The Duke of Stockbridge: A Romance of Shays' Rebellion by Edward Bellamy (diy ebook reader TXT) 📗

“My associates may do as they please,” he replied with dignity, “but it shall never be said that Elijah Dwight surrendered to a mob the commission which he received from his excellency, the governor, and their honors, the councillors of the Commonwealth.”

“I admire your courage, sir, but I cannot answer for the consequences of your refusal,” said Perez.

“For my sake sign, sir,” urged Madam Dwight.

“Oh, sign, papa. They will kill you,” cried Eliza.

“Methinks, it is but proper prudence, to seem to yield for the time being,” said Goodrich.

“'Tis no more than the justices at Northampton have done,” added Barker.

“I need not remind your honor that a pledge given under duress, is not binding,” said Whiting.

But Dwight waved them away, saying merely, “I know my duty.”

Suddenly Eliza Dwight stepped to the table and wrote something at the bottom of the agreement, and giving the paper to Perez said something to him in a low voice. But her father's keen eye had noted the act, and he said angrily:

“Child, have you dared to write my name?”

“Nay, father, I have not,” replied the girl.

Even as she spoke there were confused cries, heavy falls, and a rush in the hall, and instantly the room was filled with men, their faces flushed with excitement and drink. The guard had been overpowered.

“Whar's that paper?”

“Hain't they signed?”

“We'll make ye sign, dum quick.”

“We're a gonter tie ye up an give it to ye on the bare back.”

“We'll give ye a dose o' yer own med'cin.”

“I don' wanter hurt ye, sis, but ye muss git aout o' the way,” said a burly fellow to Eliza, who, with her mother, had thrown herself between the mob and Justice Dwight, his undaunted aspect appearing to excite the special animosity of the rabble. The other three justices were huddled in the furthest corner.

“It's all right, men, it's all right. No need of any more words. Here's the paper,” said Perez, authoritatively. A man caught it from his hand and gave it to another, saying,

“Here, Pete, ye kin read. Wot does it say?” Pete took the document in both hands, grasping it with unnecessary firmness, as if he depended in some degree on physical force to overcome the difficulties of decipherment, and proceeded slowly and with tremendous frowns to spell it out.

“We-promise-not-to-ak—under—our-c—o—m,—commishins until-the—g—r—i—e—grievunces,”—

“Wot be them?” demanded one of the crowd.

“That means taxes, 'n loryers, 'n debts, 'n all that. I've hearn the word afore,” exclaimed another. “G'long Pete.”

“Grievunces,” proceeded the reader, “of-wich-the-people-complain.”

“That's so.”

“That's dern good. In course we complains.”

“Is that writ so, Pete?”

“G'long, Pete, that ere's good.”

“Complains,” began the reader again.

“Go back tew the beginnin Pete, I los' the hang on't.”

“Yes, go back a leetle, Pete. It be mos'z long ez a sermon.”

“Shell I begin tew the beginnin?”

“Yes, begin tew the beginnin agin, so's we'll all on us git the hang.”

“We—promise—not-tew-ak—under—our-commishins, until—the—g—r—grievunces—of—wich—the—people—complain, are—r—e—d—r—redressed.”

“Wot's redressed?”

“That's same ez 'bolished.”

“Here be the names,” pursued Pete.

“Charles Goodrich.”

“He's the feller ez loss his hat.”

“William Whiting.”

“James Barker.”

“Elijah Dwight.”

“It's false,” exclaimed Dwight, “my name's not there!”

But few, if any, heard or heeded his words, for at the moment Pete pronounced the last name, Perez shouted:

“Now, men, we've done this job, let's go to the jail and let out the debtors, come on,” and suiting action to word he rushed out, and was followed pell-mell by the yelling crowd, all their truculent enthusiasm instantly diverted into this new channel.

The four justices, and the wife and daughter of Dwight, alone remained in the room. Even the people who had been staring in, with their noses flattened against the window panes, had rushed away to the new point of interest. Dwight stood steadfastly looking at his daughter, with a stern and Rhadamanthine gaze, in which, nevertheless, grief and reproachful surprise, not less than indignation, were expressed. The girl shrinking behind her mother, seemed more in terror than when the mob had burst into the room.

“And so my daughter has disobeyed her father, has told him a lie, and has disgraced him,” said the justice, slowly and calmly, but in tones that bore a crushing weight of reproof. “Add, sir, at least, that she has also saved his life,” interposed one of the other justices.

“Oh, don't talk to me so, papa,” cried the girl sobbing. “I didn't write your name, papa, I truly didn't.”

“Do not add to your sin, by denials, my daughter. Did the fellow not read my name?” Dwight regarded her as he said this, as if he were somewhat disgusted at such persistent falsehood, and the others looked a little as if their sympathy with the girl had received a slight shock.

“But, papa, won't you believe me,” sobbed the girl, clinging to her mother as not daring to approach him to whom she appealed. “I only wrote my own name.”

“Your name, Eliza, but he read mine.”

“Yes, but the pen was bad, you see, and my name looks so like yours, when it's writ carelessly, and the 'a' is a little quirked, and I wrote it carelessly, papa. Please forgive me. I didn't want to have you killed, and I quirked the 'a' a little.”

The Rhadamanthine frown on Dwight's face yielded to a very composite expression, a look in which chagrin, tenderness, and a barely perceptible trace of amusement mingled. The girl instantly had her arms around his neck, and was crying violently on his shoulder, though she knew she was forgiven. He put his hand a moment gently on her head, and then unloosed her arms, saying, dryly,

“That will do, dear, go to your mother now. I shall see that you have better instruction in writing.”

That was the only rebuke he ever gave her.