ ‘Three miles off there’s another hotel,’ said Sally.

“ ‘Yes,’ he said, in an odd way.

“ ‘I hope, madam,’ said the gentleman, who had heard the conversation, and now came out upon the verandah, ‘that you will not allow beggars to make their head-quarters at your establishment. I came here on the recommendation of one of your friends, expecting to find a first-class house. If the beggar stays, I shall take my departure.’

“I wasn’t exactly pleased with his meddling, but I began to have ideas of high life, and I wanted to keep up the reputation of the house. After the gentleman went back to the parlor the Maine man spoke again.

“ ‘I sh’d like to stop, but you’re the landlord, and it’s jest as you say. I aint a thief, nor a beggar.’

“ ‘You can’t stay,’ I said.

“ ‘Can’t you give me some bread ‘n milk, and put me on the floor?’

“ ‘No.’

“ ‘Wont you let me inter the shed.’

“ ‘No.’

“ ‘Mightn’t I stay ‘n the barn with the hosses?’

“ ‘We don’t keep thieves and vagabonds, I tell you—now be off.’

“He didn’t move, but Sally and I went into the house and shut the door.”

Here the old lady stopped, to recall what transpired next in order, and I moved my chair nearer the corner where she sat.

“You haint any idea how I felt that night,” she said, after a pause, “I had the strangest feelin’s, and after I’d gone to bed, I had to get up again. I couldn’t sleep. I looked into the drawer, and found the money all safe, and then I took it out, and hid it away under the feather-bed. I was restless and uneasy. When I was abed I couldn’t shut my eyes, and when I was up, I kept wantin’ to be somewhere else. I wanted to be rovin’ around, and yet I didn’t like to have a light. I was afraid the Yankee might be prowlin’ around, and up to some trick. I’m afraid of Yankee anyhow.

“I looked out of the window and the moon was just a setting. I watched it, and saw it go down in the woods. And when it went down, it seemed as though my last friend had gone, and I was all alone in the world. I thought of my husband, and wondered if these feelin’s want a warning. Then I remembered that a loaf of bread which I baked that afternoon, was cracked clear across the top. I knew it all meant something, and I kept getting worse.

“It must a been later than midnight, when I got so bad that I couldn’t endure it. So I opened the door carefully, and stepped out into the hall. It was dark, so I couldn’t see my hand before my face. I crept along a little further, and came to the room where the gentleman slept. The door was open. I looked toward the stairs, and could just see enough to know that there was a man there, creeping along as cautiously as I was creeping myself. If I’d seen a ghost I couldn’t have been more frightened. I seemed to know some mischief was a brewing, and I couldn’t tell what. I had been thinking of the Yankee prowling around, and now I knew I was mistaken. I knew it was the gentleman. I couldn’t go back, and I couldn’t speak. I didn’t seem to be myself at all, but somebody else controlled me.

“The gentleman went down the stairs without making any noise. After he had got a little further on, I started to go down. Most probably I stepped too heavy on the stairs; at any rate he stopped and looked around. He looked like a great ugly black bear, there in the darkness, but I kept quiet, and my black shawl which I had thrown around me, prevented his noticing anything. He started along again as cautiously as before, and I followed. It was my destiny I suppose—I couldn’t help it, that’s certain. He went along through the kitchen, and up another flight of stairs, as though he’d always lived in the house, and knew every door and room. He went to Sally’s chamber door and then stopped.

“It was a wonder I didn’t call out, but I suppose if I had he would have killed me on the spot. He listened a minute, and then took something and pushed out the key. It fell on the floor, inside the room, and made a ringing noise that I thought would wake Sally, but she never heard it. The gentleman waited a minute more, after the key fell, and then unlocked the door as easily as though he had reached through, and picked up the fallen key.

“Here, then, was a dreadful danger indeed—danger to my niece—though I knew nothing of his purpose. I knew it meant danger, and that was all. As soon as he stepped into the room, I passed by the door and stood in the hall beyond. I dared not follow him in. I heard no noise. He struck no light. I waited till he brought out a heavy burden in his arms, which I could see to be Sally Whitcher. The whole transaction had such an air of mystery that I was paralyzed. All was still as death. If Sally had screamed for help I should have rushed to her assistance, but she uttered no noise, and seemed to be asleep. He carried her down the stairs and laid her upon the lounge, and went to unlock the front door, and make observations.

“While he was at the door, I crept up to Sally, and whispered:

“ ‘Sally?’

“No answer.

“ ‘Sally, Sally, wake up, the man is carrying you off.’

“She slept as soundly as ever.

“ ‘Come, come, quick—wake up!’

