MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE
A young fellow, a tobacco pedlar by trade, was on his way fromMorristown, where he had dealt largely with the Deacon of theShaker settlement, to the village of Parker's Falls, on SalmonRiver. He had a neat little cart, painted green, with a box ofcigars depicted on each side panel, and an Indian chief, holdinga pipe and a golden tobacco stalk, on the rear. The pedlar drovea smart little mare, and was a young man of excellent character,keen at a bargain, but none the worse liked by the Yankees; who,as I have heard them say, would rather be shaved with a sharprazor than a dull one. Especially was he beloved by the prettygirls along the Connecticut, whose favor he used to court bypresents of the best smoking tobacco in his stock; knowing wellthat the country lasses of New England are generally greatperformers on pipes. Moreover, as will be seen in the course ofmy story, the pedlar was inquisitive, and something of a tattler,always itching to hear the news and anxious to tell it again.
After an early breakfast at Morristown, the tobacco pedlar, whosename was Dominicus Pike, had travelled seven miles through asolitary piece of woods, without speaking a word to anybody buthimself and his little gray mare. It being nearly seven o'clock,he was as eager to hold a morning gossip as a city shopkeeper toread the morning paper. An opportunity seemed at hand when, afterlighting a cigar with a sun-glass, he looked up, and perceived aman coming over the brow of the hill, at the foot of which thepedlar had stopped his green cart. Dominicus watched him as hedescended, and noticed that he carried a bundle over his shoulderon the end of a stick, and travelled with a weary, yet determinedpace. He did not look as if he had started in the freshness ofthe morning, but had footed it all night, and meant to do thesame all day.
"Good morning, mister," said Dominicus, when within speakingdistance. "You go a pretty good jog. What's the latest news atParker's Falls?"
The man pulled the broad brim of a gray hat over his eyes, andanswered, rather sullenly, that he did not come from Parker'sFalls, which, as being the limit of his own day's journey, thepedlar had naturally mentioned in his inquiry.
"Well then," rejoined Dominicus Pike, "let's have the latest newswhere you did come from. I'm not particular about Parker's Falls.Any place will answer."
Being thus importuned, the traveller--who was as ill looking afellow as one would desire to meet in a solitary piece ofwoods--appeared to hesitate a little, as if he was eithersearching his memory for news, or weighing the expediency oftelling it. At last, mounting on the step of the cart, hewhispered in the ear of Dominicus, though he might have shoutedaloud and no other mortal would have heard him.
"I do remember one little trifle of news," said he. "Old Mr.Higginbotham, of Kimballton, was murdered in his orchard, ateight o'clock last night, by an Irishman and a nigger. Theystrung him up to the branch of a St. Michael's pear-tree, wherenobody would find him till the morning."
As soon as this horrible intelligence was communicated, thestranger betook himself to his journey again, with more speedthan ever, not even turning his head when Dominicus invited himto smoke a Spanish cigar and relate all the particulars. Thepedlar whistled to his mare and went up the hill, pondering onthe doleful fate of Mr. Higginbotham whom he had known in the wayof trade, having sold him many a bunch of long nines, and a greatdeal of pigtail, lady's twist, and fig tobacco. He was ratherastonished at the rapidity with which the news had spread.Kimballton was nearly sixty miles distant in a straight line; themurder had been perpetrated only at eight o'clock the precedingnight; yet Dominicus had heard of it at seven in the morning,when, in all probability, poor Mr. Higginbotham's own family hadbut just discovered his corpse, hanging on the St. Michael'spear-tree. The stranger on foot must have worn seven-league bootsto travel at such a rate.
"Ill news flies fast, they say," thought Dominicus Pike; "butthis beats railroads. The fellow ought to be hired to go expresswith the President's Message."
The difficulty was solved by supposing that the narrator had madea mistake of one day in the date of the occurrence; so that ourfriend did not hesitate to introduce the story at every tavernand country store along the road, expending a whole bunch ofSpanish wrappers among at least twenty horrified audiences. Hefound himself invariably the first bearer of the intelligence,and was so pestered with questions that he could not avoidfilling up the outline, till it became quite a respectablenarrative. He met with one piece of corroborative evidence. Mr.Higginbotham was a trader; and a former clerk of his, to whomDominicus related the facts, testified that the old gentleman wasaccustomed to return home through the orchard about nightfall,with the money and valuable papers of the store in his pocket.The clerk manifested but little grief at Mr. Higginbotham'scatastrophe, hinting, what the pedlar had discovered in his owndealings with him, that he was a crusty old fellow, as close as avice. His property would descend to a pretty niece who was nowkeeping school in Kimballton.
