CHAPTER XVII.

Plotting.

Mr. Stevens awoke at a very early hour the ensuing morning, and quite unceremoniously shook his wife to arouse her also. This he accomplished after considerable labour; for Mrs. Stevens was much more sleepy than usual, in consequence of her husband's restlessness the previous night.

"I declare," said she, rubbing her eyes, "I don't get any peace of my life. You lie awake, kicking about, half the night, muttering and whispering about no one knows what, and then want me to rise before day. What are you in such, a hurry for this morning,—no more mysteries, I hope?"

"Oh, come, Jule, get up!" said her husband, impatiently. "I must be off to my business very early; I am overburthened with different things this morning."

Mrs. Stevens made a very hasty toilette, and descended to the kitchen, where the little charity-girl was bustling about with her eyes only half open. With her assistance, the breakfast was soon prepared, and Mr. Stevens called downstairs. He ate rapidly and silently, and at the conclusion of his meal, put on his hat, and wished his amiable spouse an abrupt good morning.

After leaving his house, he did not take the usual course to his office, but turned his steps toward the lower part of the city. Hastening onward, he soon left the improved parts of it in his rear, and entered upon a shabby district.

The morning was very chilly, and as it was yet quite early, but few people were stirring: they were labourers hurrying to their work, milkmen, and trundlers of breadcarts.

At length he stopped at the door of a tavern, over which was a large sign, bearing the name of Whitticar. On entering, he found two or three forlorn-looking wretches clustering round the stove, endeavouring to receive some warmth upon their half-clothed bodies,—their red and pimpled noses being the only parts about them that did not look cold. They stared wonderingly at Mr. Stevens as he entered; for a person so respectable as himself in appearance was but seldom seen in that house.

The boy who attended the bar inquired from behind the counter what he would take.

"Mr. Whitticar, if you please," blandly replied Mr. Stevens.

Hearing this, the boy bolted from the shop, and quite alarmed the family, by stating that there was a man in the shop, who said he wanted to take Mr. Whitticar, and he suspected that he was a policeman.

Whitticar, who was seldom entirely free from some scrape, went through another door to take a survey of the new comer, and on ascertaining who it was, entered the room.

"You've quite upset the family; we all took you for a constable," said he, approaching Mr. Stevens, who shook hands with him heartily, and then, laying his arm familiarly on his shoulder, rejoined,—

"I say, Whitticar, I want about five minutes' conversation with you.
Haven't you some room where we can be quite private for a little while?"

"Yes; come this way," replied he. And, leading his visitor through the bar, they entered a small back room, the door of which they locked behind them.

"Now, Whitticar," said Mr. Stevens, "I want you to act the part of a friend by the fellow who got in that awkward scrape at this house. As you did not give the evidence you informed me you were possessed of, at the coroner's inquest, it is unnecessary for you to do so before the magistrate at examination. There is no use in hanging the fellow—it cannot result in any benefit to yourself; it will only attract disagreeable notice to your establishment, and possibly may occasion a loss of your licence. We will be willing to make it worth your while to absent yourself, for a short time at least, until the trial is over; it will put money in your purse, and save this poor devil's life besides. What do you say to receiving a hundred and fifty, and going off for a month or two?"

"Couldn't think of it, Mr. Stevens, no how. See how my business would suffer; everything would be at loose ends. I should be obliged to hire a man to take my place; and, in that case, I must calculate upon his stealing at least twenty-five per cent. of the receipts: and then there is his wages. No, no that won't do. Besides, I'm trying to obtain the nomination for the office of alderman—to secure it, I must be on the spot; nothing like looking out for oneself. I am afraid I can't accommodate you, squire, unless you can offer something better than one hundred and fifty."

"You've got no conscience," rejoined Mr. Stevens, "not a bit."

"Well, the less of that the better for me; it's a thing of very little use in the rum-selling business; it interferes with trade—so I can't afford to keep a conscience. If you really want me to go, make me a better offer; say two fifty, and I'll begin to think of it. The trial will be over in a month or six weeks, I suppose, and a spree of that length would be very pleasant."

"No, I won't do that, Whitticar,—that's flat; but I'll tell you what I will do. I'll make it two hundred, and what is more, I'll see to your nomination. I'm all right down here, you know; I own the boys in this district; and if you'll say you'll put some little matters through for me after you are elected, I'll call it a bargain."

"Then I'm your man," said Whitticar, extending his hand.

"Well, then," added Stevens, "come to my office this morning, and you shall have the money; after that I shall expect you to get out of town as quick as possible. Goodbye."

"So far all right," muttered Mr. Stevens, with an air of intense satisfaction, as he left the house; "he'll be of great use to me. When it becomes necessary to blind the public by a sham investigation, he will be the man to conduct it; when I want a man released from prison, or a little job of that kind done, he will do it—this act will put him in my power; and I am much mistaken if he won't prove of the utmost service in our riot scheme. Now, then, we will have an examination of McCloskey as soon as they like."

