Western Characters

by McConnel, John Ludlum

  An alibi was the usual defence, and to those times may be referred the general prejudice entertained among our people, even at the present day, against that species of testimony. A jury of western men will hardly credit an alibi, though established by unexceptionable witnesses; and the announcement that the accused depends upon that for his defence, will create a strong prejudice against him in advance. Injustice may sometimes be done in this way, but it is a feeling of which our people came honestly in possession. They established a habit, in early days, of never believing an alibi, because, at that time, nine alibis in ten were false, and habits of thought, like legal customs, cling to men long after their reason has ceased. It is right, too, that it should be so, on the principle that we should not suspend the use of the remedy until the disease be thoroughly conquered.

  In a state of things, such as we have described, but one of two things could be done: the citizens must either abandon all effort to assert the supremacy of order, and give the country over to thieves and robbers, or they must invent some new and irregular way of forcing men to live honestly. They wisely chose the latter alternative. They consulted together, and the institution of Regulators was the result of their deliberations.

  These were small bodies of men, chosen by the people, or voluntarily assuming the duty—men upon whom the citizens could depend for both discretion and resolution. Their duties may be explained in a few words: to ferret out and punish criminals, to drive out “suspicious characters,” and exercise a general supervision over the interests and police of the settlements, from which they were chosen. Their statute-book was the “code of Judge Lynch”—their order of trial was similar to that of a “drum-head court-martial”—the principles of their punishment was certainty, rapidity, and severity. They were judges, juries, witnesses, and executioners.

  They bound themselves by a regular compact (usually verbal, but sometimes in writing[77]), to the people and to each other, to rid the community of all thieves, robbers, plunderers, and villains of every description. They scoured the country in all directions and in all seasons, and by the swiftness of their movements, and the certainty of their vengeance, rivalled their predecessors, the rangers. When a depredation had been committed, it was marvellous with what rapidity every regulator knew it; even the telegraph of modern days performs no greater wonders: and it frequently happened, that the first the quiet citizens heard of a theft, or a robbery, was the news of its punishment! Their acts may sometimes have been high-handed and unjustifiable, but on the whole—and it is only in such a view that social institutions are to be estimated—they were the preservers of the communities for whom they acted. In time, it is true, they degenerated, and sometimes the corps fell into the hands of the very men they were organized to punish.

  Every social organization is liable to misdirection, and this, among others, has been perverted to the furtherance of selfish and unprincipled purposes; for, like prejudices and habits of thought, organized institutions frequently survive the necessities which call them into existence. Abuses grow up under all systems; and, perhaps, the worst abuse of all, is a measure or expedient, good though temporary, retained after the passing away of the time for which it was adopted.

  But having, in the article “Pioneer,” sufficiently elaborated the character—for the regulator was of course a pioneer also—we can best illustrate the mode of his action by a narrative of facts. From the hundreds of well-authenticated stories which might be collected, I have chosen the two following, because they distinguish the successive stages or periods of the system. The first relates to the time when a band of regulators was the only reliable legal power, and when, consequently, the vigilance of the citizens kept it comparatively pure. The second indicates a later period, when the people no longer felt insecure, and there was in fact no necessity for the system; and when, not having been disused, it could not but be abused. We derive both from an old citizen of the country, who was an actor in each. One of them, the first, has already been in print, but owing to circumstances to which it is needless to advert, it was thought better to confine the narrative to facts already generally known. These circumstances are no longer operative, and I am now at liberty to publish entire the story of “The First Grave.”

  THE FIRST GRAVE.

  At the commencement of the war of eighteen hundred and twelve, between Great Britain and the United States, there lived, in the western part of Virginia, three families, named, respectively, Stone, Cutler, and Roberts. They were all respectable people, of more than ordinary wealth; having succeeded, by an early emigration and judicious selection of lands, in rebuilding fortunes which had been somewhat impaired east of the Blue Ridge. Between the first and second there was a relationship, cemented by several matrimonial alliances, and the standing of both had been elevated by this union of fortunes. In each of these two, there were six or seven children—the most of them boys—but Captain Roberts, the head of the third, had but one child, a daughter, who, in the year named, was approaching womanhood.

  She is said to have been beautiful: and, from the extravagant admiration of those who saw her only when time and suffering must have obscured her attractions, there can be little doubt that she was so. What her character was, we can only conjecture from the tenor of our story: though we have reason to suspect that she was passionate, impulsive, and somewhat vain of her personal appearance.

  At the opening of hostilities between the two countries, she was wooed by two suitors, young Stone, the eldest of the sons of that family, and Abram Cutler, who was two or three years his senior. Both had recently returned home, after a protracted absence of several years, beyond the mountains, whither they had been sent by their ambitious parents, “to attend college and see the world.” Stone was a quiet, modest, unassuming young man, rather handsome, but too pale and thin to be decidedly so. Having made the most of his opportunities at “William and Mary,” he had come home well-educated (for that day and country) and polished by intercourse with good society.

