Haunted Hearts. By the author of 'The Lamplighter'

Preface

. ' If you could only write a book one day and publish it the next ! ' as a friend of mine lately exclaimed. Then, indeed, one could keep up with the times. But, alas ! my book, to-day offered to the public, was projected — let me see — five, six, yes, seven years ago, at the very least. The foundation of it — long since slipped away, the outUne of it — lost in the filling-in, were suggested by some of the traditions of a New Jersey district, related to me, from time to time by a venerable New Jersey farmer, my host, and the companion or instigator of my excur sions, during a few weeks' sojourn at the farm. He was minute in his delineation of the historical locaUties and revolutionary associations of the neigh bourhood, and they were not a few. I trust I profited VI

PREFACE.

. by the valuable information he imparted, and added something to my stock of positive, though unproduc tive, knowledge. But that the romantic incidents, the traditionary events of the district, related by him with spirit, and Ustened to by me with eagerness, took fast hold of my imagination, and, though long in ripening, eventually bore fruit, the following pages furnish voluminous proof. This little new Jersey graft, this germ destined to swell to such unforeseen proportions, long lay dormant. Even when it started into Use and vigour, it promised only a miniature growth ; but, as some times proves the case with buds of foreign stock, it took wonderfully to the soU, claimed room for its expansion, and grew and grew, until at last it assumed the form, and acquired the dimensions, which it wears to-day.

Meanwhile, busier fingers than mine, they tell me, and pens earlier in the field, have made the crime on which the incidents of my story hang (an unnatural and unusual crime in civilized com-

PREFACE.

. vii munities) the basis and groundwork of more than one popular feast which fiction has served up to the public. Still, as I did not write my story for the sake of the crime, but have tolerated the crime for the sake of my story, — as details of material horrors have been subordinate in my mind, and wUl be, I trust, in my reader's, to the wide-spread and lasting influence which they exercised on innocent hearts and lives, — I venture to hope that this web of fancy, ' long drawn out,' may contain some threads of novelty, interest, and pathos. The will-o'-the-wisp that formerly beguiled the traveller, the ghosts that used to stalk through churchyards at midnight, the spectres that once haunted forsaken homes, have all been extinguished, laid to rest, or banished by know ledge, reason, and experience ; but so long as individual hopes and loves and fears are merged in the universal lot, so long as each human heart is but a link in ' that electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound,' what hope is there that the wUl-o' the-wisp of deceit, the ghost of buried joys, the

PREFACE.

. spectre of withering fears, will cease to beguile, startle, and haunt the great heart of Humanity ? And because we all have within us such false lights, such hidden ghosts, such stalking spectres, I venture to believe that in probing life deep at one point, I may chance to reach to the common root ; that haply I may awaken a respect and sympathy for truths buried in life's unfathomed wells, and may thus strike the secret spring of all charity, by sug gesting the debt of love, compassion, forgiveness, sympathy which each owes to all, and aU to each ; since who is there who does not, may not, must not, carry in his breast that pitiful thing — A haunted heart ?

( i* ) CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAP. rAUE I. — The Old Dutch Tavern .... 1 H. — A Comfort or a Curse — Which? . . 12 III. — Outstripped in the Race .... 28 IV. — The Doubtful Value of George's Friends 40 V. — The Christmas Ball . .... 65 VI. — Telling what had become of Geordie . 80 VII. — In which a Sudden Stop is Put to the Music 100 Vni— Turning the Tables 130 IX. — Shrift and Absolution .... 1.52 X. — A Crime and a Bit of Proof . . . 165 XI. — Battling with Pate 186 XII. — Weighing the Testimony .... 207 XIII. — Polly Defiant and Polly Supdued . . 227 XIV. — A Fresh Catastrophe 252 XV. — Breaking the News 274 XVI.— The Long Watch Over .... 283 XVII. — A Winter of the Heart .... 300 XVm.— The Drop of Dew ( X ) CONTENTS OF VOL. II CHAP. rA0E I. — The Voice of Public Opinion . 1 II. — A Clew at Last 30 III. — On the Track of Crime .... 50 IV. — A Strange Compact 67 V. — Overwhelmed with Success . 99 VI. — A Contention for Places .... 116 ArII. — The Principal Witness .... 139 VIII. — The Denunciation 162 IX.— Supper at 'The Pipe and Bowl' . . 200 X. — Congratulations 229 XL— Quiet Days 258 XII. — Haunted Hearts Exorcised and Blest . 275 XIII. — The Dark Side of the Picture . . 303 XIV. — A Farewell Glimpse 322 XV. — Conclusion .... . .

