Books: Capitola The Madcap

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"Ha, ha, ha, my dear! You may say it for me! And to reward you, I
will give you, such a kiss! It will put life into those marble
cheeks of yours!" he laughed.

"I will say it for you! May the Lord pity and save Black Donald's
soul, if that be yet possible, for the Saviour's sake!" prayed
Capitola, in a broken voice, with her foot upon the concealed and
fatal spring.

He laughed aloud, stretched forth his arms and rushed to clasp her.

She pressed the spring.

The drop fell with a tremendous crash!

The outlaw shot downwards--there was an instant's vision of a white
and panic-stricken face, and wild, uplifted hands as he disappeared,
and then a square, black opening, was all that remained where the
terrible intruder had sat.

No sight or sound came up from that horrible pit, to hint of the
secrets of the prison house.

One shuddering glance at the awful void and then Capitola turned and
threw herself, face downward, upon the bed, not daring to rejoice in
the safety that had been purchased by such a dreadful deed, feeling
that it was an awful, though a complete victory!

CHAPTER XX.

THE NEXT MORNING.

Oh, such a day!
So fought, so followed and so fairly won
Came not till now to dignify the times.
Since Caesar's fortunes.

--SHAKESPEARE.

Capitola lay upon the bed, with her face buried in the pillow, the
greater portion of the time from two o'clock until day. An
uncontrollable horror prevented her from turning lest she should see
the yawning mystery in the middle of the floor, or hear some awful
sound from its unknown depths. The very shadows on the walls thrown
up wildly by the expiring firelight were objects of grotesque
terror. Never--never--in her whole youth of strange vicissitude, had
the nerves of this brave girl been so tremendously shaken and
prostrated.

It was late in the morning when at last nature succumbed, and she
sank into a deep sleep. She had not slept long when she was aroused
from a profound state of insensibility by a loud, impatient knocking
at her door.

She started up wildly and gazed around her. For a minute she could
not remember what were the circumstances under which she had laid
down, or what was that vague feeling of horror and alarm that
possessed her. Then the yawning trapdoor, the remnants of the
supper, and Black Donald's coat, hat and boots upon the floor, drove
in upon her reeling brain the memory of the night of terror!

The knocking continued more loudly and impatiently, accompanied by
the voice of Mrs. Condiment, crying:

"Miss Capitola--Miss Capitola--why, what can be the matter with her?
Miss Capitola!"

"Eh? What? Yes!" answered Capitola, pressing her hands to her
feverish forehead, and putting back her dishevelled hair.

"Why, how soundly you sleep, my dear! I've been calling and rapping
here for a quarter of an hour! Good gracious, child what made you
oversleep yourself so? "

"I--did not get to bed till very late," said Capitola, confusedly.

"Well, well, my dear, make haste now, your uncle is none of the
patientest, and he has been waiting breakfast for some time! Come,
open the door and I will help you to dress, so that you may be ready
sooner."

Capitola rose from the side of the bed, where she had been sitting,
and went cautiously around that gaping trap door to her chamber
door, when she missed the key, and suddenly remembered that it had
been in Black Donald's pocket when he fell. A shudder thrilled her
frame at the thought of that horrible fall.

"Well--well--Miss Capitola, why don't you open the door?" cried the
old lady, impatiently.

"Mrs. Condiment, I have lost the key--dropped it down the trap-door.
Please ask uncle to send for some one to take the lock off--and
don't wait breakfast for me."

"Well, I do think that was very careless, my dear; but I'll go at
once," said the old lady, moving away.

She had not been gone more than ten minutes, when Old Hurricane was
heard, coming blustering along the hall and calling:

"What now, you imp of Satan? What mischief have you been at now?
Opening the trap-door, you mischievous monkey! I wish from the
bottom of my soul you had fallen into it, and I should have got rid
of one trial! Losing your key, you careless baggage! I've a great
mind to leave you locked up there forever."

Thus scolding, Old Hurricane reached the spot and began to ply
screw-drivers and chisels until at length the strong lock yielded,
and he opened the door.

There a vision met his eyes that arrested his steps upon the very
threshold; the remains of a bacchanalian supper; a man's coat and
hat and boots upon the floor; in the midst of the room the great,
square, black opening; and beyond it standing upon the hearth, the
form of Capitola, with disordered dress, dishevelled hair and wild
aspect!

"Oh, uncle, see what I have been obliged to do!" she exclaimed,
extending both her arms down toward the opening with a look of
blended horror and inspiration, such as might have sat upon the
countenance of some sacrificial priestess of the olden time.