  His cousin, Abram Cutler, was his opposite in almost everything. He had been wild, reckless, and violent, at college, almost entirely giving up his studies, after the first term, and always found in evil company. His manners were as much vitiated as his morals, for he was exceedingly rough, boisterous, and unpolished: so much so, indeed, as to approach that limit beyond which wealth will not make society tolerant. But his freedom of manner bore, to most observers, the appearance of generous heartiness, and he soon gained the good will of the neighborhood by the careless prodigality of his life. He was tall, elegantly formed, and quite well-looking; and though he is said to have borne, a few years later, a sinister and dishonest look, it is probable that most of this was attributable to the preconceived notions of those who thus judged him.

  Both these young men were, as we have said, suitors for the hand of Margaret Roberts, and it is possible that the vain satisfaction of having at her feet the two most attractive young men in the country, led her to coquet with them both, but decidedly to prefer neither. It is almost certain, that at the period indicated, she was sufficiently well-pleased with either to have become his wife, had the other been away. If she loved either, however, it was Stone, for she was a little timid, and Cutler sometimes frightened her with his violence: but the preference, if it existed at all, was not sufficiently strong to induce a choice.

  About this time, the elder Cutler died, and it became necessary for Abram, as executor of a large estate, to cross the mountains into the Old Dominion, and arrange its complicated affairs. It was not without misgiving that he went away, but his duties were imperative, and his necessities, produced by his spendthrift habits, were pressing. He trusted to a more than usually favorable interview with Margaret, and full of sanguine hopes, departed on his journey.

  Whether Stone entertained the idea of taking an unfair advantage of his rival's absence, we can not say, but he straightway became more assiduous in his attentions to Margaret. He was also decidedly favored by Captain Roberts and
his wife, both of whom had been alarmed by the violent character of Cutler. Time soon began to obscure the recollection of the absent suitor, and Stone's delicate and considerate gallantry rapidly gained ground in Margaret's affections. It was just one month after Cutler's departure that his triumph was complete; she consented to be his wife so soon as the minister who travelled on that circuit should enter the neighborhood. But the good man had set out on his circuit only the day before the consent was given, and it would probably be at least a month before his return. In the meantime, Cutler might recross the mountains, and Stone had seen quite enough of Margaret's capriciousness to tremble for the safety of his conquest, should that event occur before it was thoroughly secured.

  This was embarrassing: but when a man is in earnest, expedients are never wanting.

  There was an old gentleman living a few miles from the valley, who had once held the commission of a justice of the peace, and though he had not exercised his functions, or even claimed his dignity, for several years, Stone was advised that he retained his official power “until his successor was appointed and qualified,” and that, consequently, any official act of his would be legal and valid. He was advised, moreover, and truly, that even if the person performing the ceremony were not a magistrate, a marriage would be lawful and binding upon the simple “consent” of the parties, properly published and declared.

  Full-freighted with the happy news, he posted away to Captain Roberts, and without difficulty obtained his sanction. He then went to Margaret, and, with the assistance of her mother, who stood in much dread of Cutler's violence, succeeded in persuading her to consent. Without delay, the cidevant magistrate was called in, the ceremony was performed, and Margaret was Stone's wife!

  The very day after this event, Cutler returned! What were his thoughts no one knew, for he spoke to none upon the subject. He went, however, to see “the bride,” and, in the presence of others, bantered her pleasantly upon her new estate, upon his own pretensions, and upon the haste with which the ceremony had been performed. He started away with the rest of the company present; but, on reaching the door—it was afterward remembered—pretended to have forgotten something, and ran back into the room where they had left Margaret alone. Here he remained full ten minutes, and when he came out walked thoughtfully apart and disappeared. What he said to Margaret no one knew; but, that evening, when they were alone, she asked anxiously of her husband, “whether he was quite sure that their marriage had been legal?” Stone reassured her, and nothing more was said upon the subject.

  Cutler had brought with him, over the mountains, the proclamation of the governor of Virginia, announcing the declaration of war, and calling upon the state for its quota of troops to repel invasion. He manifested a warm interest in the enrolling and equipment of volunteers, and, in order to attest his sincerity, placed his own name first upon the roll. A day or two afterward, on meeting Stone, in the presence of several others who had enrolled themselves, he laughingly observed, that the new bridegroom “was probably too comfortable at home, to desire any experience in campaigning:” and, turning away, he left the company laughing at Stone's expense.

  This touched the young man's pride—probably the more closely, because he was conscious that the insinuation was not wholly void of truth—and, without a moment's hesitation, he called Cutler back, took the paper, and enrolled his name. Cutler laughed again, said he would not have done so, had he been in Stone's circumstances, and, after some further conversation, walked away in the direction of Stone's residence. Whether he actually entered the house is not known; but when the young husband returned home, a few hours afterward, his wife's first words indicated that she knew of his enrolment.