HAUNTED HEAETS. CHAPTEE I. THE OLD DUTCH TAVERN. Every circle has its centre. To describe a circle one must choose a given point, and radiate thence at equal distances. The north-eastern corner of New Jersey is that part of the earth's surface on which I propose to describe a circle, and the centre of that circle is Stein's tavern. Stein's tavern, then, is my starting point. But why be in haste ? The weather is cold, for it is winter; it is nearly dark, for the days are at the shortest. To strike out into the country is to expose oneself to soUtude and poor cheer, for the neighbourhood is thinly populated, and not much given to hospitality. VOL. I. B The reverse of all this is the case at Stein's. It is warm there, for great wood fires are blazing in aU the chimneys. It is light in spite of the gathering darkness without, for the windows glow with the flame of an unusual number of lamps and candles ; there is a prospect of good company, too, if one may judge from the echo of voices in and about the house, the number of vehicles crowding the stables and sheds, and the multitude of country people, on foot, on horseback, or in carriages, who are con verging towards this convivial centre.

It is evidently jio time to turn one's back on Stein's tavern ; so we will linger awhile at this place of entertainment, at least, until the party breaks up and the other guests take leave. Stein's tavern is a heavy-browed Dutch building, standing close upon the main road, which it fronts, and only separated from another highway which cuts the former at right angles by the tavern-yrard. The question might here arise, whether anything can be termed a yard, which is merely a vast space, for the most part unsodded, dusty, littered with chips, ox-yokes, cart-wheels, everything, indeed, which is useless and unsightly, and in no way limited or enclosed, otherwise than by the roads which constitute two of its boundaries, the long stretch of building which flanks it on the inner side, and the barns and other outbuildings which are huddled together in its rear.

But who has not seen just such yards ? The buUding itself is liberal in its dimensions, presenting a vast deal of surface in proportion to the actual accommodation it furnishes ; is painted white in front, and red everywhere else ; and boasts, like most New Jersey houses, a very unnecessary number of doors and windows. As there is an entrance at the side of the house, opening upon the yard, and two of equal pretensions facing the road, it would be difficult to decide which constituted the main approach, or honorary threshold, were not this question determined by a Dutch inscription over one of the front doorways, announcing food and drink for man and beast. To this advertisement of the character and purpose of the buUding is subjoined the date, a.d. 1710. As it is on the evening of December 23rd, 1812, that we have alighted at this doorway, the two dates, taken in connection, betray the buUd ing to be now more than a hundred years old.

This old tavern has a history, and if memorable events had left their mark on wood and plaster, its walls would be written aU over with meaning in scriptions. Its oaken frame, hewn on the other side of the Atlantic, and planted in its present position in early colonial days, has outstood several generations, survived successive wars, and in some degree shared the fortunes of the new republic. New Jersey, pro tected by its remoteness from the frontiers, had been spared the disasters and cruelties that attended the French and Indian warfare, but her soil had, in later years, been overrun by British and Hessian soldiers, and the two consecutive campaigns, which resulted so successfully for American arms, and made this little State classic ground, had seen her settlers pillaged, impoverished and cruelly insulted by a lawless soldiery.