"What--what--what!" cried the old man, nearly dumb with amazement.

"Black Donald was in my room last night. He stole from his
concealment and locked the door on the inside and withdrew the key,
thus locking me in with himself, and--" She ceased and struck both
hands to her face, shuddering from head to foot.

"Go on, girl!" thundered Old Hurricane, in an agony of anxiety.

"I escaped harmless--oh, I did, sir--but at what a fearful price!"

"Explain! Explain!" cried Old Hurricane, in breathless agitation.

"I drew him to sit upon the chair on the rug, and"--again she
shuddered from head to foot, "and I sprang the trap and precipitated
him to--oh, heaven of heavens!--where? I know not!"

"But you--you were unharmed?"

"Yes--yes!"

"Oh, Cap! Oh, my dear Cap! Thank heaven for that!"

"But, uncle, where--oh, where did he go?" inquired Capitola, almost
wildly.

"Who the demon cares? To perdition. I hope and trust, with all my
heart and soul!" cried Old Hurricane, with emphasis, as he
approached and looked down the opening.

"Uncle, what is below there?" asked Capitola anxiously, pointing
down the abyss.

"An old cellar, as I have told you long ago, and Black Donald, as
you have just told me. Hilloe there! Are you killed, as you deserve
to be, you atrocious villain?" roared Old Hurricane, stooping down
into the opening.

A feeble distant moan answered him.

"Oh, heaven! He is living! He is living! I have not killed him!"
cried Capitola, clasping her hands.

"Why, I do believe you are glad of it!" exclaimed Old Hurricane, in
astonishment.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes! For it was a fearful thought that I had been
compelled to take a sacred life! to send an immortal soul unprepared
to its account!"

"Well! his neck isn't broken, it appears, or he couldn't groan; but
I hope and trust every other bone in his body is! Mrs. Condiment,
mum! I'll trouble you to put on your bonnet and walk to Ezy's and
tell him to come here directly! I must send for the constable," said
Old Hurricane, going to the door and speaking to his housekeeper,
who, with an appalled countenance had been a silent spectator of all
that had passed.

As soon as the old woman had gone to do her errand he turned again,
and stooping down the hole, exclaimed:

"I say, you scoundrel down there! What do you think of yourself now?
Are you much hurt, you knave? Is everyone of your bones broken, as
they deserve to be, you villain? Answer me, you varlet!"

A low, deep moan was the only response.

"If that means yes, I'm glad to hear it, you wretch. You'll go to
the camp-meeting with us again, won't you, you knave? You'll preach
against evil passions and profane swearing, looking right straight
at me all the time, until you bring the eyes of the whole
congregation upon me as a sinner above all sinners, you scoundrel?
You'll turn me out of my own bed and away from my own board, won't
you, you villain? Won't you, precious Father Grey? Oh, we'll Father
Grey you! Demmy, the next time a trap-door falls under you, you
rascal, there shall be a rope around your neck to keep you from the
ground, precious Father Grey!"

"Uncle! Uncle! that is cowardly!" exclaimed Capitola.

"What is cowardly, Miss Impertinence?"

"To insult and abuse a fallen man who is in your power! The poor man
is badly hurt, may be dying, for aught you know, and you stand over
him and berate him when he cannot even answer you!"

"Umph, umph, umph; Demmy, you're--umph, well, he is fallen, fallen
pretty badly, eh? and if he should come round after this, the next
fall he gets will be likely to break his neck, eh?--I say, you
gentleman below there--Mr. Black Donald--precious Father Grey--
you'll keep quiet, won't you, while we go and get our breakfast? do,
now! Come, Cap, come down and pour out my coffee, and by the time we
get through, Old Ezy will be here."

Capitola complied, and they left the room together.

The overseer came in while they were at breakfast, and with his hair
standing on end, listened to the account of the capture of the
outlaw by our heroine.

"And now saddle Fleetfoot and ride for your life to Tip-Top and
bring a pair of constables," were the last orders of Old Hurricane.

While Mr. Ezy was gone on his errand, Major Warfield, Capitola and
Mrs. Condiment remained below stairs.

It was several hours before the messenger returned with the
constables, and with several neighbors whom interest and curiosity
had instigated to join the party.

As soon as they arrived, a long ladder was procured and carried up
into Capitola's chamber, and let down through the trap-door.
Fortunately it was long enough, for when the foot of the ladder
found the floor of the cellar, the head rested securely against the
edge of the opening.

