The Vigilance Man

by Fenton Sadler

  Although a strict temperance man these past twenty years, at times such as this, Seaton sometimes thought that he wouldn’t mind celebrating with a glass of liquor. Instead, he took from his pocket a newspaper article which had been published the previous week and decided to read through it once more. The piece had given him no little pleasure and although he knew it was sinful to surrender to pride, Seaton thought that he could justifiably permit himself a moment or two to experience that glow of Godly content, which is the only reward a truly righteous man needs.

  Reaching into his vest pocket, he extracted a piece of folded, flimsy paper. It was from the May 15th 1879 edition of the High Peaks Plain Dealer; Incorporating The Kent County Agricultural Gazette and Advertiser. The article, which had brought such a warm feeling to the heart of the leader of the Greenhaven vigilance men, read as follows:

  The Town Which Needs No Sheriff

  As civilization continues its inexorable march westwards across our fair nation, establishing courts of law, police forces, hospitals, manufactoriesand churches in its wake, we are pleased to say that one town in our own county still shows no need for such blessings as a properly constituted judiciary and police force. The safety committee of the little town of Greenhaven still administers the law, just as it has since the War Between the States.

  Mr MARK SEATON, the well-known businessman, still leads the vigilance men with as much vigour as ever he did. They say that the District Attorney for Kent County is determined to see a regular peace officer operating in every part of his bailiwick by the end of the year. It is devoutly to be hoped that he leaves Greenhaven out of the reckoning, abiding by that hoary old piece of folk wisdom which urges against the folly of meddling with machinery or institutions when they are already working very well.

  Seaton set the article down on the table with a view to putting it in the scrapbook which he kept of such cuttings; a small vanity which he permitted himself. There was a soft and respectful tap upon the door.

  ‘Come in, Eulalie,’ said Seaton quietly, ‘the door’s open.’

  The middle-aged cook-come-housemaid entered the room and handed Seaton a letter, saying, ‘A li’l boy done brung it, sah. Mail coach come in early.’

  ‘Thank you, Eulalie. I shan’t need you further tonight.’

  ‘Thank you, suh. I ’spects I’ll be seeing you in the mornin’?’

  ‘Yes, God willing. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goo’night, suh.’

  After Eulalie had left him, Seaton sat for a while, lost in thought. The man they had hanged that day had been taken red-handed in the act of stealing livestock on a local farm. There could be not the slightest doubt as to his guilt and he had made no attempt to deny that he was one of a gang of rustlers. When the fellow had been brought before him, Seaton had hinted that his life might be spared if he were to cooperate fully and tell all he knew about the rustling which currently plagued the area; an offer which was declined on the spot. Although he knew where his duty lay, the head of Greenhaven’s safety committee felt a grudging admiration for a man who displayed such loyalty to his comrades. When informed of his fate, the man, whose name was even now unknown, made one curious request. He asked to be allowed to stand, rather than sit on the horse during his hanging.

  Men hanged on horseback or jerked to Jesus at the end of a rope hauled on by a necktie party tended to die hard; kicking and choking for several minutes until they lost consciousness. A man falling from the back of a horse with a rope round his neck stood at least a chance of breaking his neck and dying more cleanly. Since the man about to hang had behaved decently and made his request without any cursing or blaspheming, Seaton acceded to it. Once he was standing on the horse’s back with the rope in place the condemned man wasted no further time; without giving any indication of his intention, he leaped high in the air. His neck snapped with an audible crack as he reached the end of the rope and so he suffered not a whit.

  Lost in his reverie, Seaton suddenly recollected the unopened letter in his hand. He broke the seal and unfolded the sheet of paper within. It read as follows:

  District Attorney’s Office

  147 Main Street

  Pharaoh

  Kent County

  5.18.79

  Dear Mr Seaton,

  You are no doubt aware that it is the devout hope of our new governor to apply soon for statehood and entry to the Union on those terms. As part of the conditions for such a process, it is of the greatest importance that the rule of law should be firmly established across the whole of our territory; and that with the greatest celerity.

  As an integral part of this grand enterprise, the District Attorneys in every county have now been charged with ensuring that a legally constituted sheriff is, in the future, responsible for law enforcement in all towns across the entire area of this territory. While cognizant of, and most grateful for, your own informal efforts in the maintenance of good order in and around the municipality of Greenhaven, it is now hoped to arrange for the election of a sheriff in that town.

  I am accordingly notifying you that my assistant, one Brent Cutler, will soon be arriving at Greenhaven. As the unofficial leader of your town’s vigilance committee, I am confident that you will extend every courtesy to Mr Cutler and provide him with any necessary facilities for the execution of his duty. I need hardly mention that Mr Cutler enjoys my complete confidence and is empowered to make any decisions in this matter on behalf of this office.

  I have the honour, sir, to remain your humble servant,

  Thomas J. Delaney

  (District Attorney for Kent County).

  Seaton had to read the letter through twice and even then he could not quite take it in. He had been running Greenhaven as a more or less benevolent despot for so many years now, that he honestly could not believe that his reign might be about to come to an end.