The principal public-house of the district, standing unprotected at the junction of two highways, was at once a temptation and a mark. To day, privileged to furnish shelter and afford refreshment to the untiring patriot, who, during a winter of hardship and discouragement, was cheering and keeping aUve the spirit of a handful of sick and destitute men, the cross-road inn found itself on the morrow exposed to the ravages of foreign ruffians, who, successful in some neighbouring skirmish, or retreating after some disastrous engagement, made the tavern the scene of their triumphant revels, or barricaded it for their temporary defence, in either case, robbing its larder, destroying its furniture, browbeating the landlord, driving away his cattle, and dispersing his household. Poor Hans Stein (for it was Stein's tavern then) would creep back, after each such instance of robbery and wrong ; and, finding the late danger past, coUect his fugitive family together, and endeavour to repair his losses, stem the tide of poverty, and hope for better days.

Better days came at last, — days of peace, law, and prosperity; right triumphed over might, and the land was free. But repeated mis fortunes had left Hans Stein old and poor. True, the tavern stUl stood upright in its strength, and the adjacent land, for a cfrcuit of some acres, was the property of Stein. But the house had been despoiled of the few comforts and valuables which years of industry had enabled Hans to accumulate ; the crops had been swept from his land, his barns and out buUdings had been burned. During the severe winter of 1776-7, which he and his family had passed in exUe and wandering, his thrifty dame had died of an illness induced by exposure and aggravated by home-sickness. When in the chill days of March, reassured by the report that the British had been driven from the neighbourhood, Stein ventured back to his deserted premises, discouragement met him at the very threshold.

His doors were broken from their hinges, his windows shattered; snow had swept through the passages, and accumulated in drifts in the corners, and the wind rushing down the wide chimney had brought with it a shower of soot, and darkened the once clean and sanded kitchen floor. Even the old house dog, who, true to his trust, had never deserted the homestead on occasions of alarm, and who, after earlier and briefer absences on the part of his master, had always met him on his return with a proud look and a wag of the tail, which seemed to indicate the valorous part he had played in the preservation of the property, even poor Donner had fallen a victim to his fidelity, and the body of the loyal beast, igno miniously slain, and hanging stiff and stark in the doorway, was the ghost of the past, and the omen of the future, which constituted Stein's welcome home.

The old Dutchman was no longer capable of re sisting memory or defying fate. He slunk down at his cheerless hearthstone, closed his lips upon a smouldering pipe, uttered no complaints, but became thenceforward a prey to infirmity and helplessness. That which was despair to Hans, however, was opportunity to his son Diedrich. Hans had a generous soul, and prosperity was its element ; Diedrich's was a narrow nature, that could endure straits. Hans was jovial and craved sunshine ; Diedrich was sulky, and clouds and fogs suited his humour. Hans was soft-hearted, and so had been crushed by misfor tune ; Diedrich was hard, and difficulties sharpened him. Father and son had never co-operated, either as farmers or publicans ; so the latter had looked on, suUenly biding his time, — and his time had come.

The old man sat now in the chimney-corner. There was no other son to rival Diedrich ; Margaret, the faithful daughter, and the useful drudge, was indis pensable in the household ; but Diedrich was farmer, landlord, master. He throve. A few weeks saw the house in tolerable repair. In as many months a temporary barn had been built, preparations for tUling the land had commenced on a small scale, and the bar-room was opened to customers. In pro cess of time, outbuildings reared themselves, of more pretensions than Hans had ever dreamed of in his best days, a new wing was added to the house, and Stein's tavern became a place of reputation and resort, well known for a distance of thirty mUes around, and familiarly spoken of in the city of New York itself. The notoriety of this country inn was due to two causes.

First, to the natural advantages of its locaUty. ' Secondly, to the sagacious and time serving landlord, who knew how to make the most of them. Neither of these elements of success was obvious to the superficial observer. The tavern, it is true, had been judiciously placed at the junction of two roads, each connecting market-towns, and conse quently much travelled by the neighbouring farmers. It thus served as a half-way house, a stopping place, and a rendezvous for the people of the district. But this, after all, was a small source of profit, and, ex cept the occasional custom thus afforded, the house seemed remote from all chance of public favour and patronage. The nearest vUlage was four miles dis tant, and was approached by the cross-road, which, in this direction, was a well-graded highway and easy of travel, but which, as it stretched back into the country, presented a continuous ascent, and led finally across a wild and lonely elevation known as the mountain, being the only high and mountainous land in the vicinity, a stray bit of some Alleghany ridge already memorable as having often furnished a natural observatory to General Wash ington, during his winter campaign in New Jersey ; notorious in later years as the scene of an event which I am about to relate in these pages.