A few weeks subsequent to the events we have just written, we find Mr. Stevens seated in his dingy office in company with the McCloskey, who had recently been discharged from custody in default of sufficient evidence being found to warrant his committal for trial. He was sitting with his feet upon the stove, and was smoking a cigar in the most free-and-easy manner imaginable.

"So far, so good," said Mr. Stevens, as he laid down the letter he was perusing; "that simplifies the matter greatly; and whatever is to be done towards his removal, must be done quickly—now that the old man is dead there is but one to deal with."

During the interval that had elapsed between the interview of Mr. Stevens with Whitticar and the period to which we now refer, Mr. Stevens had been actively engaged in promoting his riot scheme; and already several disturbances had occurred, in which a number of inoffensive coloured people had been injured in their persons and property.

But this was only a faint indication of what was to follow; and as he had, through the agency of Mr. Morton and others, been able to prevent any but the most garbled statements of these affairs from getting abroad, there was but little danger of their operations being interfered with. Leading articles daily appeared in the public journals (particularly those that circulated amongst the lowest classes), in which the negroes were denounced, in the strongest terms. It was averred that their insolence, since the commencement of the abolition agitation, had become unbearable; and from many quarters was suggested the absolute necessity for inflicting some general chastisement, to convince them that they were still negroes, and to teach them to remain in their proper place in the body politic.

Many of these articles were written by Mr. Stevens, and their insertion as editorials procured through the instrumentality of Mr. Morton and his friends.

Mr. Stevens turned to his visitor, and inquired, "What was done last night—much of anything?"

"A great deal, yer honour," replied McCloskey; "a nagur or two half killed, and one house set on fire and nearly burned up."

"Is that all?" said Mr. Stevens, with a well-assumed look of disappointment. "Is that all? Why, you are a miserable set: you should have beaten every darky out of the district by this time."

"They're not so aisily bate out—they fight like sevin divils. One o' 'em, night before last, split Mikey Dolan's head clane open, and it's a small chance of his life he's got to comfort himself wid."

"Chances of war—chances of war!" rejoined Mr. Stevens,—"mere trifles when you get used to 'em: you mustn't let that stop you—you have a great deal yet to do. What you have already accomplished is a very small matter compared with what is expected, and what I intend you to do: your work has only just begun, man."

"Jist begun!" replied the astonished McCloskey; "haven't we bin raising the very divil every night for the last week—running a near chance of being kilt all the time—and all for nothing! It's gettin' tiresome; one don't like to be fighting the nagurs all the time for the mere fun of the thing—it don't pay, for divil a cent have I got for all my trouble; and ye said ye would pay well, ye remimber."

"So I shall," said Mr. Stevens, "when you do something worth paying for—the quarter is not accomplished yet. I want the place made so hot down there that the niggers can't stay. Go a-head, don't give them any rest—I'll protect you from the consequences, whatever they be: I've great things in store for you," continued he, moving nearer and speaking in a confidential tone; "how should you like to return to Ireland a moneyed man?"

"I should like it well enough, to be sure; but where's the money to come from, squire?"

"Oh, there's money enough to be had if you have the courage to earn it."

"I'm willin' enough to earn an honest penny, but I don't like risking me neck for it, squire. It's clear ye'll not be afther givin' me a dale of money widout being sure of havin' the worth of it out o' me; and it's dirty work enough I've done, widout the doin' of any more: me conscience is a sore throuble to me about the other job. Be the powers I'm out o' that, and divil a like scrape will I get in agin wid my own consint."

"Your conscience has become troublesome very suddenly," rejoined Mr. Stevens, with a look of angry scorn; "it's strange it don't appear to have troubled you in the least during the last few weeks, whilst you have been knocking niggers on the head so freely."

"Well, I'm tired o' that work," interrupted McCloskey; "and what's more,
I'll soon be lavin' of it off."

"We'll see about that," said Mr. Stevens. "You're a pretty fellow, now, ain't you—grateful, too—very! Here I've been successful in getting you out of a hanging scrape, and require a trifling service in return, and you retire. You'll find this trifling won't do with me," continued Mr. Stevens, with great sternness of manner. "You shall do as I wish: you are in my power! I need your services, and I will have them—make up your mind to that."

McCloskey was somewhat staggered at this bold declaration from Mr. Stevens; but he soon assumed his former assured manner, and replied, "I'd like to know how I'm in your power: as far as this riot business is concerned, you're as deep in the mud as I'm in the mire; as for the other, be St. Patrick, I'm clane out o' that!—they don't try a man twice for the same thing." "Don't halloo so loud, my fine fellow," sneeringly rejoined Mr. Stevens, "you are not entirely out of the wood yet; you are by no means as safe as you imagine—you haven't been tried yet, you have only been examined before a magistrate! They lacked sufficient evidence to commit you for trial—that evidence I can produce at any time; so remember, if you please, you have not been tried yet: when you have been, and acquitted, be kind enough to let me know, will you?"