“I laid my hand upon her shoulder and shook her violently, but to no purpose, she remained asleep, I was horrified, and was afraid he had strangled her. Her body was wrapped in the counterpane, and her long hair hung over the end of the sofa. A sudden thought seized me, and I took her in my arms, hurried up the stairs and into my room, and locked the door. It required all my strength, but I was strong in them days, and I had just turned the key when the gentleman came to the door. I laid her upon the bed, and then stood by the door and held the key.

“ ‘I must come in,’ said he.

“ ‘What do you want?’ I asked, for it was so strange that I thought very likely he could make an explanation if he chose. I wasn’t certain he meant any harm, but I was determined, if he couldn’t clear up the mystery, he should never come into that room.

“ ‘I want Sally Whitcher, and I will have her.  Let me in, or I will burst open the door.’

“ ‘You cannot come in,’ I said, and I was roused so that I meant what I said.

“ ‘She will die if you don’t let me in. I have given her chloroform.’

“I had never heard of chloroform, and thought that he must come in to save her life.

“ ‘Wont you take her away?’

“ ‘No.’

“ ‘Who are you?’

“ ‘No matter—will you let me in?’

“He used oaths, which made me doubt his good intentions. I hesitated. I knew, however, when I thought, that his intentions could not be good, and I began to doubt whether he could save her life by coming in. My mind was made up—he should never come into the room.

“ ‘Leave the house,’ I shouted.

“ ‘Directly,’ said he, and then he came against the door with his shoulder, through into the room. I knew that I could do nothing in a contest with him, and I slipped through the door the moment he entered, and ran down. I was perfectly cool now, at least I could think—something which I had not been able to do before. I shut the front door, which he had unlocked and opened while I was carrying Sally up stairs, and turned the key upon the outside. I hadn’t but just turned the key, when I saw the Yankee standing on the verandah, with his long gun upon the floor, close beside me.

“ ‘What ye duin’ on?’ said he.

“ ‘O mercy!’ I shrieked, ‘what shall I do!’ I thought he was a partner of the gentleman in this matter, and was completely dumb-founded.

“ ‘There’s sumthin’ goin’ on here, whuther you b’leve it or not. Sumthin’s up. I’ve been skootin’ round, and I’ve seen things that made me sispicious. What’s up, anyhow?’

“ ‘What have you seen?’ I asked. I was doubtful whether he was a friend or foe, and was expecting the gentleman at the door every minute. I thought there want no need of asking the Yankee to help me at once, because I didn’t see how he could help me till the door was tried, and when that time should come, I thought perhaps he would help me, but more likely force me away for the gentleman to pass out.

“ ‘Down the river a few rods, there’s a carriage with a man holdin’ the hoss. He’s been there more’n two hours, to say the least, and he’s all the time lookin’ round as though he expected somebody. Sum deviltry’s up you may depend. Why don’t you tell a feller? You know sumthin’ about it, or you wouldn’t be here. Hark!’

“ ‘O dear, O dear!’

“I heard it just as plain as you hear me now, and I knew Sally was waking out of her sleep.

“ ‘Cum—open quick. Sumbody’s sufferin’, and I aint goin’ to stan’ it. What d’ye mean?’

“ ‘Will you really help us, sir?’

“ ‘Help you? I’ll help ennybody that’s sufferin’. Cum—I want to know what’s goin’ on.’

“I resolved to tell him, and trust his word.

“ ‘Do you remember the gentleman that was here when you called first?’ I asked.

“ ‘Yes—what about it—quick.’

“ ‘He’s carrying off my niece—the young lady that sat with me on the verandah. There was no one in the house but she and I, except the gentleman. I have watched him, and he is trying to carry her off. O sir, if you will help us when he comes out.’

“ ‘Waitin’ for ‘im to come out? Do yeou think I’ll wait for ‘im to come out? Not by a darned sight. Jest unlock the door, and let me in. I knew he want no gentleman when I fust sot eyes onto ‘im.’

“We entered the house and listened, but could hear nothing. Then we went up the stairs to my room, still to no purpose. Then we went to my niece’s room, and they were not there. We went into every room in the house, and called her name, but they were not to be found.

“ ‘They’ve gone out sum other door,’ said the Yankee.

“ ‘The other door is nailed up, they couldn’t have gone out there.’

“We went and made an examination of the door, and found it precisely as my husband had left it. It was unfinished, and nailed securely. There was still another door, that opened from the kitchen into the shed, but that was so situated, that if they had gone out there, we should have seen them from the verandah.

“ ‘What’n the deuce doz it mean? They aint in the house for sartin’, they’ve gone off. Mebbe they’ve burst through a window,’ said this singular man, turning around suddenly, and looking at me as though he were sure of it.