  The railroad car was comfortable enough, but so engrossed was Brent Cutler in the papers he was going through, that he might have been sitting on a bed of nails and not noticed any discomfort. When he was on a mission such as this present one, Cutler’s mind was wholly and absolutely engaged with the task in hand. He didn’t even hear the conductor asking to examine his ticket and the white-bearded oldster had to ask twice and then tap Cutler on the shoulder as well in order to elicit any response.

  ‘I do beg your pardon,’ said the young man, embarrassed at the thought that he might have appeared to be ignoring the conductor, ‘I was so bound up in all this, I guess I was deaf to the world.’

  ‘Not to worry, son,’ said the old man, ‘I get that way myself when I’m reading something gripping. Any chance o’ seein’ your ticket to ride?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Cutler fumbled in his pocket and eventually withdrew the pasteboard rectangle. He handed it to the conductor, who eyed it curiously.

  ‘Goin’ to Fort James, hey? That’s a dead and alive little place since the war. What’s a young fella like you heading there for, if’n you don’t mind me askin’?’

  Since the old man seemed disposed to be chatty, Cutler thought it would be ill-mannered and ungracious to snub him and so he reluctantly put down the papers he was holding and said, ‘Well, I don’t really aim to stay there. It’s just the nearest stop to Greenhaven, which is where I’m going.’

  ‘Greenhaven! Now there’s a strange burg and no mistake. You mind your step there.’

  ‘Now why do you say that?’ asked Cutler curiously. ‘Something wrong with the place?’

  ‘No,’ said the man slowly, pushing back the peaked cap he wore and scratching his head thoughtfully, ‘I don’t know that I’d exactly say that there’s anything wrong with Greenhaven.…’

  ‘What then? Come, you can’t just let drop a hint like that and not tell me what’s what.’ Brent Cutler smiled engagingly at the older man and said, ‘Listen, why don’t you take the weight off your feet for a space? Sit down opposite and tell me about Greenhaven. Really, I’m right interested!’

  There was something s
o fresh-faced, honest and open about the well dressed and polite young man that the ticket collector acceded to the request and, in defiance of company policy, took off his hat and plonked himself down in the seat facing the youngster. ‘Thing you need to know ’bout Greenhaven, is that only one man there counts for aught. Fellow by the name o’ Seaton. Mark Seaton. Runs the whole place, more or less single-handed. Leads a bunch of vigilance men. Anybody sets a foot out o’ line, those boys kind of tend to them, if you take my meaning.’

  ‘You mean they’re like the law in those parts?’

  ‘You might say so. They say as Seaton’s a Godfearing man, hot for the Lord and so on. Some of his men though.…’

  ‘Yes…?’ said Cutler, intensely interested in what the old man was saying. ‘They’re what?’

  ‘Let’s just say I heard that some aren’t quite as God-fearing as their boss. Then there’s those among ’em who aren’t above a little larceny themselves, when nobody’s looking. But I can tell you now, Greenhaven’s safer than any place you ever went in your life. A woman can walk down the street there, any hour o’ the day or night without fear of being molested. There’s no drunkenness, no thieving, no riotous behaviour; nothin’ at all allowed in the town limits. Quietest and most respectable town you could hope to find. Mind, it’s not somewhere I’d care to live myself. I’m not a one for too much preaching and folk being quiet and religious all the time.’

  Brent Cutler chuckled. ‘I know just what you mean. Even good people need to ease up a little from time to time. It doesn’t do to keep too tight a rein on things.’

  When he had arrived in Greenhaven in the early years of the War Between the States, Mark Seaton had found a little town which rivalled the Biblical Cities of the Plain for filth and wicked behaviour. Fact was, at that time Greenhaven would have given Sodom and Gommorah a good run for their money when it came to crime and general immorality. The town was ideally situated to be a centre for the smuggling of liquor, running of guns, prostitution and the Good Lord above knew what-all else.

  In 1863, the year that he arrived in Greenhaven, Seaton had been just thirty years of age. He was originally from New York, where he had been working as an attorney. The experience had disgusted him beyond all measure. He had seen men as guilty as Cain walk free from courtrooms in which they had been on trial for murder. Compelling though the evidence might have been, a little judicious bribery or, when that failed, threats of violence against members of the jury worked wonders. Even the courts appeared to condone such goings on, allowing wealthy men bail and incarcerating those too poor to post bonds. Mark Seaton had come out West in the hope of finding a simpler and cleaner way of life.

  At first, Seaton had hoped to set up as an attorney in some new town, but it hadn’t taken him long to find that there was even more corruption in the frontier towns than in the big cities of the eastern seaboard. He had finally ended up in Greenhaven, where he had abandoned all hope of practising as an honest lawyer and settled down as a general trader.

  With the small capital that he had brought with him, he prospered, dealing first in the buying and selling of the placer gold being discovered around the High Peaks and then branching out into other merchandise. It was only natural that, as a successful businessman and educated man, he should after a while become the driving force behind the setting up of Greenhaven’s first safety committee. Despite the money flowing into the town from prostitution and the traffic in guns and liquor, many of the folk living thereabouts wished for a quieter life; a place where they could raise their children safely. Slowly but surely, by means of a few hangings and a greater number of beatings, combined with the occasional tarring and feathering, Greenhaven became a good deal less rough and ready.