Though this cross-road was a thoroughfare much frequented by farmers from the interior of the district, the fact that it did not furnish a connecting link with the city of New York, rendered it of second-rate importance compared with the main-road, which communicated directly with the great metropolis. This main-road may be described in one word — such was its monotony. For two mUes in the direction leading to the city, it stretched away at a dead level unvaried by a single hiUock, and with only here and there a farm-house or barn to break the dreary prospect. For two miles in the opposite direction the road was a counterpart to this, broad, straight, and so evenly graded, that a footpassenger at its further extremity was on a direct line of vision with the idler who watched his approach from the tavern door.

Small prospect of diversion this place afforded to the tavern idler one would think, and seldom would his watch be rewarded by any variation in the dull uniformity of the landscape; not so. And why? Because Stein's tavern, lonely, bleak, and bare, was the centre of the finest race-course in the whole country round. Fame has its beginnings, and Stein's Plains had once boasted only a local reputation. Jolly old Hans would laugh until his sides shook, to see Jock the pedler and Schell the market-gardener invari ably whip up, as they left his door and emulously make for the city at a plunging canter, this being the only pace, out of a walk, of which either of their poor beasts was capable. The genial-tempered landlord would encourage the farmers' sons to test the mettle of their half broken colts on his racing ground ; with his head cocked on one side, and an occasional whiff at his pipe, he would measure the speed of the animals, pronounce upon their points, clap the owner of the best horse on the shoulder, and invite aU the yroung men to take a drink.

Thriftless Hans Uttle anticipated a time when the lines would be marked out and the race-course measured, when the city gentry would pour out in throngs to witness the sport, when his place would be filled by a score of more accomplished judges, when high-bred horses would await the signal, and his son Diedrich hold the stakes. Simple Hans might even have doubted, whether all this would benefit society or help to build up his own fortunes, but far-seeing Diedrich had no such scruples. He knew — and acted on the knowledge — how to make other men's pleasures, follies, and sins, aU tend to the lining of his own pocket. Sly himself, he contrived to win confidence ; selfish, he nevertheless achieved a sort of popularity; suspected by indi viduals, his character stood well with the public. How he contrived to cater to all men's tastes and receive their patronage in return, and what had proved the result of a proprietorship, now of some thirty years' standing, we shaU best learn by mingling freely with the crowd assembled in and around the cross-road inn, on the evening of the above-men tioned December twenty-third.

Chapter II

A COMFORT OR A CURSE— WHICH ? It is about five o'clock. There is a comparative luU in the excitement of the occasion, for the afternoon races are over, and the ball, which is to many the climax of the festivities, has not begun. The crowd, however, is at its height, the frequenters of the race-course not having yet dispersed, while the patrons of the evening pastime are already pouring in. Parties having a long ride in prospect are fortifying themselves, individuaUy, or in groups, some at a select table in the tavern parlour, some drawn around the kitchen hearth, some hovering in the neighbourhood of the bar. Orders for refresh ment are issued on all sides, the maid-servants are hurrying hither and thither, and two awkward farmer boys, drafted for the occasion, are stumbUng over each other in the passages.

StiU, on the whole, the attendance is good, and the suppUes ample, for old Stein is eagle-eyed, and his patient wife is — WHICH? 13 slaving herself to death in the pantry, as she has been ever since she was his wife, and will be till she dies. Above stairs everything is in a buzz of anticipa tion. The rooms on the second floor have been aUotted to the fresh arrivals, and here the farmers' wives, decked in tall turbans and Sundy finery, are enjoying something more than a Sunday's gossip, while their daughters are tying on high-heeled sUppers, or struggling to get a place at the mirror ; or, with toilet completed to their satisfaction, are humming a lively air and keeping time to it with impatient feet ; whUe, now and then, the bolder sort are darting into the entry way, chatting saucy nonsense to some country beau coming up the stairs, or peeping through the raUs with a half suppressed titter intended to attract the attention of some city gallant loitering in the hall below.