What with telling the news for the public good, and drivingbargains for his own, Dominicus was so much delayed on the roadthat he chose to put up at a tavern, about five miles short ofParker's Falls. After supper, lighting one of his prime cigars,he seated himself in the bar-room, and went through the story ofthe murder, which had grown so fast that it took him half an hourto tell. There were as many as twenty people in the room,nineteen of whom received it all for gospel. But the twentiethwas an elderly farmer, who had arrived on horseback a short timebefore, and was now seated in a corner smoking his pipe. When thestory was concluded, he rose up very deliberately, brought hischair right in front of Dominicus, and stared him full in theface, puffing out the vilest tobacco smoke the pedlar had eversmelt.
"Will you make affidavit," demanded he, in the tone of a countryjustice taking an examination, "that old Squire Higginbotham ofKimballton was murdered in his orchard the night before last, andfound hanging on his great pear-tree yesterday morning?"
"I tell the story as I heard it, mister," answered Dominicus,dropping his half-burnt cigar; "I don't say that I saw the thingdone. So I can't take my oath that he was murdered exactly inthat way."
"But I can take mine," said the farmer, "that if SquireHigginbotham was murdered night before last, I drank a glass ofbitters with his ghost this morning. Being a neighbor of mine, hecalled me into his store, as I was riding by, and treated me, andthen asked me to do a little business for him on the road. Hedidn't seem to know any more about his own murder than I did."
"Why, then, it can't be a fact!" exclaimed Dominicus Pike.
"I guess he'd have mentioned, if it was," said the old farmer;and he removed his chair back to the corner, leaving Dominicusquite down in the mouth.
Here was a sad resurrection of old Mr. Higginbotham! The pedlarhad no heart to mingle in the conversation any more, butcomforted himself with a glass of gin and water, and went to bedwhere, all night long, he dreamed of hanging on the St. Michael'spear-tree. To avoid the old farmer (whom he so detested that hissuspension would have pleased him better than Mr.Higginbotham's), Dominicus rose in the gray of the morning, putthe little mare into the green cart, and trotted swiftly awaytowards Parker's Falls. The fresh breeze, the dewy road, and thepleasant summer dawn, revived his spirits, and might haveencouraged him to repeat the old story had there been anybodyawake to hear it. But he met neither ox team, light wagon chaise,horseman, nor foot traveller, till, just as he crossed SalmonRiver, a man came trudging down to the bridge with a bundle overhis shoulder, on the end of a stick.
"Good morning, mister," said the pedlar, reining in his mare. "Ifyou come from Kimballton or that neighborhood, may be you cantell me the real fact about this affair of old Mr. Higginbotham.Was the old fellow actually murdered two or three nights ago, byan Irishman and a nigger?"
Dominicus had spoken in too great a hurry to observe, at first,that the stranger himself had a deep tinge of negro blood. Onhearing this sudden question, the Ethiopian appeared to changehis skin, its yellow hue becoming a ghastly white, while, shakingand stammering, he thus replied: "No! no! There was no coloredman! It was an Ir
ishman that hanged him last night, at eighto'clock. I came away at seven! His folks can't have looked forhim in the orchard yet."
Scarcely had the yellow man spoken, when he interrupted himself,and though he seemed weary enough before, continued his journeyat a pace which would have kept the pedlar's mare on a smarttrot. Dominicus stared after him in great perplexity. If themurder had not been committed till Tuesday night, who was theprophet that had foretold it, in all its circumstances, onTuesday morning? If Mr. Higginbotham's corpse were not yetdiscovered by his own family, how came the mulatto, at abovethirty miles' distance, to know that he was hanging in theorchard, especially as he had left Kimballton before theunfortunate man was hanged at all? These ambiguous circumstances,with the stranger's surprise and terror, made Dominicus think ofraising a hue and cry after him, as an accomplice in the murder;since a murder, it seemed, had really been perpetrated.
"But let the poor devil go," thought the pedlar. "I don't wanthis black blood on my head; and hanging the nigger wouldn'tunhang Mr. Higginbotham. Unhang the old gentleman; It's a sin, Iknow; but I should hate to have him come to life a second time,and give me the lie!"
With these meditations, Dominicus Pike drove into the street ofParker's Falls, which, as everybody knows, is as thriving avillage as three cotton factories and a slitting mill can makeit. The machinery was not in motion, and but a few of the shopdoors unbarred, when he alighted in the stable yard of thetavern, and made it his first business to order the mare fourquarts of oats. His second duty, of course, was to impart Mr.Higginbotham's catastrophe to the hostler. He deemed itadvisable, however, not to be too positive as to the date of thedireful fact, and also to be uncertain whether it wereperpetrated by an Irishman and a mulatto, or by the son of Erinalone. Neither did he profess to relate it on his own authority,or that of any one person; but mentioned it as a report generallydiffused.