  Of course, the craving for hard liquor, free money and easy women doesn’t go away just because some reforming zealot takes charge of law and order. All that happened was that a lot of the less savoury aspects of life in and around Greenhaven became invisible to sight. But even Seaton’s enemies had to concede that the streets were safer now than they had been before his arrival and that outwardly at least, Greenhaven was now looking like a respectable little town.

  Fort James had, during the war, been an important outpost for the Union army. A thriving town had grown up in the lee of the army base, but with the cessation of hostilities, the soldiers had left and the town began its slow decline. Everywhere he looked, Brent Cutler could see the signs and symptoms of decay and he guessed that in another ten years or so, this would be a ghost town. In the meantime, though, it was fortunate that the livery stable was still doing business, after a fashion.

  ‘Any chance of hiring a mount?’ asked Cutler of the seedy-looking youth who was evidently in charge of the stable.

  ‘It could be so,’ admitted the young man. ‘Cost you, though.’

  Brent Cutler laughed. ‘Well, I surely didn’t expect to get a horse for nothing. Can you hire me out tack as well?’

  ‘Sure. Cost you extra, mind.’

  ‘Sun’ll be setting soon. Why not show me your horses and we can settle matters this side of nightfall?’

  There were two horses to choose from; both were scrawny beasts who looked as though they might have been rescued from a soap manufacturer’s a few seconds before being rendered down into fat. ‘They all you got?’ asked Cutler in dismay. ‘I never saw such sad-looking creatures. It’s ten miles to Greenhaven. You sure one of these’ll make it?’

  The boy shrugged, saying, ‘They’s the only critters we got. Take ’em, leave ’em, it’s all one to me.’

  ‘I’m guessing you’re not being paid on commission,’ said Cutler sourly. ‘All right, what will you charge for a week’s hire?’

  So astoundingly great was the sum quoted, that Cutler almost choked. Before he could reply, the youth began to mumble, ‘Take—’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ interrupted Cutler, ‘take it or leave it. You ain’t much of a salesman, you know that?’

  It lacked only a half hour or so before sunset by the time the sorry piece of horseflesh was tacked up and ready to go. Brent Cutler was happy enough to take a leisurely trot by moonlight, though, and had no special desire to waste a night in Fort James.

  It was a beautiful evening and the full moon made the road as easy to travel along as though it were daytime. From all that he had been told, Brent Cutler thought it unlikely that he would encounter any road agents in the vicinity of Greenhaven and so he wasn’t unduly alarmed when he saw a group of four riders heading along the track towards him. Like as not, they were just travellers, like he himself. It wasn’t until they drew nearer that he realized that all the men had neckerchiefs pulled up over the lower half of their faces in the approved style of wrongdoers across the whole of the territory. His heart sank, because he was unarmed – apart from a little muff pistol he had tucked away in his vest pocket. This would, he thought, be worse than useless against four determined men. He reined in and waited to see what turn events were going to take next.

  The letter from the District Attorney disturbed Mark Seaton so greatly that he had to go for a walk to burn off some of the nervous energy which was making his heart race. There is a problem when a man is so sure that his own actions and desires coincide in every particular way with those of the Lord God. If one isn’t careful, it isn’t so long before you start to think that any kind of opposition to your own actions is really rebellion against the Lord himself. Seaton was a man in this condition; having run the town of Greenhaven for so long, using only the Bible as his guide, the idea now of somebody else being elected to supervise the law hereabouts seemed little short of heresy!

  In addition to representing the forces of law and order in town, Seaton was also a lay preacher at the chapel. This meant that during the week he was instrumental in enforcing his own strict code of ethics, while on the Sabbath he expounded the Deity’s view on the matter. These two roles had, over the years, become inextricably mingled together in his mind, until he had begun to see himself as rough
ly comparable to some Old Testament prophet; one of the Judges perhaps, like Joshua or Barak.

  After walking briskly and fairly aimlessly for a half hour, Seaton directed his steps to the smithy, where a particularly reliable and devout member of both the chapel and safety committee had his workplace. Ezra Stannard greeted the head of Greenhaven’s vigilance men respectfully. ‘Good evening to you, Mr Seaton. I ’spect as you’re surprised to find me working my bellows at this hour of the day?’ It was past ten o’clock.

  ‘Ezra, I know you as a man who likes to keep his hands busy and his mind pure.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth. You know they say as the Devil makes mischief for idle hands.’

  ‘So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard. Ezra, we have a problem.’

  ‘Problem? Nothing you can’t reason out, Mr Seaton, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘You trust me, I reckon?’

  ‘Mr Seaton, sir, I trust you more ’an any man living.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. I need you to undertake a little job of work for me. It might sound a little odd, but I need you and some two or three more to do something without asking too much about the reason why. Would you trust me to that extent?’

  Ezra Stannard wiped his hands on a piece of old rag and then walked up to Seaton and thrust out a muscular and calloused paw. He said, ‘Mr Seaton, I’d follow you to hell if you asked it. There’s others feel the same way. You made this town what it is. Just ask and we’ll do whatever you say.’