Mr. Stevens stood for a few moments silently regarding the change his language had brought over the now crestfallen McCloskey; he then continued—"Don't think you can escape me—I'll have a thousand eyes upon you; no one ever escapes me that I wish to retain. Do as I require, and I'll promote your interest in every possible way, and protect you; but waver, or hold back, and I'll hang you as unhesitatingly as if you were a dog."

This threat was given in a tone that left no doubt on the mind of the hearer but that Mr. Stevens would carry out his expressed intention; and the reflections thereby engendered by no means added to the comfort or sense of security that McCloskey had flattered himself he was in future to enjoy; he, therefore, began to discover the bad policy of offending one who might prove so formidable an enemy—of incensing one who had it in his power to retaliate by such terrible measures.

He therefore turned to Mr. Stevens, with a somewhat humbled manner, and said: "You needn't get so mad, squire—sure it's but natural that a man shouldn't want to get any deeper in the mire than he can help; and I've enough on my hands now to make them too red to look at wid comfort—sure it's not a shade deeper you'd have 'em?" he asked, looking inquiringly at Mr. Stevens, who was compelled to turn away his face for a moment to hide his agitation.

At last he mastered his countenance, and, in as cool a tone as he could assume, replied: "Oh, a little more on them will be scarcely a perceptible addition. You know the old adage, 'In for a penny, in for a pound.' You need have no fear," said he, lowering his voice almost to a whisper; "it can be done in a crowd—and at night—no one will notice it."

"I don't know about that, squire—in a crowd some one will be sure to notice it. It's, too dangerous—I can't do it."

"Tut, tut, man; don't talk like a fool. I tell you there is no danger. You, in company with a mob of others, are to attack this man's house. When he makes his appearance, as he will be sure to do, shoot him down."

"Good God! squire," said McCloskey, his face growing pale at the prospect of what was required of him, "you talk of murder as if it was mere play!"

"And still, I never murdered any one," rejoined Mr. Stevens, significantly; "come, come—put your scruples in your pocket, and make up your mind to go through with it like a man. When the thing is done, you shall have five thousand dollars in hard cash, and you can go with it where you please. Now, what do you think of that?"

"Ah, squire, the money's a great timptation! but it's an awful job."

"No worse than you did for nothing," replied Mr. Stevens.

"But that was in a fair fight, and in hot blood; it isn't like planning to kill a man, squire."

"Do you call it a fair fight when you steal up behind a man, and break his skull with a slung shot?" asked Mr. Stevens.

McCloskey was unable to answer this, and sat moodily regarding his tempter.

"Come, make up your mind to it—you might as well," resumed Mr. Stevens, in a coaxing tone.

"Ye seem bent on not giving it up, and I suppose I'll have to do it," replied McCloskey, reluctantly; "but what has the man done to ye's, squire, that you're so down upon him?"

"Oh, he is one of those infernal Abolitionists, and one of the very worst kind; he lives with a nigger woman—and, what is more, he is married to her!"

"Married to a nigger!" exclaimed McCloskey—"it's a quare taste the animal has—but you're not afther killing him for that; there's something more behind: it's not for having a black wife instead of a white one you'd be afther murthering him—ye'll get no stuff like that down me."

"No, it is not for that alone, I acknowledge," rejoined Mr. Stevens, with considerable embarrassment. "He insulted me some time ago, and I want to be revenged upon him."

"It's a dear job to insult you, at that rate, squire; but where does he live?"

"In my neighbourhood—in fact, next door to me," replied Mr. Stevens, with an averted face.

"Howly Mother! not away up there—sure it's crazy ye are. What, away up there in the city limits!—why, they would have the police and the sogers at our heels in less than no time. Sure, you're out o' your sinses, to have me go up there with a mob. No, no—there's too much risk—I can't try that."

"I tell you there shall be no risk," impatiently replied Mr. Stevens. "It's not to be done to-night, nor to-morrow night; and, when I say do it, you shall do it, and as safely there as anywhere. Only come to the conclusion that a thing must be done, and it is half finished already. You have only to make up your mind that you will accomplish a design in spite of obstacles, and what you once thought to be insurmountable difficulties will prove mere straws in your path. But we are wasting time; I've determined you shall do it, and I hope you now know me well enough to be convinced that it is your best policy to be as obliging as possible. You had better go now, and be prepared to meet me to-night at Whitticar's."

After the door closed upon the retreating form of McCloskey, the careless expression that Mr. Stevens's countenance had worn during the conversation, gave place to one full of anxiety and apprehension, and he shuddered as he contemplated the fearful length to which he was proceeding.

"If I fail," said he—"pshaw! I'll not fail—I must not fail—for failure is worse than ruin; but cool—cool," he continued, sitting down to his desk—"those who work nervously do nothing right." He sat writing uninterruptedly until quite late in the afternoon, when the fading sunlight compelled him to relinquish his pen, and prepare for home.

Thrusting the papers into his pocket, he hurried toward the newspaper office from which were to emanate, as editorials, the carefully concocted appeals to the passions of the rabble which he had been all the afternoon so busily engaged in preparing.