Outside the house the scene is even noisier and more confused. Here horses are harnessed and un harnessed, horses are petted and praised, horses are abused and kicked. Men are laughing, talking, snapping whips, quarrelling, cheating, and settling their bets. There are all expressions of face among them, from the exultant smiles of fortunate competitors to the sullen airs of their discomfited rivals ; from the shrewd sidelong glance of the jockey, to the anxious features of his probable victim ; from the indifference of the looker-on to the eagerness of the wrestler in the game of chance. No one ventures to dispute the assertion of Stein, that the races have been successful — wonderfully successful — the most successful he has ever witnessed. There are many to echo this sentiment, annually expressed by the landlord, but there is more than one, who responds to it by mentally cursing Stein, his tavern, and his racecourse, as being at the bottom of aU his ill fortune in life.

Among the former class, satisfied with the occa sion and complacent towards the host, is a middle aged gentleman, who has just mounted lus curricle, and who, as he receives the reins from the hands of the landlord himself, exclaims, with good-humoured condescension — ' Good-night, and a merry Christmas to you, Mr. Stein ! you have forestalled the date a little, but that is all right ; to-morrow is Saturday, and it would not do to let the young folks' ball run into the sabbath. Your races have gone off fin ply this year. I generally drive out to look on, and I never saw fleeter horses on the ground.' WHICH? 15 ' No one is a better judge than yourself, sir,' said Stein, bowing, hat in hand, and bestowing a diplo matic glance on the handsome pair to whom the New York merchant was just giving the reins. 'I don't much approve of this horse-racing,' remarked the merchant, as he somewhat vainly watched the even trot of his own horses, and addressed the re spectable lawyer who was the companion of his drive — 'but our young men will have their sport, and these annual meetings furnish the best opportunity for completing one's stud.

I want a better match for that off-horse, if I can find one — and setting aside the races, it is worth one's while to step over into Jersey, to dine off a canvas-back, served as one gets them at Stein's. Honest feUow, that Stein! — Take care there ! ' and the fine gentleman pulled up just in time to avoid running over a rough, elderly farmer, who, with his broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his forehead, was crossing the road, on his way to the tavern, without looking to the right or left. ' Bless me ! ' cried the farmer, as he stepped aside, and stood staring after the curricle, which, the obsta cle removed, roUed rapidly on, 'how these New Yorkers sweep the road ! they don't leave a Jarsey man room to steer! ' 'Don't let 'em run you down, neighbour Rycker! ' exclaimed a voice just beside him. ' They drive like the " devil on two sticks," them fellers do, specially arter dinner — but the plains is free ground, and they're bound to turn out for a man, whether or no.' ' Wal,' said old Rycker, retreating to the grassy roadside, and keeping a flank look-out, as another light vehicle approached from the tavern, ' I reckon I'd better take a safe course, and go round the stump — that's my wayr, allers.' ' You're an easy old cove, Rycker, and the right one for them folks to deal with,' remarked his neighbour. ' It stirs my blood a leetle to see how them city chaps rides it over the old settlers.

You didn't jine in the races, farmer ? ' ' No, no,' replied Rycker, facetiously ; ' my hosses was busy at the plough.' ' I jest see' your red colt up at the shed,' said the other ; ' young Joe's been puttin' himover the road. I reckon.' ' Joe fetched up his marm and the gals about an hour ago in the wagon. They hadn't no room to spare — what with all their gimcracks and cockatoos — so I footed it.' ' The baU's what you've come fur then, is it ? ' — WHICH? 17 ' Wal, yes. If the gals and boys likes to stir their stumps, I've no objections to lookin' on, and hearin' a brisk tune or so on the fiddle.' ' Old Cato plays Uvely yet,' was the answer to this remark ; ' some on 'em '11 dance hearty to his music to-night, I'm thinkin', and then agin, some on 'em won't.' ' Ah, 'that's the wust on't ! ' said old Rycker, ' that's the reason, to speak truth, neighbour Van Hausen, that I've gin up the races, and keep Joe out of 'em when I can.