“We stepped into the dining-room, and found one of the windows taken out, apparently as carefully as though it were done to wash. The whole window was taken out—the top sash, as well as the bottom.

“ ‘Here’s where they have gone out,’ said I.

“ ‘No doubt on’t; and I can guess now what that team meant. It’s orful. But ‘taint no use o’ crying’ abeout it when we ken do better. We’ve got to run, or it’ll be too late.’

“He hurried through the house to the front door, and I followed. There seemed to be no time to call the neighbors—there had been no time from the first. I might have left him at this period and gone for help, but already they were out of the house, and I had the feeling that if help didn’t come sooner than I could get it from the neighbors, it would come too late to be of service.

“ ‘There—there,’ said the Yankee, pointing across the corner of bushes, which hid the river road, ‘he’s jest carryin’ on ‘er through the bushes. Why don’t she scream out?’

“ ‘She can’t—he’s been giving her chloroform,’ said I, not myself knowing what it was that he had given her, but anxious to answer his question.

“ ‘They’re precious scoundrels! Ef I hadn’t seen it, I shouldn’t b’leved it. But they’re playing’ a losin’ game this time ennynow. Ef they drive tother way, they’ll drive where I know the lay o’ the land, and I’ll foller in five minutes arter they start. Ef they don’t—what!’

“The report of a pistol, and the whistling of a bullet past his head, occasioned a sudden exclamation and stop.

“ ‘Cum—foller me.’

“In a moment we were out of their sight behind the trees. Striking down across a point of land, where the road curved to follow the bank of the river, we reached it before they had passed. The only question was, whether they designed to pass. We descended a rocky bluff to reach the position, and were in sight of the road for a considerable distance.

“ ‘Ef they come, they’ll stop,’ said the Yankee.

“ ‘But how can you fight them both?’ I asked.

“ ‘I dunno—they’ll stop, sure.’

“I had followed, not because I expected to be of any service, but because I could not do otherwise. Now we watched for the carriage, I with such feelings as I cannot describe. It was quite dark, and I loved my niece, dearly, the darkness, therefore, made my feelings more bitter. I could not see any prospect of rescuing her from the grasp of her captors. There were two men, evidently, and prepared to fight if fighting became necessary. We were concealed behind a large granite rock covered with moss. We heard the wheels of the carriage, and the tramp of the horse’s hoofs upon the hard road.

“ ‘Good—they’re comin’.’

“ ‘Are you going to shoot them? Mercy, you will shoot my niece!’

“I trembled violently, as the sound of the wheels came nearer, and feared more than I hoped.

“ ‘I’m goin’ to stop ‘em, sure. Your niece’d better be shot, than carried off by them scamps—you may be sure on’t.’

“ ‘What do you mean?’ said I, almost aloud, I was so much excited at his words. ‘You wont shoot her? No—no—don’t—let them go!’

“I fairly spoke the last words out loud, and caught hold of his arm, as he crept out to be in readiness, I was so horrified by his words.

“ ‘Keep cool—they’re goin’ tu stop—and I wont shute her nuther.’

“ ‘Be careful—’

“He cut me short with his answer, for just then the horse came in sight around the curve. They were driving as fast as the horse could go, and I could see nothing of Sally, though I could see the faces of the men, we were so near the road. I held my breath when the Yankee raised his rifle, not knowing whether his fire would be for good or ill. Before they got abreast of us, the report of his gun rung through the valley, and echoed away upon the mountain’s side.

“He shot the horse. He was going at full speed at the time, and he dropped so suddenly, that the men were thrown sprawling out over his dead body. They stopped just a moment, after they got up again, just long enough to see that the horse was dead, and then they run into the woods. Their scheme had failed. They couldn’t carry off my niece in their arms, and so they left her in the bottom of the carriage, and made off themselves.”

“And did Sally Whitcher live?” I asked.

“She came to herself in half an hour, and walked back to the tavern with the Yankee and myself. She didn’t know anything of the whole occurrence, till she woke up in the road. We walked back together, and then the Yankee started to go up the road.

“ ‘Why do you go away now?’ said I. ‘Come in and stop with us.’

“ ‘You don’t keep thieves and vagabonds, ma’am,’ he replied, and walked away in spite of all I could say.

“I felt bad enough to see him go, and when afterwards I learned that he was an own brother of my husband, I felt worse yet.

“Well, sire,” and here she looked directly at me, as though this was most remarkable of all, “after awhile, after he’d hunted out the villains and had them punished, and after he’d hunted out the villains and had them punished, and after he’d worked out a year or two, he actually come back and married my niece.”