The following story, related by one who is well-acquainted with the early history of this country, will illustrate the manner in which the regulator system was sometimes made subservient to men's selfish purposes; and there have, unhappily, been too many instances, in which such criminal schemes were more successful than they were in this. I have entitled it “The Stratagem.”
THE STRATAGEM.
Robert Elwood emigrated from Kentucky to Illinois, about the year in which the latter was erected into a state, and passing to the northwest of the regions then occupied by the French and Virginians, pitched his tent upon the very verge of the frontier. He was a man of violent passions, impatient of the restraints of law—arrogant, overbearing, and inclined to the use of “the strong-hand.” His removal had been caused by a difficulty with one of his neighbors, in which he had attempted to right himself without an appeal to the legal tribunals. In this attempt, he had not only been thwarted, but also made to pay rather roundly for his temerity; and, vexed and soured, he had at once abandoned his old name, and marched off across the prairies, seeking a country in which, as he said, “a man need not meet a cursed constable every time he left his own door.” His family consisted of three sons and one daughter, the latter being, at the time of his emigration, about sixteen years of age.
In journeying toward the north, he halted one day, at noon, within a “point” of timber, which extended a mile into the prairie, and was surrounded by as beautiful a piece of rolling meadow-land, as one need wish to see. He was already half-a-day's journey beyond the thicker settlements; and, indulging a reasonable hope that he would not speedily be annoyed by neighbors, he at once determined here to erect his dwelling and open a new farm. With this view, he marked off a tract of about four hundred acres, including the point of timber in which he was encamped; and before the heats of summer came on, he had a cabin ready for his reception, and a considerable amount of grain planted.
About a mile to the south, there was a similar strip of timber, surrounded, like that of which he took possession, by a rich tract of “rolling prairie;” and this he at once resolved to include in his farm. But, reflecting that it must probably be some years, before any one else would enter the neighborhood to take it up—and having only the assistance of his sons, but two of whom had reached manhood—he turned his attention, first, to the tract upon which he lived. This was large enough to engross his efforts for the present; and, for two years, he neglected to do anything toward establishing his claim to the land he coveted. It is true, that he told several of his neighbors, who had now begun to settle around him, that he claimed that piece, and thus prevented their enclosing it; but he neither “blazed” nor marked the trees, nor “staked off” the prairie.
In the meantime emigration had come in, so much more rapidly than he had expected, that he found himself the centre of a populous neighborhood; and among other signs of advancing civilization, a company of regulators had been organized, for the protection of life and property. Of this band, Elwood, always active and forward, had been chosen leader; and the vigor and severity with which he had exercised his functions, had given a degree of quiet to the settlements, not usually enjoyed by these frontier communities. One example had, at the period of the opening of our story, but recently been made; and its extreme rigor had frightened away from the neighborhood, those who had hitherto disturbed its peace. This was all the citizens desired; and, having accomplished their ends, safety and tranquillity, those whose conservative character had prevented the regulator system from running into excesses, withdrew from its ranks—but took no measures to have it broken up. It was thus left, with recognised authority, in the hands of Elwood, and others of his violent and unscrupulous character.
Things were in this position, when, on his return from an expedition of some length, Elwood bethought him of the handsome tract of land, upon which he had so long ago set his heart. What were his surprise and rage on learning—a fact, which the absorbing nature of his regulator-duties had prevented his knowing sooner—that it was already in possession of another! And his mortification was immeasurably increased, when he was told, that the man who had thus intruded upon what he considered his own proper demesne, was none other than young Grayson, the son of his old Kentucky enemy! Coming into the neighborhood, in the absence of Elwood, the young man, finding so desirable a tract vacant, had at once taken possession; and by the return of the regulator had almost finished a neat and “roomy” cabin. He had “blazed” the trees, too, and “staked off” the prairie—taking all those steps then deemed necessary, on the frontier, to complete appropriation.
Elwood's first step was to order him peremptorily, to desist, and give up his “improvement”—threatening him, at the same time, with certain and uncertain pains and penalties, if he refused to obey. But Grayson only laughed at his threats, and went stoutly on with his work. When the young men, whom he had hired to assist him in building his house, gave him a friendly warning, that Elwood was the leader of a band of regulators, and had power to make good his menaces, he only replied that “he knew how to protect himself, and, when the time came, should not be found wanting.” Elwood retired from the contest, discomfited, but breathing vengeance; while Grayson finished his house and commenced operations on his farm. But those who knew the headlong violence of Elwood's character, predicted that these operations would soon be interrupted; and they were filled with wonder, when month after month passed away, and there were still no signs of a collision.