In a moment the two constables began singly to descend, the foremost
one carrying a lighted candle in his hand.

The remaining members of the party, consisting of Major Warfield,
Capitola, Mrs. Condiment, and some half dozen neighbors, remained
gathered around the open trap-door, waiting, watching, and listening
for what might next happen.

Presently one of the constables called out:

"Major Warfield, sir!"

"Well!" replied Old Hurricane.

"He's a-breathing still, sir; but seems badly hurt, and may be a-
dying, seeing as he's unsensible and unspeakable. What shall we do
long of him?"

"Bring him up! let's have a look at the fellow, at any rate!"
exclaimed Old Hurricane, peremptorily.

"Just so, sir! but some of the gem-men up there'll have to come down
on the ladder and give a lift. He's a dead weight now, I tell your
honor!"

Several of the neighbors immediately volunteered for the service,
and two of the strongest descended the ladder to lend their aid.

On attempting to move the injured man he uttered a cry of pain, and
fainted, and then it took the united strength and skill of four
strong men to raise the huge insensible form of the athlete, and get
him up the ladder. No doubt the motion greatly inflamed his inward
wounds, but that could not be helped. They got him up at last, and
laid out upon the floor a ghastly, bleeding, insensible form, around
which every one gathered to gaze. While they were all looking upon
him as upon a slaughtered wild beast, Capitola alone felt
compassion.

"Uncle, he is quite crushed by his fall. Make the men lay him upon
the bed. Never think of me; I shall never occupy this room again;
its associations are too full of horrors. There, uncle, make them at
once lay him upon the bed."

"I think the young lady is right, unless we mean to let the fellow
die," said one of the neighbors.

"Very well! I have particular reasons of my own for wishing that the
man's life should be spared until he could be brought to trial and
induced to give up his accomplices," said Old Hurricane. Then,
turning to his ward, he said:

"Come along, Capitola. Mrs. Condiment will see that your effects are
transferred to another apartment."

"And you, friends," he continued, addressing the men present, "be so
good, so soon as we have gone, to undress that fellow and put him to
bed, and examine his injuries while I send off for a physician; for
I consider it very important his life should be spared sufficiently
long to enable him to give up his accomplices." And so saying, Old
Hurricane drew the arm of Capitola within his own and left the room.

It was noon before the physician arrived. When he had examined the
patient he pronounced him utterly unfit to be removed, as besides
other serious contusions and bruises, his legs were broken and
several of his ribs fractured.

In a word. It was several weeks before the strong constitution of
the outlaw prevailed over his many injuries, and he was pronounced
well enough to be taken before a magistrate and committed to prison
to await his trial. Alas! his life, it was said, was forfeit by a
hundred crimes, and there could be no doubt as to his fate. He
maintained a self-possessed good-humored and laughingly defiant
manner, and when asked to give up his accomplices, he answered
gaily:

That treachery was a legal virtue which outlaws could not be
expected to know anything about.

Capitola was everywhere lauded for her brave part in the capture of
the famous desperado. But Cap was too sincerely sorry for Black
Donald to care for the applause.

CHAPTER XXI.

A FATAL HATRED.

"Oh, heaven and all its hosts, he shall not die!"

"By Satan and his fiends, he shall not live!
This is no transient flash of fugitive passion,
His death has been my life for years of misery,
Which, else I had not lived,
Upon that thought, and not on food, I fed,
Upon that thought, and not on sleep, I rested,
I came to do the deed that must be done,
Nor thou, nor the sheltering angels could prevent me."

--MATURIN.

The United States army, under General Scott, invested the city of
Mexico.

A succession of splendid victories had marked every stage of their
advance, from the seacoast to the capital. Vera Cruz had fallen;
Cerro-Gordo had been stormed and passed: Xalapa taken; the glorious
triumph of Churubusco had been achieved. The names of Scott, Worth,
Wool, Quitman, Pillow and others were crowned with honor. Others
again, whose humble names and unnoticed heroism have never been
recorded, endured as nobly, suffered as patiently, and fought as
bravely. Our own young hero, Herbert Greyson, had covered himself
with honor.

The war with Mexico witnessed, perhaps, the most rapid promotions of
any other in the whole history of military affairs.

The rapid ascent of our young officer was a striking instance of
this. In two years from the time he had entered the service, with a
lieutenant's commission, he held the rank of major, in the--Regiment
of Infantry.