The story ran through the town like fire among girdled trees, andbecame so much the universal talk that nobody could tell whenceit had originated. Mr. Higginbotham was as well known at Parker'sFalls as any citizen of the place, being part owner of theslitting mill, and a considerable stockholder in the cottonfactories. The inhabitants felt their own prosperity interestedin his fate. Such was the excitement, that the Parker's FallsGazette anticipated its regular day of publication, and came outwith half a form of blank paper and a column of double picaemphasized with capitals, and headed HORRID MURDER OF MR.HIGGINBOTHAM! Among other dreadful details, the printed accountdescribed the mark of the cord round the dead man's neck, andstated the number of thousand dollars of which he had beenrobbed; there was much pathos also about the affliction of hisniece, who had gone from one fainting fit to another, ever sinceher uncle was found hanging on the St. Michael's pear-tree withhis pockets inside out. The village poet likewise commemoratedthe young lady's grief in seventeen stanzas of a ballad. Theselectmen held a meeting, and, in consideration of Mr.Higginbotham's claims on the town, determined to issue handbills,offering a reward of five hundred dollars for the apprehension ofhis murderers, and the recovery of the stolen property.
Meanwhile the whole population of Parker's Falls, consisting ofshopkeepers, mistresses of boarding-houses, factory girls,millmen, and schoolboys, rushed into the street and kept up sucha terrible loquacity as more than compensated for the silence ofthe cotton machines, which refrained from their usual din out ofrespect to the deceased. Had Mr. Higginbotham cared aboutposthumous renown, his untimely ghost would have exulted in thistumult. Our friend Dominicus, in his vanity of heart, forgot hisintended precautions, and mounting on the town pump, announcedhimself as the bearer of the authentic intelligence which hadcaused so wonderful a sensation. He immediately became the greatman of the moment, and had just begun a new edition of thenarrative, with a voice like a field preacher, when the mailstage drove into the village street. It had travelled all night,and must have shifted horses at Kimballton, at three in themorning.
"Now we shall hear all the particulars," shouted the crowd.
The coach rumbled up to the piazza of the tavern, followed by athousand people; for if any man had been minding his own businesstill then, he now left it at sixes and sevens, to hear the news.The pedlar, foremost in the race, discovered two passengers, bothof whom had been startled from a comfortable nap to findthemselves in the centre of a mob. Every man assailing them withseparate questions, all propounded at once, the couple werestruck speechless, though one was a lawyer and the other a younglady.
"Mr. Higginbotham! Mr. Higginbotham! Tell us the particularsabout old Mr. Higginbotham!" bawled the mob. "What is thecoroner's verdict? Are the murderers apprehended? Is Mr.Higginbotham's niece come out of her fainting fits? Mr.Higginbotham! Mr. Higginbotham!!"
The coachman said not a word, except to swear awfully at thehostler for not bringing him a fresh team of horses. The lawyerinside had generally his wits about him even when asleep; thefirst thing he did, after learning the cause of the excitement,was to produce a large, red pocketbook. Meantime Dominicus Pike,being an extremely polite young man, and also suspecting that afemale tongue would tell the story as glibly as a lawyer's, hadhanded the lady out of the coach. She was a fine, smart girl, nowwide awake and bright as a button, and had such a sweet prettymouth, that Dominicus would almost as lief have heard a love talefrom it as a tale of murder.
"Gentlemen and ladies," said the lawyer to the shopkeepers, themillmen, and the factory girls, "I can assure you that someunaccountable mistake, or, more probably, a wilful falsehood,maliciously contrived to injure Mr. Higginbotham's credit, hasexcited this singular uproar. We passed through Kimballton atthree o'clock this morning, and most certainly should have beeninformed of the murder had any been perpetrated. But I have proofnearly as strong as Mr. Higginbotham's own oral testimony, in thenegative. Here is a note relating to a suit of his in theConnecticut courts, which was delivered me from that gentlemanhimself. I find it dated at ten o'clock last evening."
So saying, the lawyer exhibited the date and signature of thenote, which irrefragably proved, either that this perverse Mr.Higginbotham was alive when he wrote it, or--as some deemed themore probable case, of two doubtful ones--that he was so absorbedin worldly business as to continue to transact it even after hisdeath. But unexpected evidence was forthcoming. The young lady,after listening to the pedlar's explanation, merely seized amoment to smooth her gown and put her curls in order, and thenappeared at the tavern door, making a modest signal to be heard.