In the meantime, it came to be rumored in the settlement, that there was some secret connection between Grayson and Elwood's daughter, Hannah. They had been seen by several persons in close conversation, at times and places which indicated a desire for concealment; and one person even went so far as to say, that he had been observed to kiss her, on parting, late in the evening. Whatever may have been the truth in that matter, it is, at all events, certain, that Grayson was an unmarried man; and that the quarrel between the parents of the pair in Kentucky, had broken up an intimacy, which bade fair to issue in a marriage; and it is probable, that a subordinate if not a primary, motive, inducing him to take possession of the disputed land, was a desire to be near Hannah. Nor was this wish without its appropriate justification; for, though not strictly beautiful, Hannah was quite pretty, and—what is better in a frontier girl—active, fresh, and rosy. At the time of Grayson's arrival in the settlement, she was a few months past eighteen; and was as fine material for a border wife, as could be found in the new state. The former intimacy was soon renewed, and before the end of two months, it was agreed that they should be married, as soon as her father's consent could be obtained.
But this was not so easily compassed; for, all this time, Elwood had been brooding over his defeat, and devising ways and means of recovering the much-coveted land.
At length, after many consultations with a fellow named Driscol, who acted as his lieutenant in the regulator company, he acceded to a proposition, made long before by that worthy, but rejected by Elwood on account of its dishonesty. He only adopted the plan, now, because it was apparently the only escape from permanent defeat; and long chafing under what he considered a grievous wrong, had made him reckless of means, and determined on success, at whatever cost.
One morning, about a week after the taking of this resolution, it was announced that one of Elwood's horses had been stolen, on the night before; and the regulators were straightway assembled, to ferret out and punish so daring an offender. It happened (accidently, of course) to be a horse which had cast one of its shoes, only the day before; and this circumstance rendered it easy to discover his trail. Driscol, Elwood's invaluable lieutenant, discovered the track and set off upon it, almost as easily as if he had been present when it was made. He led the party away into the prairie toward the east; and though his companions declared that they could now see nothing of the trail, the sharp-sighted lieutenant swore that it was “as plain as the nose on his face”—truly, a somewhat exaggerated expression: for
the color, if not the size, of that feature in his countenance, made it altogether too apparent to be overlooked! They followed him, however, convinced by the earnestness of his asseverations, if not by their own eyes, until, after going a mile toward the east, he began gradually to verge southward, and, having wound about at random for some time, finally took a direct course, for the point of timber on which Grayson lived!
On arriving at the point, which terminated, as usual, in a dense hazel-thicket, Driscol at once pushed his way into the covert, and lo! there stood the stolen horse! He was tied to a sapling by a halter, which was clearly recognised as the property of Grayson, and leading off toward the latter's house, was traced a man's footstep—his, of course! These appearances fully explained the theft, and there was not a man present, who did not express a decided conviction that Grayson was the thief.
Some one remarked that his boldness was greater than his shrewdness, else he would not have kept the horse so near. But Driscol declared, dogmatically, that this was “the smartest thing in the whole business,” since, if the trail could be obliterated, no one would think of looking there for a horse stolen only a mile above! “The calculation” was a good one, he said, and it only failed of success because he, Driscol, happened to have a remarkably sharp sight for all tracks, both of horses and men. To this proposition, supported by ocular evidence, the regulators assented, and Driscol stock, previously somewhat depressed by sundry good causes, forthwith rose in the regulator market to a respectable premium!
Having recovered the stolen property, the next question which presented itself for their consideration, was in what way they should punish the thief. To such men as they, this was not a difficult problem: without much deliberation, it was determined that he must be at once driven from the country. The “days of grace,” usually given on such occasions, were ten, and in pursuance of this custom, it was resolved that Grayson should be mercifully allowed that length of time, in which to arrange his affairs and set out for a new home: or, as the regulators expressed it, “make himself scarce.” Driscol, having already, by his praise-worthy efforts in the cause of right, made himself the hero of the affair, was invested with authority to notify Grayson of this decree. The matter being thus settled, the corps adjourned to meet again ten days thereafter, in order to see that their judgment was duly carried into effect.
Meantime, Driscol, the official mouthpiece of the self-constituted court of general jurisdiction, rode away to discharge himself of his onerous duties. Halting at the low fence which enclosed the scanty door-yard he gave the customary “Halloo! the house!” and patiently awaited an answer. It was not long, however, before Grayson issued from the door and advanced to the fence, when Driscol served the process of the court in hæc verba:—
“Mr. Grayson, the regulators of this settlement have directed me to give you ten days' notice to leave the country. They will meet again one week from next Friday, and if you are not gone by that time, it will become their duty to punish you in the customary way.”
“What for?” asked Grayson, quietly.
“For stealing this horse,” the functionary replied, laying his hand on the horse's mane, “and concealing him in the timber with the intention to run him off.”
“It's Elwood's horse, isn't it?”
“Yes,” answered Driscol, somewhat surprised at Grayson's coolness.
“When was he stolen?” asked the notified.
“Last night,” answered the official; “I suppose you know very well without being told.”
“Do you, indeed?” said Grayson, smiling absently. And then he bent his eyes upon the ground, and seemed lost in thought for some minutes.