I aUers calkerlate to have more business than ordnary on hand these days, if it's only to keep the boy at home. When folks set their hearts on the legs of a hoss, they stand a good chance to be disappinted, and sarves 'em right — they're a pack o' fools, all on 'em.' ' Wal, gineraUy speakin',' said Van Hausen, ' I wouldn't pitch a copper who ' wins, either way ; but if Geordie Rawle will be , fool enough to run his brown mare agin the stuff them city blades stake their money and their souls on, why, you may depend on't, Dick Van Hausen's heart is purty sure to be sot on the mare's legs/ ' Geordie's mare ! Do tell, now ! ' cried Rycker, with animation. ' Has anybody's beast goue ahead VOL. I. c o' that? Geordie's mare's alady; what did Geordie put her on the course fur ? ' ' Cause he's a fool, I reckon ! ' said Van Hausen.

There was a moment's silence between the two men. 'Look here, Dick,' said Rycker, at length, taking his neighbour by the button, and speaking con fidentially, ' what do 'yer think about that boy ? WUl he be a comfort to his poor old mother or a cuss ? ' ' Dun' know,' responded Van Hausen, gravely. ' Geordie M no business to do it,' mused Rycker, aloud ; ' his father's son had no business to do it ;' then adding, looking inquiringly at Van Hausen, ' I 'spose he bet ou her, too ? ' ' S'pose so,' was the brief answer. ' It'll kind o' discourage him,' said Rycker, soft ening. ' Kind o' ? You ought to have seen them two — Geordie and the mare — look each other in the eye arterwards,' said Van Hausen. ' I tell you, them two felt jest of a piece; they was ashamed — they was mad — they was desprate.' ' He'll have to sell her, won't he ? ' asked Rycker. 'Give her away, more like,' said Van Hausen. ' Last week that mare would ha' brought a purty price.

Who wants her now ? She was a fancy beast allers, WHICH? 19 and there was many a young blade had his eye on her ; but Geordie held off tUl arter the races ; dun know whether 'twas his pride in the crittur, or whe ther he thought he'd get a louder figur. Game's up now ; he'll have to let her go for what she'll fetch.' ' Poor boy,' said Rycker, ' he sets a sight by her.' ' Who can wonder ? ' exclaimed Van Hausen. ' That ere colt was born the night his father died. Farmer Rawle bred the finest hosses that were raised in the Jarseys, but none on 'em came up to this 'ere. There was consid'able stock on the farm when Rawle died, but only this fraction of a hoss did Geordie get out on't — 'twas his inheritance, farmer — his inheritance, the only plum he got out of the pie ! ' ' So small, it was overlooked ? ' queried Rycker, significantly. ' Jest so — farmer, jest so ; else you may be sure Stein's long fingers would ha' grabbed it.

Where did the best hosses and cows that are in his barn now, first larn to nibble grass ? Down in Rawle's meader, I swear. ' Rawle owed Stein money, I 'spose ? ' ' Can't say. Stein settled the estate of course. Who else could the widder look ter ? Settled it much to his own fancy, I reckon,' ' Pity on the whole,' said Rycker, ' that he didn't take a fancy to Geordie's colt 'long wi' the rest. It's been only a mischief to the boy. Fust, he must needs raise it, then break it, and then ride round the coun try on it. Turns a boy's head to have a racer made to his hand — and a race-course running within a stone's throw of his mother's door. Now, when I was a youngster, there weren't no harm in boys matchin' their colts ; but now-a-days it's about the wust thing they could turn their hand ter.' ' And whose fault's that, I want ter know ? ' questioned Van Hausen, sharply. ' 'Tain't Geordie's doin's that racin's come to be such a temptation in these parts.