"Good people," said she, "I am Mr. Higginbotham's niece."
A wondering murmur passed through the crowd on beholding her sorosy and bright; that same unhappy niece, whom they had supposed,on the authority of the Parker's Falls Gazette, to be lying atdeath's door in a fainting fit. But some shrewd fellows haddoubted, all along, whether a young lady would be quite sodesperate at the hanging of a rich old uncle.
"You see," continued Miss Higginbotham, with a smile, "that thisstrange story is quite unfounded as to myself; and I believe Imay affirm it to be equally so in regard to my dear uncleHigginbotham. He has the kindness to give me a home in his house,though I contribute to my own support by teaching a school. Ileft Kimballton this morning to spend the vacation ofcommencement week with a friend, about five miles from Parker'sFalls. My generous uncle, when he heard me on the stairs, calledme to his bedside, and gave me two dollars and fifty cents to paymy stage fare, and another dollar for my extra expenses. He thenlaid his pocketbook under his pillow, shook hands with me, andadvised me to take some biscuit in my bag, instead ofbreakfasting on the road. I feel confident, therefore, that Ileft my beloved relative alive, and trust that I shall find himso on my return."
The young lady courtesied at the close of her speech, which wasso sensible and well worded, and delivered with such grace andpropriety, that everybody thought her fit to be preceptress ofthe best academy in the State. But a stranger would have supposedthat Mr. Higginbotham was an object of abhorrence at Parker'sFalls, and that a thanksgiving had been proclaimed for hismurd
er; so excessive was the wrath of the inhabitants on learningtheir mistake. The millmen resolved to bestow public honors onDominicus Pike, only hesitating whether to tar and feather him,ride him on a rail, or refresh him with an ablution at the townpump, on the top of which he had declared himself the bearer ofthe news. The selectmen, by advice of the lawyer, spoke ofprosecuting him for a misdemeanor, in circulating unfoundedreports, to the great disturbance of the peace of theCommonwealth. Nothing saved Dominicus, either from mob law or acourt of justice, but an eloquent appeal made by the young ladyin his behalf. Addressing a few words of heartfelt gratitude tohis benefactress, he mounted the green cart and rode out of town,under a discharge of artillery from the school-boys, who foundplenty of ammunition in the neighboring clay-pits and mud holes.As he turned his head to exchange a farewell glance with Mr.Higginbotham's niece, a ball, of the consistence of hastypudding, hit him slap in the mouth, giving him a most grimaspect. His whole person was so bespattered with the like filthymissiles, that he had almost a mind to ride back, and supplicatefor the threatened ablution at the town pump; for, though notmeant in kindness, it would now have been a deed of charity.
However, the sun shone bright on poor Dominicus, and the mud, anemblem of all stains of undeserved opprobrium, was easily brushedoff when dry. Being a funny rogue, his heart soon cheered up; norcould he refrain from a hearty laugh at the uproar which hisstory had excited. The handbills of the selectmen would cause thecommitment of all the vagabonds in the State; the paragraph inthe Parker's Falls Gazette would be reprinted from Maine toFlorida, and perhaps form an item in the London newspapers; andmany a miser would tremble for his money bags and life, onlearning the catastrophe of Mr. Higginbotham. The pedlarmeditated with much fervor on the charms of the youngschoolmistress, and swore that Daniel Webster never spoke norlooked so like an angel as Miss Higginbotham, while defending himfrom the wrathful populace at Parker's Falls.
Dominicus was now on the Kimballton turnpike, having all alongdetermined to visit that place, though business had drawn him outof the most direct road from Morristown. As he approached thescene of the supposed murder, he continued to revolve thecircumstances in his mind, and was astonished at the aspect whichthe whole case assumed. Had nothing occurred to corroborate thestory of the first traveller, it might now have been consideredas a hoax; but the yellow man was evidently acquainted eitherwith the report or the fact; and there was a mystery in hisdismayed and guilty look on being abruptly questioned. When, tothis singular combination of incidents, it was added that therumor tallied exactly with Mr. Higginbotham's character andhabits of life; and that he had an orchard, and a St. Michael'spear-tree, near which he always passed at nightfall: thecircumstantial evidence appeared so strong that Dominicus doubtedwhether the autograph produced by the lawyer, or even the niece'sdirect testimony, ought to be equivalent. Making cautiousinquiries along the road, the pedlar further learned that Mr.Higginbotham had in his service an Irishman of doubtfulcharacter, whom he had hired without a recommendation, on thescore of economy.