Fortune had not smiled upon our other young friend, Traverse Rocke--
partly because, being entirely out of his vocation, he had no right
to expect success; but mostly because he had a powerful enemy in the
Colonel of his regiment--an unsleeping enemy, whose constant
vigilance was directed to prevent the advancement and insure the
degradation and ruin of one whom he contemptuously termed the
"gentleman private."

Now, it is known that by the rules of military etiquette, a wide
social gulf lies between the Colonel of the regiment and the private
in the ranks.

Yet, Colonel Le Noir continually went out of his way to insult
Private Rocke, hoping to provoke him to some act of fatal
insubordination.

And very heavy was this trial to a high spirited young man like
Traverse Rocke, and very fortunate was it for him that he had early
been imbued with that most important truth, that "He who ruleth his
own spirit is greater than he who taketh a city."

But, if Colonel Le Noir crossed the gulf of military etiquette to
harass the poor young soldier, Major Greyson did the same thing for
the more honorable purpose of soothing and encouraging him.

And both Herbert and Traverse hoped that the designs of their
Colonel would be still frustrated by the self-command and patience
of the young private.

Alas! they did not know the great power of evil! They did not know
that nothing less than Divine Providence could meet and overcome it.

They fondly believed that the malignity of Le Noir had resulted in
no other practical evil than in preventing the young soldier's well-
merited advancement, and in keeping him in the humble position of a
private in the ranks.

They were not aware that the discharge of Traverse Rocke had long
ago arrived, but that it had been suppressed through the diabolical
cunning of Le Noir. That letters, messages and packets, sent by his
friends to the young soldier, had found their way into his Colonel's
possession and no further.

And so, believing the hatred of that bad man to have been fruitless
of serious, practical evil, Herbert encouraged his friend to be
patient for a short time longer, when they should see the end of the
campaign, if not of the war.

It was now that period of suspense and of false truce between the
glorious 20th of August and the equally glorious 8th of September,
1847--between the two most brilliant actions of the war, the battle
of Churubusco and the storming of Chapultepec.

The General-in-Chief of the United States forces in Mexico was at
his headquarters in the Archiepiscopal palace of Tacubaya, on the
suburbs, or in the full sight of the city of the Montezumas,
awaiting the issue of the conference between the commissioners of
the hostile governments, met to arrange the terms of a treaty of
peace--that every day grew more hopeless.

General Scott, who had had misgivings as to the good faith of the
Mexicans, had now his suspicions confirmed by several breaches on
the part of the enemy of the terms of the armistice.

Early in September he despatched a letter to General Santa Anna,
complaining of these infractions of the truce, and warning him that
if some satisfactory explanations were not made within forty-eight
hours he should consider the armistice at an end, and renew
hostilities.

And not to lose time, he began on the same night a series of
reconnaisances, the object of which was to ascertain their best
approach to the city of Mexico, which, in the event of the renewal
of the war, he purposed to carry by assault.

It is not my intention to pretend to describe the siege and capture
of the capital, which has been so often and eloquently described by
grave and wise historians, but rather to follow the fortunes of an
humble private in the ranks, and relate the events of a certain
court-martial, as I learned them from the after-dinner talk of a
gallant officer who had officiated on the occasion.

It was during these early days in September, while the illustrious
General-in-Chief was meditating concluding the war by the assault of
the city of Mexico, that Colonel Le Noir also resolved to bring his
own private feud to an end, and ruin his enemy by a coup-de-diable.

He had an efficient tool for his purpose in the Captain of the
company to which Traverse Rocke belonged. This man, Captain Zuten,
was a vulgar upstart thrown into his command by the turbulence of
war, as the scum is cast up to the surface by the boiling of the
cauldron.

He hated Traverse Rocke, for no conceivable reason, unless it was
that the young private was a perfect contrast to himself, in the
possession of a handsome person, a well cultivated mind, and a
gentlemanly deportment--cause sufficient for the antagonism of a
mean and vulgar nature.

Colonel Le Noir was not slow to see and to take advantage of this
hatred.

And Captain Zuten became the willing coadjutor and instrument of his
vengeance. Between them they concocted a plot to bring the
unfortunate young man to an ignominious death.

One morning, about the first of September, Major Greyson, in going
his rounds, came upon Traverse, standing sentry near one of the
outposts. The aspect of the young private was so pale, haggard and
despairing that his friend immediately stopped and exclaimed:

"Why Traverse, how ill you look! More fitted for the sick list than
the sentry's duties. What the deuce is the matter?"