  “Is it possible,” said she, with some asperity, “that you already care so little for me as to enrol yourself for an absence of six months?”

  Stone would much have preferred to break the news to her himself, for he had some foreboding as to the view she might take of his conduct. He had scarcely been married a week, and he was conscious that a severe construction of the act of enrolment, when there was notoriously not the least necessity for it, might lead to inferences, than which, nothing could be more false. If he had said, at once, that he had been taunted by his old rival, and written his name under the influence of pride, all would have been well, for his wife would then have understood, though she might not have approved his action. But this confession he was ashamed to make, and, by withholding it, laid the foundation for his own and his wife's destruction. He at once acknowledged the fact, disclaiming, however, the indifference to her, which she inferred, and placing the act upon higher ground:—

  “The danger of the country,” he said, “was very imminent, and it became every good citizen to do all he could for its defence. He had no idea that the militia would be called far from home, or detained for a very long time; but, in any event, he felt that men were bound, in such circumstances, to cast aside personal considerations, and contribute, each his share, to the common defence.”

  His wife gazed incredulously at him while he talked this high patriotism: and well she might, for he did not speak as one moved by such feelings. The consciousness of deceit, of concealment, and of childish rashness, rendered his manner hesitating and embarrassed. Margaret observed all this, for her jealousy was aroused and her suspicions sharpened; she made no reply, however, but turned away, with a toss of the head, and busied herself, quite fiercely, with her household cares. From that moment, until the day of his departure, she stubbornly avoided the subject, listening, but refusing to reply, when her husband attempted to introduce it. When Cutler came—rather unnecessarily, as Stone thought—to consult him about the organization of a spy-company, to which both were attached, she paid no attention to their conversation, but walked away down a road over which she knew Cutler must pass on his return homeward. Whether this was by appointment with him is not known: probably, however, it was her own motion.

  We need not stay to detail all that took place between her and her former suitor, when, as she had expected, they met in a wood some hundreds of yards from her home; its result will sufficiently appear in the sequel. One circumstance, however, we must not omit. She recurred to a conversation which had passed sometime before, in relation to the legality of her marriage; and though Cutler gave no positive opinion, his parting advice was nearly in the following words:—

  “If you think, from your three weeks' experience, that Stone cares enough for you to make it prudent, I would advise you to have the marriage ceremony performed by Parson Bowen, immediately upon his return; and if you care enough for him to wish to retain him, you had better have it performed before he goes away.”

  With these words, and without awaiting an answer, he passed on, leaving her alone in the road. When she returned home, she did not mention the subject; and though Parson Bowen returned to the neighborhood quite a week before Stone went away, she never suggested a repetition of the ceremony. When Stone manifested some anxiety on the subject, she turned suddenly upon him and demanded—

  “You do not think our marriage legal, then?”

  He assured her that he only made the suggestion for her satisfaction, entertaining no doubt, himself, that they were regularly and lawfully married.

  “I am content to remain as I am,” she said, curtly, and the parson was not summoned.

  Five days afterward the troops took up the line of march for the frontier. Hull had not yet surrendered Michigan; but Proctor had so stirred up the Indians (who, until then, had been quiet since the battle of Tippecanoe), as to cut off all communication with the advanced settlements, and even to threaten the latter with fire and slaughter. Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois, were then overrun by British and Indians; for Hopkins had not yet commenced his march from Kentucky, and Congress was still debating measures for protection. Hull's surrender took place on the sixteenth of August, eighteen hundred and twelve, and in the following month, General Harrison, having been appointed to the chief command in the northwest
, proceeded to adopt vigorous measures for the defence of the country. It was to one of the regiments organized by him, that our friends from Virginia found themselves attached. They had raised a company of spies, and in this both Stone and Cutler held commissions.

  They marched with the regiment, or rather in advance of it, for several weeks. By that time, they had penetrated many miles beyond the settlements, and Harrison began to feel anxious to ascertain the position of General Hopkins, and open communications with him. For this service Cutler volunteered, and was immediately selected by the general. On the following morning, he set out with five men to seek the Kentuckians. He found them without difficulty and delivered his despatches; but from that day he was not seen, either in the camp of Hopkins or in that of Harrison! It was supposed that he had started on his return, and been taken or killed by the Indians, parties of whom were prowling about between the lines of the two columns.

  Stone remained with his company two or three months longer, when, the enterprise of Hopkins having failed, and operations being suspended for the time, it was thought inexpedient to retain them for the brief period which remained of their term of enlistment, and they were discharged. Stone returned home, and, full of anticipations, the growth of a long absence, hastened at once to his own house. The door was closed, no smoke issued from the chimney, there was no one there! After calling in vain for a long time, he ran away to her father's, endeavoring to feel certain that he would find her there. But the old man received him with a mournful shake of the head. Margaret had been gone more than a month, no one knew whither or with whom!