"May I be hanged myself," exclaimed Dominicus Pike aloud, onreaching the top of a lonely hill, "if I'll believe oldHigginbotham is unhanged till I see him with my own eyes, andhear it from his own mouth! And as he's a real shaver, I'll havethe minister or some other responsible man for an indorser."
It was growing dusk when he reached the toll-house on Kimballtonturnpike, about a quarter of a mile from the village of thisname. His little mare was fast bringing him up with a man onhorseback, who trotted through the gate a few rods in advance ofhim, nodded to the toll-gatherer, and kept on towards thevillage. Dominicus was acquainted with the tollman, and, whilemaking change, the usual remarks on the weather passed betweenthem.
"I suppose," said the pedlar, throwing back his whiplash, tobring it down like a feather on the mare's flank, "you have notseen anything of old Mr. Higginbotham within a day or two?"
"Yes," answered the toll-gatherer. "He passed the gate justbefore you drove up, and yonder he rides now, if you can see himthrough the dusk. He's been to Woodfield this afternoon,attending a sheriff's sale there. The old man generally shakeshands and has a little chat with me; but to-night, he nodded,--asif to say, 'Charge my toll,' and jogged on; for wherever he goes,he must always be at home by eight o'clock."
"So they tell me," said Dominicus.
"I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the squire does,"continued the toll-gatherer. "Says I to myself, to-night, he'smore like a ghost or an old mummy than good flesh and blood."
The pedlar strained his eyes through the twilight, and could justdiscern the horseman now far ahead on the village road. He seemedto recognize the rear of Mr. Higginbotham; but through theevening shadows, and amid the dust from the horse's feet, thefigure appeared dim and unsubstantial; as if the shape of themysterious old man were faintly moulded of darkness and graylight. Dominicus shivered.
"Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the other world, by way ofthe Kimballton turnpike," thought he.
He shook the reins and rode forward, keeping about the samedistance in the rear of the gray old shadow, till the latter wasconcealed by a bend of the road. On reaching this point, thepedlar no longer saw the man on horseback, but found himself atthe head of the village street, not far from a number of storesand two taverns, clustered round the meeting-house steeple. Onhis left were a stone wall and a gate, the boundary of a woodlot,beyond which lay an orchard, farther still, a mowing field, andlast of all, a house. These were the premises of Mr.Higginbotham, whose dwelling stood beside the old highway, buthad been left in the background by the Kimballton turnpike.Dominicus knew the place; and the little mare stopped short byinstinct; for he was not conscious of tightening the reins.
"For the soul of me, I cannot get by this gate!" said he,trembling. "I never shall be my own man again, till I see whetherMr. Higginbotham is hanging on the St. Michael's pear-tree!"
He leaped from the cart, gave the rein a turn round the gatepost, and ran along the green path of the wood-lot as if Old Nickwere chasing behind. Just then the village clock tolled eight,and as each deep stroke fell, Dominicus gave a fresh bound andflew faster than before, till, dim in the solitary centre of theorchard, he saw the fated pear-tree. One great branch stretchedfrom the old contorted trunk across the path, and threw thedarkest shadow on that one spot. But something seemed to strugglebeneath the branch!
The pedlar had never pretended to more courage than befits a manof peaceful occupation, nor could he account for his valor onthis awful emergency. Certain it is, however, that he rushedforward, prostrated a sturdy Irishman with the butt end of hiswhip, and found--not indeed hanging on the St. Michael'spear-tree, but trembling beneath it, with a halter round hisneck--the old, identical Mr. Higginbotham!
"Mr. Higginbotham," said Dominicus tremulously, "you're an honestman, and I'll take your word for it. Have you been hanged ornot?"
If the riddle be not already guessed, a few words will explainthe simple machinery by which this "coming event" was made to"cast its shadow before." Three men had plotted the robbery andmurder of Mr. Higginbotham; two of them, successively, lostcourage and fled, each delaying the crime one night by theirdisappearance; the third was in the act of perpetration, when achampion, blindly obeying the call of fate, like the heroes ofold romance, appeared in the person of Dominicus Pike.
It only remains to say, that Mr. Higginbotham took the pedlarinto high favor, sanctioned his addresses to the prettyschoolmistress, and settled his whole property on their children,allowing themselves the interest. In due time, the old gentlemancapped the climax of his favors, by dying a Christian death, inbed, since which melancholy event Dominicus Pike has removed fromKimballton, and established a large tobacco manufactory in mynative village.
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