The young soldier touched his hat to his superior and answered
sadly, "I am ill, ill in body and mind, sir."

"Pooh!--leave off etiquette when we are alone, Traverse, and call me
Herbert, as usual. Heaven knows, I shall be glad when all this is
over and we fall back into our relative civil positions towards each
other. But what is the matter now, Traverse? Some of Le Noir's
villainy again, of course."

"Of course. But I did not mean to complain, Herbert; that were
childish. I mus' endure this slavery, these insults and persecutions
patiently since I have brought them upon myself."

"Take comfort, Traverse. The war is drawing to a close. Either this
armistice will end in a permanent peace, or when hostilities are
renewed our General will carry the city of Mexico by storm, and
dictate the terms of a treaty from the grand square of the capital.
In either event the war will soon be over, the troops disbanded, and
the volunteers free to go about their business, and Doctor Traverse
Rocke at liberty to pursue his legitimate profession," said Herbert,
cheerfully.

"It may be so; I do not know. Oh, Herbert, whether it be from want
of sleep and excessive fatigue--for I have been on duty for three
days and nights--or whether it be from incipient illness, or all
these causes put together, I cannot tell, but my spirits are
dreadfully depressed! There seems to be hanging over me a cloud of
fate I cannot dispel. Every hour seems descending lower and blacker
over my head, until it feels like some heavy weight about to
suffocate or crush me," said Traverse, sadly.

"Pooh, pooh! hypochondria! cheer up! Remember that in a month we
shall probably be disbanded, and in a year--think of it, Traverse
Rocke--Clara Day will be twenty-one, and at liberty to give you her
hand. Cheer up!"

"Ah, Herbert, all that seems now to be more unsubstantial than the
fabric of a dream. I cannot think of Clara or of my mother without
despair. For oh, Herbert, between me and them there seems to yawn a
dishonored grave! Herbert, they talk, you know, of an attack upon
the Molino-del-Rey, and I almost hope to fall in that charge!"

"Why?" inquired Major Greyson, in dismay.

"To escape being forced into a dishonored grave! Herbert, that man
has sworn my ruin, and he will accomplish it!" said Traverse,
solemnly.

"For Heaven's sake, explain yourself!" said Herbert.

"I will. Listen! I will tell you the history of the last three
days," said Traverse; but before he could add another word the
sentry that was to relieve his guard approached and said:

"Captain Zuten orders you to come to his tent instantly."

With a glance of significance, Traverse bowed to Herbert and walked
off, while the sentinel took his place.

Herbert saw no more of Traverse that day. At night he went to
inquire for him, but learned that he had been sent with a
reconnoitering party to the Molino-del-Rey.

The next day, on seeking Traverse, he understood that the young
private had been despatched on a foraging expedition. That night,
upon again inquiring for him, he was told that he had been sent in
attendance upon the officers who had borne secret despatches to
General Quitman, at his quarters on the Acapulco road.

"Traverse is right. They mean to ruin him. I see how it is, exactly.
When I saw Traverse on guard, two days ago, he looked like a man
exhausted and crazed for want of sleep, and since that time he has
been night and day engaged in harassing duty. That demon, Le Noir,
with Zuten to help him, has determined to keep Traverse from sleep,
until nature is thoroughly exhausted, and then set him upon guard,
that he may be found sleeping on his post. That was what the boy
meant when he talked of the cloud that was hanging over him, and of
being forced into a dishonored grave, and when he hoped, poor
fellow, to fall in the approaching assault upon the Molino-del-Rey!
I see it all now. They have decided upon the destruction of
Traverse. He can do nothing. A soldier's whole duty is comprised in
one word--obedience, even if, as in this instance, he is ordered to
commit suicide. Let them hatch their diabolical plots. We will see
if the Lord does not still reign, and the devil is not a fool. It
shall go hard, but that they are 'hoist with their own petard!'"
said Herbert, indignantly.

Early the next morning he went to the tent of Captain Zuten and
requested to see Private Traverse Rocke, in whom, he said, he felt a
warm interest.

The answer of Colonel Le Noir's tool confirmed Herbert's worse
suspicions.

Touching his cap with an air of exaggerated deference, he said:

"As you think so much of the young fellow, Major, I am very sorry to
inform you, sir, that he is under arrest."

"Upon what charge?" inquired Herbert, calmly, concealing the
suspicion and indignation of his bosom.

"Upon a rather bad one, Major--sleeping on his post," replied the
officer, masking his exultation with a show of respect.

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