“Well, well,” said he at length, raising his eyes again. “I didn't steal the horse, Driscol, but I suppose you regulators know best who ought to be allowed to remain in the settlement, so of course I shall have to obey.”
“I am glad to find you so reasonable,” said Driscol, making a movement to ride away.
“Stop! stop!” said Grayson: “don't be in a hurry! I shall be gone before the ten days are up, and you and I may not meet again for a long time, so get down and come in: let us take a parting drink together. I have some excellent whiskey, just brought home.”
Now, the worthy functionary, as we have intimated, or as the aforesaid nose bore witness, was “quite partial” to this description of produce: some of his acquaintances even insinuating that he took sometimes “a drop too much;” and though he felt some misgiving about remaining in Grayson's company longer than his official duties required, the temptation was too strong for him, and, silencing his fears, he sprang to the ground.
“Tie your horse to the fence, there,” said Grayson, “and come in.” Driscol obeyed, and it was not long before he was seated in the cabin with a tin-cup in his hand, and its generous contents finding their way rapidly down his capacious throat.
“Whiskey is a pleasant drink, after all, isn't it?” said Grayson, smiling at the gusto with which Driscol dwelt upon the draught, and at the same moment he rose to set his cup on the table behind the official.
“Very pleasant indeed,” said Driscol, in reply, and to prove his sincerity, he raised his cup again to his lips. But this time he was not destined to taste its contents. It was suddenly dashed from his hand—a saddle-girth was thrown over his arms and body—and before he was aware of what was being done, he found himself securely pinioned to the chair! A rope was speedily passed round his legs, and tied, in like manner, behind, so that he could, literally, move neither hand nor foot! He made a furious effort to break away, but he would not have been more secure had he been in the old-fashioned stocks! He was fairly entrapped, and though he foamed, and swore, and threatened, it all did no manner of good. Of this he at length became sensible, and grinding his teeth in impotent rage, he relapsed into dogged silence.
Having thoroughly secured his prisoner, Grayson, who was something of a wag, poured out a small quantity of the seductive liquor, and coming round in front of the ill-used official, smiled graciously in his face, and drank “a health”—
“Success to you, Mr. Driscol,” said he, “and long may you continue an ornament to the distinguished company of which you are an honored officer!”
Driscol ground his teeth, but made no reply, and the toast was drunk, like some of those impressive sentiments given at public dinners, “in profound silence!”
Having drained the cup, Grayson deposited it upon the table and himself in a chair; and, drawing the latter up toward his companion, opened the conference thus:—
“I think I have you pretty safe, Driscol: eh!”
The lieutenant made no reply.
“I see you are not in a very sociable humor,” continued Grayson; “and, to tell you the truth, I am not much that way inclined myself: but I am determined to get to the bottom of this affair before you shall leave the house. I am sure you know all about it; and if you don't, why the worse for you, that's all.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Driscol, speaking for the first time.
“I mean this,” Grayson answered sternly: “I did not take that horse from Elwood's—but you did: I saw you do it. But since my testimony will not be received, I am determined that you shall give me a certificate in writing that such is the fact. You needn't look so obstinate, for by the God that made us both! you shall not leave that chair alive, unless you do as I say!”
Grayson was a large, rather fleshy man, with a light complexion and blue eyes; and, though good-natured and hard to arouse, when once in earnest, as now, like all men of his stamp, he both looked, and was, fully capable of carrying his menaces into execution. The imprisoned functionary did not at all like the expression of his eye, he quailed before it in fear and shame. He was, however, resolved not to yield, except upon the greatest extremity.
“Come,” said Grayson, producing materials for writing; “here are pen, ink, and paper: are you willing to write as I dictate?”
“No,” said Driscol, doggedly.
“Are you going to murder me?” demanded the official in alarm.
“Yes,” answered Grayson, drawing the loose end down, and tightening the noose about Driscol's throat.
“You'll suffer for this,” said the lieutenant furiously.
“That won't help you much,” coolly replied Grayson, tugging at the rope, until one leg of the chair gave signs of rising from the floor, and Driscol's face exhibited unmistakable symptoms of incipient strangulation.
“Stop! stop!” he exclaimed, in a voice reduced to a mere wheeze—and Grayson “eased off” to hear him.
“Won't anything else satisfy you but a written certificate?” he asked—speaking with difficulty, and making motions as if endeavoring to swallow something too large to pass the gate of his throat.
“Nothing but that,” answered Grayson, decidedly; “and if you don't give it to me, when your regulator friends arrive, instead of me, they will find you, swinging from this beam by the neck!” And, seeing his victim hesitate, he again tugged at the rope, until the same signs were exhibited as before—only a little more apparently.
“Ho—hold, Grayson!” begged the frightened and strangling lieutenant; and, as his executioner again relaxed a little, he continued: “Just let me up, and I'll do anything you want.”
“That is to say,” laughed Grayson, “you would rather take the chances of a fight, than be hung up like a sheep-stealing dog! Let you up, indeed!” And once more he dragged the rope down more vigorously than ever.
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